#teeth bared. waiting to strike. to rip apart...
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I wonder what would happen to the New Crew if they got put through the S2 monster-maker blender...
#vaguely related to this but.#that 'whats the point if women cant bite consume devour' post is driving me insane actually. thinking about the manager and bellhop#in my mind both have teeth/biting related imagery. the manager grinds her teeth. burger baby lives to eviscerate and chew#her customer service 'too many teeth' smile#and then the bellhop being described as like a baby gator#her eagerness and willingness to see some blood and guts#teeth bared. waiting to strike. to rip apart...#she lashes out at the manager. teasing. mocking. DARING her to bite back#and the manager wants to bite back so badly. to rip with HER teeth. do you see? do you see my vision?#anyway i wanna see what hop is like as a fucked up creature
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Slow Like Honey
A Supernatural Story
~When Dean makes a deal with Michael, things go really well. Until they go really... really wrong...~
Dean x Reader, Micheal!Dean x Reader, Sam Winchester, Jack
3,124 Words
Warnings: Grace!Kink, NSFW, Show spoilers for 13x23, Mind Control through Grace? Idk it's awesome.
Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works
Everything was happening at once and all Y/N could do was stand by and watch. She kept her arm around Jack, let him lean on her a bit, sure that he was more broken than he let on. Blood was pouring from his nose and mouth, but the stream appeared to be slowing a bit as the seconds ticked by.
Sam wasn’t as bloody, but just as hurt, if not more than she was. The ringing in her head wasn’t stopping anytime soon and her back ached as if a few vertebrae had been shattered after Lucifer had thrown her across the chapel and into the stone pillar. How she wasn’t dead, she couldn’t fathom, but the questions would have to wait- they still had a job to do. Not that it was going very well at the moment.
Michael- Dean with Michael inside of him- she wasn’t really clear what was going on- was hovering above them, held tight in one of Lucifer’s fists while the other pounded into him, surely breaking each bone in his face. He hung, limp and suspended over the ornate chapel floor while Lucifer sought to put an end to Dean and Michael in the same moment.
The Final Moment.
The Last Showdown.
This was it. This was what the history of earth and every damned thing that had ever happened to them had been leading up to. This single moment.
And for the first time in a long time, Y/N had no hope inside of her. Every ounce of faith in herself, Jack, Sam, Dean, Chuck, everything had vanished.
They were going to lose.
And then they were going to die.
She couldn’t decide which was worse, the dying or the losing after everything they’d gone through, but she figured after Lucifer ripped her apart, she wouldn’t really care.
Above them, Dean groaned painfully, his head snapping back awkwardly and dangling in the air. Lucifer reared back for one final strike and Sam shook his head, refusing to let it end with his brother’s body broken and tossed aside.
Lunging forward, he dropped to one knee and grabbed the golden blade from the floor.
“Dean!”
Somehow, beyond any belief Y/N had left, Dean managed to catch the sword and jab it into Lucifer’s chest.
His scream was deafening, the light of Archangel Grace escaping him was blinding.
Dean crashed to the floor and all eyes were on Lucifer, watching as the Devil Himself was defeated.
This was not the Final Moment.
It was not the end of them, but the End of Lucifer.
They hid their eyes as a final burst of light illuminated the chapel and when the searing heat cooled, they looked to find Lucifer dead, his massive wings smoldering on the stones.
It was dark, the church cast into shadow without the shining blast of Grace. Silence covered them; awe forced them to move. Dean rolled to his feet and Y/N ran to him, hugging him close for a split second before curiosity got the better of them both.
The group huddled around Lucifer, staring down in utter disbelief.
Jack was the first to speak, barely able to give a voice to his shock. “Is he…”
Sam answered, nearly breathless and stunned. “He’s- he’s dead.” A gasp of relief pushed out of him and Sam’s lips quivered in an unbelieving smile. He turned to Dean who was gawking at the corpse, exhausted.
“Holy crap.”
Sam took a step, the smile growing on his face. “You did it.”
Dean looked up with tears rimming his eyes. He tried to take a deep breath but the weight of what had happened was pressing down hard on his chest.
“No.” He grit his teeth, inhaled a little deeper, grabbed Y/N’s hand. “No. We did it.” A smile tried to tug on his lips but there were too many emotions trembling inside of him. Y/N squeezed his hand. He looked to her and then his brother, to Jack. “We did it.”
Sam broke; a strange laugh of relief bubbling out of him. He bent over, smiling, free from Lucifer for the first time in his life.
Jack stood there frozen, grateful but lost.
Y/N dropped Dean’s hand and covered her face, hiding the tears that were falling. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “I can’t fucking believe-”
Relief was short-lived.
As always, the other shoe dropped.
With a pained groan, Dean doubled over, his breath racing, his head swimming. He clenched his body tight, fighting against something the others couldn’t understand.
“Dean?” Y/N’s hand hovered over his shoulder.
Sam closed in. “Dean?”
His brother dropped down, nearly tumbling to the floor in pain. He gasped for air, grunting as if he were being torn apart inside.
“Dean!”
Y/N watched in horror as Dean struggled, shaking and panting with pain.
His voice rang out, echoing through the chapel. “We had a deal!”
She went to touch him, to wrap her arms around him, do something, anything to ease his pain, but suddenly, it was over.
His frantic breathing ceased, his muscles eased, his body unclenched.
Dean stood up straight as if a metal rod had passed down his spine. He took a small breath and his features relaxed into eerie calmness.
Sam jerked back, seeing a change that Y/N could not see from her stance beside Dean. His lip quivered and fear flooded his hazel eyes.
“Michael.”
Sam’s whisper shook Y/N to the core and she held her breath, turning to face Dean.
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then down at the burned wings on the floor. Finally, he set his eyes upon Sam and nodded slightly.
“Thanks for the suit,” he said, voice chillingly unlike Dean’s yet completely the same.
Y/N’s heart was racing with panic and she did the only thing her body would let her, she reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand, holding it tight.
A rush of wind, the flap of wings. Something tugged at Y/N’s insides and she felt her body lift from the ground. She squeezed his hand tight, refusing to let go, refusing to lose Dean again.
She’d been with him through horrors and a hundred deaths, stood by his side while the Mark of Cain had burned his soul to the point of demonic takeover. She’d followed him blindly to Hell and Heaven and back again. She would not let him go. Not ever.
The wind was pushing down on her, striking her from every side, the force of flight nearly killing her. She gasped, suffocating as the air around them thinned and her eyes lost focus as the world around them went dark, spotted by the clearest stars she’d ever seen. Below was gray and misty, above them nothing but blackness.
They were in the sky, above the clouds, she realized and her lungs protested the lack of oxygen. Her eyes went wide, mouth fell open, skin paled, fingers slipped from his hand.
A strong arm wrapped around her back and pulled her close. The tightness of his grasp around her shoulders felt strangely reassuring as she slipped quickly into unconsciousness.
It was raining.
She could hear it beating against the broken and rattling windows; smell the sweetness of the storm as it fell through the holes in the old, rotted ceiling.
Y/N woke up on the ground in the middle of a large empty space. The stone floor was cold and dotted with puddles as it rained down, collecting in the dips and dents of the old building. Large rusted machines lined the back wall and busted hanging lights dangled equidistant from each other down the length of the room. It was an old factory, she surmised, but where, she had no idea.
Her right arm was tucked beneath her head, her left dangled in the curve of her waist. She was sore but not from falling, as if she’d been placed there gently to wake on her own. She shivered at the thought and pushed herself up to sitting, rubbing her hands down her bare arms.
“You’re cold.”
Dean’s voice made her jump and Y/N stood quickly, spinning around to find him a few yards away. Everything she had inside wanted to run to him, kiss his lips, throw a comforting arm around him, but memory kept her feet frozen. Her pulse quickened.
“You’re not Dean,” she said bluntly, mouth dry and skin crawling.
He smiled softly, just a simple turn of lips that she’d seen a thousand times before, but this was different. His stare was sharp, his stance ridgid. It made her heart ache and her panic rise.
“No,” he answered easily. “My name is Michael, but I’m sure you have figured that out already. You’re not as… stupid as you appear, I’m sure.”
He took a step forward and she countered, almost stumbling over her own feet to get away. Her heel fell into a puddle and the sting of mold hit the air and her nose.
“Where are we?”
Slowly, he looked around and then shrugged. “What does it matter?”
Blood was pounding in her ears. Fight or flight making her bones tremble. She stretched out her fingers at her sides to try to calm herself, but it did little to mask the fear in her voice.
“It matters because I want to know,” she snapped, forcing as much confidence in her tone as she could. There was little left inside of her, but she always knew she’d go down fighting.
“So inquisitive.” He smiled again and turned to the left, one step starting a circle around her. “Well, I have a question for you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly, boots thudding through the open space. “What did you think you were doing by clinging to me like that? What was your plan?”
She swallowed hard; tried to think. “I wasn’t clinging to you. I was… hanging on. To Dean.”
An amused laugh passed his lips and her stomach flipped.
“Dean is… gone now.” He stopped his circuit and spun on one heel, turning to stare at her. “So why don’t I just get rid of you?”
Y/N held her ground, spinning to look him in the eyes. She was shaking, but stood upright, exuding what little strength she had. “You won’t.”
Michael tipped his head to the side, intrigued. “Really? And why not?”
She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to keep going. “I don’t… I don’t know. But you could have let me go at any time. Hell, you could have dropped me somewhere over Chicago and yet you didn’t.” She lifted her chin, daring to quarrel with the most powerful angel in the universe. “I woke up here. Safe.”
Michael jerked forward, suddenly a breath away from her. She sucked in a deep breath and smelled the air on him, Dean’s faded gas station cologne. He clenched his jaw, annoyed. “Oh, you are far from safe.”
If this was the end, she wasn’t going to cower. She was going to face it with pride and grace. She dropped her shoulders and cocked a brow. “Well, if I’m wrong- Kill me.”
“We’ll see.”
Annoyance melted into something new. Michael narrowed his eyes, let his gaze drift down her face, her body. It chilled her and excited her in a way she couldn’t stand.
“He liked you… Dean,” Michael told her. “He cared for you. Loved you, even.”
Her chest ached. Past tense. He’s really gone. “How do you know?”
Michael stepped back, let his arms relax. “Because I can see inside of his mind.” He tapped one finger to his temple. “I know what he knew, I know what he felt… did… said, didn’t say. I know… everything.” He grinned at her shock. “I know you.”
Y/N shook herself. His tone was entracing but wrong. Everything about him was wrong. “You don’t know shit about me,” she spat.
“Don’t I?” He blinked slowly, capturing her attention even deeper. “I know how you came to hunt with the Winchesters after your family was killed by wolves. I know that Sam took a liking to you because you were good at research and liked… science fiction things. Dean didn’t care for you at first, did he? But… you gained his trust, learned from him, slowly became his lover. I know how you pined for him for years before he even saw you as anything more than a little sister. I know how you moaned when he first kissed you… How your fingers wrapped around his flannel whenever you were scared. How you… let him inside of every… part of you. How you would scream when he touched you just right-”
Enraged by his intrusiveness and her own whispering arousal, Y/N cut him off with a growl. “OK, enough! You’re just being crude.”
“Am I?” His smirk returned. “Funny how all human life depends on sexual intercourse and yet you find it so distasteful to discuss.”
Y/N scoffed and crossed her arms, symbolically closing herself off. “Well, we’re all a little fucked up, I guess.”
Michael’s eyes fixed on hers. “Yes. You are.”
The green was there, just as always. Deep and dark in the dim light, with flecks of gold that always mesmerized her. But behind the green was something else, a monster, a liar, another problem they had to solve.
Y/N looked away and took a breath to cleanse her soul. Without looking back, she changed the subject. “Why’d you break your deal with Dean?”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. A blank expression wiped his face smooth and he spoke slowly and truthfully. “Because I could. Because I… wanted to. Because there never really was a deal.” He paused for a moment, considering her frailties. “Dean was… desperate and stupid. I played him for the fool he was.”
Tears stung her eyes and Y/N grit her teeth, jolting forward with fists clenched. “Don’t you dare-”
“Or what?” Michael dipped his chin and looked closely at her. “How can a tiny thing like you hurt a powerful being like me?”
Fire burned inside of her and she went all in. “I don’t know, but I’ll die trying, you son of a bitch.”
Michael laughed. Fully and loudly. It was only a second, but he was clearly entertained by her vigor. “I enjoy your fire, your passion,” he explained. “I find you interesting. I’ll let you live.”
Surprise ran through her but Y/N kept her rageful sneer. “Gee, thanks.”
Michael was dismissive of her sarcastic appreciation. He shrugged and went on. “And in return for my mercy, you will be my slave.”
The laugh that echoed was her own and Y/N stared back in utter confusion and offense. “Excuse me?"
His foot fell against the stone as the circuit began again. “I need someone to show me around this new world. To explain to me about life here, help me move through the world unnoticed until I’ve worked out my plan.” He paused and regarded her with a possessive gaze. “That someone will be you.”
She stared back and jeered. “The fuck I will.”
Michael spun to her. His jaw tensed. “You will obey me.”
His tone sent a shiver down her spine but Y/N took a dangerous step towards him, testing fate. “I will… stab you in the neck.”
A spark of Grace flickered in his eyes and the blue made her gasp.
“I don’t think so.”
She could feel herself weaken, as if the glow was burning away at the resolve lodged inside of her.
“I… No, I won’t. You’re…” Her mouth watered, her eyes glazed over slightly. His face blurred, but the Grace was bright, sharp, digging deep into her. “No…”
Michael leaned in ever closer. “You like this, don’t you?”
She struggled to clear her head but he was already doing it for her. “S-Shut up.”
His eyes widened and the blue expanded, floating out to caress her cheek. She swooned; a heavy gasp making up her last breath as everything around her slowed.
Michael studied her, fascinated.
“You find it… intoxicating,” he said, sending out another wave to sweet down her body and she moaned. “Arousing…”
The very word made her pussy ache and Y/N’s knees shook. She clenched her thighs together tight and dug her nails into her palm to stay steady. She just had to fight him, had to remember to fight.
The blue was everywhere, bright and warm. It ran slow, like honey across her skin, hitting every sweet spot that made her breath hitch and her eyes flutter.
“You’re so… easily manipulated.”
Michael’s songlike tone washed over her and Y/N crumbled, her body giving in to the pleasure. She swayed on her feet and Michael caught her, wrapping an invisible wing around her back, holding her upright but at a slight angle. She sank into the feathers, amazed at the strength, terrified by the feeling, but too light headed to speak.
Grace swirled around her nipples, rubbed between her thighs. She moaned and Michael watched intently, studying her, taking notes.
“A flick here, a touch there…”
Every word was like a tongue flickering over her clit, every stroke of Grace was a thick, delicious cock thrusting into her slick heat.
“A bit of pressure in the right spot… A taste of pleasure… And you’re a weak, helpless mess. Totally at my mercy… totally under my control.”
She tried to think of Dean, of how he’d want her to keep fighting, but the more she thought, the more Michael’s Grace flooded her system. The harder she fought him, the stronger his pleasure became until there was no more fight, no more worry, no more Dean.
“Your body… Mine.”
She moaned loudly, near to panting as his Grace pulsed inside of her, curling, thrusting, stretching, pounding.
“Your mind… Mine.”
Her eyes rolled and she cried out, cumming hard and squirting into her jeans. The warmth dripped down her thighs and she held back tears as her body shook, consumed with his power, lost in the ethereal magic in his eyes.
When she could stand, he pulled his wings away, leaving her shivering and feeling exposed. She trembled when he came close, held her breath as his fingers tipped her chin upwards.
The green was back, but she couldn’t remember why that was so important.
Michael swept through her mind and grinned. “That’s better.”
She sighed happily and smiled back, dazed and awed.
“Now…” Michael let his fingers slip down her throat, gently squeezing against her pulse. “Let’s get started.”
2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)
@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05
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foolish beginnings
for febuwhump day 1 - helpless
read on ao3
“Please—”
Vee’s voice dies in his throat before he can get more than that one word out, the hand wrapped around it choking him off into silence. He’s going to die here. He’s going to die because he hesitated, because he was taken in by the monster exactly like it had wanted him to be, because he was an idiot who thought he was above consequence—
—he’s going to die in this house and nobody is going to know.
He’d thought that face so pretty when he was the one in control.
It’s a mask of horror and teeth above him now.
Brilliant red and stark white and dark curls.
Vee should have stabbed it by now.
He’s poised above the monster. Ready to strike but…
Transfixed.
It’s beautiful.
Peaceful in its demonic sleep.
“All out of fight already?” Its voice is soft and musical, just hearing it makes his body start to relax—with a horrid jolt he realizes that’s exactly what it’s meant to do. “That’s a pity.” The hand around his throat releases, and he is left choking and stuttering on the floor, drawing breaths that hurt almost worse than not being able to breathe at all. The impact into the wall feels like it may have cracked something in his chest, the breathing isn’t just hurting his throat, there is a sharp ache and a wetness to it that shouldn’t be there.
But the monster is gone.
Or at least—gone from his sight. The room is dark, his lantern shattered, he can barely see five inches beyond his nose. One hand tightens around the stake, grateful at least he was still holding onto it, hopeful like a fool that he might still be able to escape—
—there is a sound like a wire snapping, and then a sickening wet-flesh thump.
He looks down in the dark, nothing, black void and dull shapes. Feeling forward with one foot, the other—something catches, roundish and heavy. He can’t make out any detail with just a boot, so he drops to a crouch—recoiling almost as fast when his fingers brush against what distinctly feels like a face.
God dammit he’s better than this.
Slowly.
He reaches back out, a nose, thick eyebrows, hair tied up and tight to the scalp. Reluctantly he runs his hand lower, mustache, upper lip and teeth—fuck—too low, wet and warm and—
—where is the bottom third of the face?
“Still attached to the neck, you would have gone the same but unlike your friend there you appear to have retained your manners.” The voice comes from nowhere, from everywhere, pressing in from the dark like a wave of unbidden calm.
A candle flickers to life behind him, throwing what is now clearly most of his superior—Galen’s—head into view. Ripped apart at the jaw. Tongue gone, gore painting his upper teeth, and now Vee’s right hand as well—
His mouth waters, promising to make good on the urge to be sick. He sweeps the room again, eyes finding nothing even with the addition of a little light. Alone in a ruined bedroom with no windows, no way to open the door, no way of knowing if the solitude is real or imagined. If the thing that he’d come here to kill was just waiting. He’s probably alone with most of a head belonging to someone older and wiser and stronger than he is. Who died like it was nothing. Whose fate he has—apparently—only narrowly avoided by advent of what?
Begging?
Fuck.
“You did sound terribly desperate,” At the sound of the voice this time he slowly raises his eyes to the ceiling. It’s high and cast mostly in shadow. He could be imagining the lazy kick of a dangled leg from the rafters. Eyes playing tricks in flickering light. “and I’m not above enjoying a little mealtime entertainment.”
Vee wishes it would shut up, get this over with and kill him already.
He’s already damned.
It’s said as much.
It’s not getting the satisfaction of another word.
As he sinks back fully to the floor, suppressing a groan as the movement jostles his ribs, he thinks he can hear it faintly laughing.
@flyingbananasaur / @abalonetea / @meatandboneasmr / @captain-kraken / @kaiusvnoir / @albatris / @excessive-vampires / @febuwhump
#febuwhump#febuwhump2024#febuwhumpday1#am i doing this right? who fucking knows. surely not me.#regardless you're all getting a lot of vampires this month have fun#except for Vee who will be having no fun at all for quite a while#writeblr#vampire writeblr#wip damask#character ref vf
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@johnnysslaughter said: [ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐝 ] : sender pins the receiver against a wall out of sheer rage.
okay. let's avoid getting stabbed again. leland catches johnny's wrist just in time ― strains white-knuckled to keep the red-point of the blade from plunging into his shoulder. twisting his grip in a swift motion, he forces johnny to drop the knife ― and it clatters to the floor a few feet away. leland can still see the wicked shard of ribcage protruding from the man's shoulder. it had hardly slowed him down.
and johnny is far from unthreatening, even without that skinning knife. something like an animal. something that wanted to rip into you with bare hands and gnashing teeth. he lunges like an animal, throws off leland's center of balance. he can feel every muscle quake with the impact, teeth clacking together painfully as the back of his head strikes the wall behind him. open wounds in his back flare with hot-cold pain, drag a hiss from his teeth. he doesn't let go. hands drop to grapple at johnny's arms, his shirt, anywhere he could reach, or throw a punch.
of course, there was some kind of sick pride, in seeing those wild, dark eyes flash back at him angry ― really fucking angry, this time. good. fucking good. terrifying, too. like a storm system rolling in on all sides. you had ― for just a moment, stopped being some small prey animal he could bat between his claws. for just a moment in this hellish exchange, you had made him feel what you felt. leland gives a ragged, scathing laugh in his face. ❝ what? ❞ he rasps, low and exhausted, ❝ you not having fun anymore? you sick. fuck. ❞
he gets punched for that. a snake-strike with heavy-handed precision. the back of his head hits the wall a second time, and the sound of the impact isn't nice. fist-to-nose-to-wall. crack. a third time. blood spatters sideways. motherfucker hits hard. jaw numbs. there's a pulse in his bruising face, now. blood spills freely down over his lips, vision stinging and blurring around that scarred snarl. leland's hold loosens for just a second, and he swings a dizzy, clumsy elbow at johnny, who catches forearm in a bruising grip easily ― slams it into the wall next to his head. that hurts too, hits the wrong spot and draws a yelp.
leland spits in his face, tries to sweep johnny's leg out from under him with a kick. he gets a boot in the shin, and his other wrist pinned for that ― and johnny's mouth twists into a bleeding, wolfish grin, now. both of their blood in stark spatters on his face. turns his stomach, makes leland writhe and gasp curses in the man's hold. chest heaves, face burns, eyes smouldering something hateful at johnny. christ. he wishes he could crack that too-many-teeth smile off the fucker's face. he wishes he didn't feel like prey, again. knows he doesn't have johnny outmatched in muscle, or size. only thing he could bank on, was that he was sure as shit quicker.
well, what's one more count of head trauma, after all?
he drags breath in, out. yeah, okay.
❝ fuck you. ❞
fuck this. fuck being prey. something wound up tight snaps its teeth, comes apart full of shrapnel. with a low growl, leland lurches at johnny ― nails him with a headbutt, as hard as he possibly can. not frozen like a deer in the headlights anymore. not waiting for the storm to run him down first. fuck this. fuck being scared.
voice ricochets staccato, violent, in the narrow hallway; ❝ that all you got, motherfucker!? ❞
#me when i look at the discussion at hand and then back at this thing i was picking away at#call that guys being dudes#bro... we are sworn enemies... it's ok to pin me to a wall -#johnnysslaughter#violence cw#( ☆ ) ⸻ CH. 1 / verse.#( ☆ ) ⸻ THE FILM WHICH YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE... / ic.
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Grasping for the Wind - pt. 6
First Chapter | Previous Chapter
Read on: AO3 FFn
A Soul Eater story. It's about Stein and Spirit. Inspired by this fanart.
A/N: Gonna try to update faster... Maybe. Anyway, here's the big moment everyone's been waiting for.
Part 6
Stein closed his eyes and tried to eliminate distractions. No matter how tightly he held onto the staff, his hands felt weak. They were sweating, as if his own body was trying to prevent him from holding the weapon.
"How does it feel?" Griffin said, the invisible voice still approaching. "You're not getting to do what you want anymore, are you. But you still can Franken, with me."
Stein grit his teeth and looked up to where he knew the man must be standing. He was within reach.
"Stein? What are you waiting for!?" Spirit asked.
"Yes, what are you waiting for?" Griffin said, directly in front of him now.
Stein took a breath and found it shallow.
"Soul Force!"
"...Stein!?"
Griffin began cackling, because the hand Stein had abruptly thrust out to strike him, while it did impact the invisible body, had failed to deal the expected blow of Stein's soul wavelength. Stein took a step back and looked at his clammy hands.
Weak. Empty. Just like they had been in the classroom all those years ago.
"What's happening!? What's wrong!?" Spirit cried.
"Even your own soul is telling you to join me," Griffin said. He cleared his throat, and then his voice became dark and menacing. "I'll make it easier for you. What if I eliminate one of your obstacles?"
Just as thunder follows a bolt of lightning, Stein understood the warning too late to stop what he realized was going to happen. His hands returned to the staff to yank Spirit out of harm's way at the same moment he heard numerous impacts of metal upon metal, and then the horrible scraping like nails on a chalkboard.
"No!" he cried as Griffin became visible again, revealing both of his arms had transformed to trap Spirit's blade between them.
Griffin had been a morning star—a bludgeon with two-inch spikes sticking out of the shot put sized ball at the end of the short handle. But now he had turned both of his arms into a far more dangerous version of himself, the spikes protruding all around the length of his forearms up to his elbows. Stein watched in horror as the attack was dealt, Griffin swiping both arms down forcefully, scraping the shining blade of the scythe that Stein had left vulnerable. And the steel itself, impossibly, began to bleed.
"No! Don't—!" Stein shouted again as he knew again what was about to happen, but it was too late.
It was with a sharp cry of pain that Spirit had transformed out of weapon form, injured from the vicious blow. But that proved to be the fatal error as Griffin pressed his forearms hard into the torso of the now-human death scythe, an evil rumble sounding from within his chest as the spikes now had something to sink into. Time seemed to slow as Stein watched Griffin yank his arms down across Spirit's body, rending flesh from bone. The sound of Spirit's chest and back being ripped apart by the spikes was drowned out almost immediately by his scream of agony, and the rumble of laughter in Griffin's chest erupted into a triumphant guffaw, the man stepping back and doubling over as he reveled in his victory.
Stein was on his knees in an instant, catching Spirit as he fell. He felt the heat of blood saturating his clothes as Spirit gasped for breath, rapidly going into shock, and a terror Stein had never before felt anchored him to the sand. Above them their enemy towered, silhouetted by the rising sun as he raised his spiked arms in triumph, blood dripping from the deadly weapons down to the golden sand.
"Better now?" Griffin said, and Stein looked up as a strange numbness slowly swept his being, beginning to bury the paralyzing fear. A broad and crazed smile was bisecting Griffin's face as he transformed his arms and doubled over again, setting his hands on his knees as he barely bothered to stop laughing while he spoke. "No more Death Scythe! No more big brother watching over your shoulder to stop you each time you want to be free!"
Stein felt a small pull at his shoulder and glanced down to see blood, and then realized that Spirit's fingers were weakly gripping his coat. He watched Spirit's eyes start to lose focus as his soul began to weaken.
"Shake off the chains of the DWMA," Griffin said, his tone now giddy. "You and I together can depose Lord Death and finally create a free world!"
Stein looked up again. Griffin was still employing Soul Protect, but he felt he could see through him nonetheless beyond the laughter and boast. And he was far from the bright young classmate he had once known.
He pursed his lips, words failing him, but then looked down with a sharp intake of breath as he felt the grip at his shoulder weaken. He watched Spirit's eyes glaze over as his bloodied hand slipped away and heavily hit the sand.
"Hehhehehheh..."
Stein felt a strange desire to hold on tighter, but instead he carefully lay Spirit on his side. He looked at the dried blood on his face and then down to the wash of red below, intermixed with the tatters of the green shirt and the pink of torn flesh beneath it all.
He slowly rose to his feet and lifted his arms. Where he'd caught Spirit his sleeves were entirely red with the slick, fresh blood. Then his gaze rose to his hands. Peripherally he saw Griffin straighten up, his mad laughter finally ceasing.
"So. Which world do you choose, Franken Stein?"
Stein stared at his hands and the smears of blood now staining them. He knew what had gone wrong.
He had allowed Griffin's taunts to weaken his resolve. He had doubted what he knew to be true, and doubted himself. Doubted his place. And thanks to that weakness he had permitted to enter his soul...
He looked back at Spirit, lifeless and with long, unnatural shadows of the slough grass falling over his unmoving form under the rising sun.
"He was always so bossy, anyway."
Stein looked back at Griffin. The grin on his face was sickening.
"Soul Force!"
This time, his resolve was sure. The electricity that manifested out of his wavelength sizzled from his hand over and into his opponent at the same time a sonic shock wave from the speed of the attack cracked in the air around them.
Griffin's eyes were wide with surprise, not having expected the blow, and his grunt of pain came out strangled as he coughed up blood as a result of the fierce attack.
Stein swept his former compatriot's feet out from under him while he was distracted, dropping him hard on his back. He immediately knelt next to the enemy, striking again with both hands.
"Soul Force!"
The shock wave was stronger this time, the small sonic boom echoing against the butte and through the air as the sand rippled out from beneath them. Another vomitous cough was Griffin's response, but then he cackled evilly as blood ran down his cheek. Stein watched one of the madman's arms transform back into the spiked bludgeon, ready to retaliate even as he spit blood into the sand.
The meister sat back on his heels with a heavy sigh.
"Sutures."
"Wha...what...? What did you do to me!?" Griffin snarled as he struggled, now immobilized.
Stein closed his eyes to aid his concentration. He blindly felt in his pocket for a cigarette, but gave up as the package slipped through his blood-covered fingers. He said nothing in reply, not caring to explain the special technique and needing to focus.
He opened his eyes and looked beyond his furious opponent to where Spirit still lie unmoving. The numbness was increasing. A familiar apathy was seeping into his soul, and he fought to stall it off until he could finish his task.
"I'm disappointed in you, Stein."
His eyes narrowed. With hardly a thought, he pulled a scalpel from his pocket.
"I think I'll cut you into pieces now."
He meant the words, but found his hand didn't move on his brain's command. He would find no pleasure here.
If the mission had in fact been a test from Lord Death, he had failed. Even if the battle was won...the loss of a weapon was unforgiveable for a meister. Especially like this.
He felt his control slipping, and he grit his teeth and bowed his head as he watched Griffin yank his transformed arm free, the soul thread sutures that had held it snapping and vanishing into the sand. He reached up to turn the screw in his head.
"Stein."
His head snapped up at the sound of the weak voice. Somehow, Spirit was conscious. He watched as his injured partner blinked once, twice, and then weakly slid his arm across the sand toward him.
"How..." Stein breathed even as he rose to his feet in understanding.
"You can't win!" Griffin said desperately, swiping uselessly at Stein's legs as he stepped over him. But as the captive continued struggling, the soul thread sutures at his knees began to snap.
Spirit's arm rose up barely a few inches from the ground, shaking, and Stein's bloodied hand gripped his. A brief moment and a flash of magical light, and Stein once again held the death scythe.
His grip was sure, and this time he didn't hesitate for an instant. Without ceremony he spun back around and fiercely brought the blade down into the chest of their enemy with a horrible, wet crunching sound, feeling it pierce all the way through the man's back and sink deeply into the sand.
He held tightly to the staff, his breaths heavy as the red eyes of the man he once might have called friend stared up at him in shock.
"A godless world is doomed to madness," Stein said, as the life began slipping from the man's eyes. With this attack the Soul Protect was finally broken, and Stein saw with despair that a shriveled, evil soul was all that was left of Griffin.
The look of shock remained on their old classmate's face as the enemy breathed his last, and once the slain body had expired the soul separated and hovered above it, ready to be consumed.
Stein let go. It was with an involuntary cry of pain that Spirit transformed again, not even attempting to gain his feet and falling instantly. But Stein was already on his knees.
He caught him again and stared grimly at the wounds and then at Spirit's pained expression. But when the scythe opened his eyes his gaze went beyond Stein, to the floating, corrupted soul.
"You want that?" Stein asked flatly.
"Not really," Spirit said with a slight shake of his head, and then he passed out.
This time Stein held on tighter.
#soul eater#franken stein#spirit albarn#death scythe#stein#professor stein#dr stein#dr. stein#spirit#soul eater fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#soul eater fanfiction#mira naigus#naigus#mira nygus#sid barett#sid barrett#maka albarn
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You-the King's most favored pet, laying bare upside down on True Form!Sukuna's abs, an occasional deep-earthquaking breath slightly shifts his silken, smooth flesh; lower chest not even half the human size of your whole torso, gargantuan. Curse imbedded steel beneath you, stoic, waiting patient as a saint to combust into all-consuming hellfire and brimstone. Iron lungs, and gluttonous teeth. Anicent marble, deep void-kissed tattoos, glowing a deafening heat that gleefully antagonizes Amaterasu's radiant sun.
Bruised in feather-soft cresent moons from your determinated "assault," kisses touched of dark stars and lively lips, moist lust soaking between the cracks, careful not to childishly drivel all over your lord's flawless body. Your eternal worship of Sukuna's evil form, a physical, selfish devotion he personally allows.
(Only from yourself, an order, directly from his throat. Leaving no room for arguments. His command, swollen deeply into your brittle bones as your own humane pleasures and soul sunk heavy like a sailor's anchor into Sukuna's, not that he will ever let you know that, not while the Devil's pride rules these chard hills.)
A true immortal, pure cruelty bound in a sinister body far too human looking to be anything borne of the natural order. Morality doesn’t exist in The Malevolent Shrine, The King of Curses teads the weaker masses on Earth to fulfill his endless appetite til the day he finally falls then rots neath the spoils. Inspire fear and destruction, shamelessly swat some pitiful insects, devastate mountains, and poor villages regurdless whether human, innocent, or otherwise.
(Humans look upon his sharp spire in frozen shock and fear, ever aware of his immense fighting power and curse knowledge, infectious in Humanity's most heroic of hearts. An ocean of bleeding corpses makes way for his upcoming slaughter over the next town.
Cursed spirits bow their heads in frightful respect of their rightful superior, but alike to humans, are equally afraid of his feet traveling bored by their chosen lands, searching for his newest piece of meat to pick apart piece by delicate piece, to play with then discard like trash.
And his next prey just so happened to be you.)
Sukuna has obviously grown used to a lot of things over the millennia walking olden Japan as the most powerful deity alive; to the ear ripping screams of his unfortunate victims, the Jujutsu elderly's countless pleads for sweet mercy when Sukuna hardly ever knew such a pathetic word, even on a good day, glancing upon the horizon's cruel split of a perfectly good dawn, a clean wound in the sky's penniless paper.
Sukuna is used to the fearful devotion of his followers and merger weaker cursed spirits. Bound to him by soul-striking fear and the promise that he would "spare" their life's if they tended to him as mortals should to their Ascended. They've been around quite a long time in his constant, rampant, rampages through the countryside. Useful as they were enough, it was always pure, unfiltered fear that ravaged the weak souls and hollow minds in his dark kingdom. What Sukuna isn’t used to, which is already very few between-
-Is sincerity.
(Sucking and dutifully stroking his erect cocks, you-furfill your bodily duty to your King to the absolute fullest amongst everyone else he threw to the wastes over the centuries. You do not serve him out of fear for your life, not out of stupid desperation to helplessly convince him to spare you, then perhaps "skip" your beloved home village.
You befell yourself to the ground, bend your knees to him out of your own free will alone, ready to die and be devoured by the hands of the towering God before you. Whose malicious smiling fangs threatened to break his face into thirds from just how surprised Sukuna was to return home from a finished hunt and see a beautiful kitten beyond his claimed wood actually, genuinely offer themselves to him. Not because of some grand sacrifice or moral value, but because you could and just wanted too; uninfluenced by your higher elders or fellow humans, undeterred by the chaotic stories of The King of Curse's ruthless mannerisms, if anything it inspired you to drown yourself further into his domain. Which, where humans and curses were often concerned,
Is a guaranteed death wish.
Sukuna knew exactly what fear and fright tasted like having consumed it literally his entire existence. Fear and jaw-dropping despair were two sides of the same coin. However, while you sang your poetic praises so high to the Heavens, it would render God a jealous mess, Sukuna didn't taste a single lie. Never subtle in the beginning, unpredictably consistent, Sukuna liked that about you.
If anything, you were more fearful of pungent rejection, being denied both life under foot in Sukuna's cursed servtude and/or the unmistakable honor of death forged by a god's beckoning hand-the feeling of never belonging to even the conquistador of death himself, compared to him in the flesh, standing inhumanly tall afront of you.
(He would be offended by your sheer audacity, to wander aimlessly for him in his personal domain of all damned places that even fools know never to trespass and just expect him to entertain whatever empty thoughts exist in that pitiful head of yours.
How did you even possibly walk so far in Ryomen Sukuna's domain without attracting the attention of the lesser dogs lingering like hungry ghosts within his bloodshot mists? They usually jump like party springs at the chance of fresh meat. Did you evade them that quickly? Did you just so happen to catch them on the one singke day they didn't feel like venturing out and about like they always did? Impressive, Sukuna admits.
Likely would've murdered you for it regurdless, if not for the intense, overflowing amount of sincere amusement and intrigue boiling red hot lava in Sukuna's loins.
Why should he-The King of Curses-turn down such an eager subject? You interest him greatly so far, what could go wrong?)
If your King wanted to brutally dehead you while you were busy choking yourself further down his aggressive lengths, tightening throat swallowing him whole, you would be calm and content. Accept the fate your King generously bestowed upon your unworthy self with dignity because how else should you die by your God's will?
Both his cocks exclusively pour pre-cum, erupting like furious volcanos. Drooling at the thought of you, at the promise of pleasure and satisfaction, you seductively caught those fat droplets, each cruel vein and senstive bundle of nerves throbbing at the long wet trail of your submission. Ensuring to deprave neither dick of your lewd caresses and mouth, your God deserves your complete undivided attention any time he commands it. Serving him in every way Sukuna so loves it. Your loyal tongue salivates, while you're quite eager, you know not to rush far too quickly due to the dangerous risk of upsetting your immoveable God.
He hated ending it so quickly, people like you come so rarely, he will drain you for all your worth slowly while personally engraving his cursed name along every pore of flushed skin, especially when he plans so many more rounds in the near future.
He isn't anywhere near done with you.
I cannot say anything except suggesting you should try posting your writing/brain-rot officially within the Sukuna tag, for other Curse King lovers, I’m sure many would love it if they could find this later on with the proper tags! :)
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Oroboros Track
Genre: M! be aware!
Characters: Ingo, Dawn
Summary: Back again, in crackling thunder.
notes: TW death! I kill people here! what is this you ask?? I don't know! :D
on a serious note, I once read this story where Dawn had the power to respawn which caused a lot of problems and trauma. So of course I had to do it too.
this is also the thing I spent my day writing instead of work so there's that
The rain was pouring down. Drops of cold bit into her cheeks with each drip. Cloudy, dark smog filled the sky; a dreary canopy of storm trailed by radiant silver.
Ingo was crying. He never cried, even when the memories were too much. Twin streams streaked down his face in such reckless abandon that briefly she feared he had been injured.
He still cradled her tightly. Hands made to build and guide holding her with intent. As if his grip could hold her together if he just held tight enough to force the pieces to meld into one.
Thunder rumbled somewhere. Whether it was truly lightning or a pokemon move was far from her mind. Dense fog littered the edges of conscious, threatening to finally pull her under.
His hold shifted. Her skin cracked. He winced, and fell still.
His eyes never left hers. Trailing tears down her face in turn, teeth bared and grit.
When had she lost feeling in her left side? When had her sash burned to cinders, pokeballs spilling to the earth like organs aren’t meant to? She didn’t know; couldn’t know. Time had since abandoned her to the whims of fate, long before the sound of footsteps and the scream of her name.
His voice had long fallen silent. Wretched gasps still wheezed through the gaps in his teeth but no longer screeched to the heavens. The power in his lungs had gone out in favor of intentful watching, waiting.
The mountains were quiet. Whatever noise that could have been made held it;s tongue, weighed down in the calm of the storm.
It had only been a scant few hours. He had been waiting for her, then, for when she would finish another round of surveys and deliver the notes to the professor. She had been ready; her pokemon were healed, potions stocked and pokeballs set to be used. It should have been over.
The Alpha had struck without warning. And left with no heed.
Her bag had been torn open at some point, pieces scattered to the winds. The strike had been second; a final scalding blow to an already wounded body.
Breathe rattled with every wheeze. He sobbed with the rise of her chest, each weaker than the last. Thumping beats slowed in her ears every moment left laying in his hold.
The gentle rain became a downpour, drenching Warden and trainer alike. Ingo refused to move, to let go for even a moment regardless of the biting cold seeping into his tunic.
A cold that was slowly becoming a distant memory
“Don’t leave me……” He pleaded, eyes widening with a fresh onset of tears, “Please…stay with me…I-I can-” Another hitching sob broke his words to pieces, empty shards shattering in her ears.
There was nothing left to do. It was too late.
He’d been too late.
Hands shook with a sharp breath desperate to fill the only lung she had–how she knew of it wasn’t to be concerned with at the moment. Her arm shook with the effort to make it rise from it’s clutch on her charred stomach.
He gasped wetly as he grasped it tight, bringing her frigid fingers to his lips in a desperate kiss, “Please-please just-just hold on. Just a bit longer, I can get Sneasler to-”
“Ingo….” Her throat burned just speaking his name. Charcoal stung the back of her tongue, flecks of flesh coating her teeth.
And his face crumbled.
He sunk into her, whatever that could move was held high and tight. The bridge of his nose dug into her temple as he babbled nonsensical pleads into her ear. Kiss after kiss were pressed into her still pale cheek, desperate to keep her feeling something, anything.
“I’m sorry…” The words cracked in her ears, “I’m sorry…I’m sorry..!” He was crumbling to pieces against her, seams ripping apart the longer he remained.
There was a time when the words had been her own. Her own throat burning with the shards that spit across her tongue up from the cavity in her chest.
“Don’t leave me here alone…..!”
And now they were his.
The storm was getting worse. A gale had begun to build and swept up the remains of her ashened uniform. The grit curled in the air, a charred husk of a fractured dream.
The cold was distant. Rain flecked across her eyes mere fractals of ice in her view.
Skin cracked when his hold tightened ever further, the pain of it a distant memory. She did not flinch and he did not give.
Cries grew ever louder, the Warden’s voice cracking under the weight of it.
For a moment, he fell silent. Quelled by the intensity of his pain he pulled away until he was just shy of her eyes.
Stormy grey, faded into a shell of itself. A cold gunmetal shade that refused to glimmer anymore.
It hurt more than the lack of feeling in her side.
He still held her hand. The pressure of his tight grip was enough to keep her focused on the joints until they curled over his palm. He sobbed wetly.
Rain trickled down his jaw and wet her dry tongue.
“....I’m…sorry..”
He recoiled, facade cracking further as she failed to keep her hand in his. He shouted something that sounded like her name when the little energy keeping her stiff in his hold suddenly went limp.
When her eyes failed, careening into eternal darkness, he screamed so loudly that it burst through the ringing in her ears.
—-------
Dawn woke with a gasp.
She shot up out of the bed. Blankets crumpled up in her lap from the rudeness of it all as a hand grasped at her side. The charred skin that cracked and split and burned like Hell-
Was gone. Soft and pliant met her fingers; the thin tunic the Warden had let her borrow. Heat that was calm and solid and not at all crumbling to bits at the slightest touch.
What happened? She struggled to answer herself, gaze flittering around wildly.
A crackling fire burned in the hearth. The smell of cooking herbs filled the air with a light dusting of soot. Where chitters rumbled on the nearby counter because Gliscor refused to leave it even when he would cook.
The cabin. It was the Warden’s cabin. Everything was in it’s place as she remembered it. Like nothing had ever happened.
She was back. Back where the warmth settled into her bones like a comforting embrace and where the cold couldn’t reach.
But when? A few hours? Days?
How was she to know?
The rush of clambering steps didn’t give her the chance. Her head snapped to the door as it was ripped open.
Silver. Glistening with searing tears and lifeless as a husk.
Her name was out of his mouth before he even entered. A scream of despair shaken with absolute relief.
“DAWN!”
She crumbled with him as he swept her up in a crushing embrace. Gasping wheezes heaved in her lungs, desperate to pull in air that didn’t reach it’s destination. Heavy fog cluttered her thoughts and whenever anything tried to center to the forefront it immediately fell apart with every cry buried against his chest.
Yet she was not deaf to his own wrenching sobs. He continued to hold her only tighter as they slumped off the bed and to the ground. He clutched her so fiercely his jacket creaked under the weight.
Somewhere, Gliscor was chirping wildly after being rudely woken from his nap. Cold winter breaths wafted through the door left ajar. But neither cared. Nothing mattered beyond the comforting weight of the other in their holds.
Yet the truth of what happened hung heavy over their heads. It never waned in it’s oppressive force even after the sudden shift back to a previous destination.
And when the distant howls of thunder cracked the sky, viscous power crowing to the mountains above, Ingo could only hold her trembling form tighter.
#pokemon legends arceus#warden ingo#trainer dawn#tw: death#tw: body horor#I kill people here I'm not sorry#but it ends well at least! I can promise that!#not permanent death! my favorite!#my writing
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Being inside his brother's apartment and preparing dinner is as normal as breathing. It should feel as normal as breathing, he's done this for years, but it doesn't.
The reason he's here isn't like the many times before. His brother confided in him on his new relationship status several weeks ago. His reaction can't be labeled as anything other than angry and slightly volatile. Yeah yeah, he's trying to work on that...
Now he's trying to mend the distance he created, apologize without having to say it's an apology. Though he's prepared in case he'll have to say the words. He's beat down his pride in the last few days for the possibility.
"I can't take this anymore," he announces, breaking the mundane silence. He sets down his knife and stares down his brother.
"So why Kakashi," he voices, "out all of people." Fuck it, he'll just be straight with it.
unprompted – always accepting!
Patience is a virtue – one Itachi does not possess and, quite frankly, has refused to work on for most of his life. The prospect of waiting for things to work themselves out is absurd to him, or even to let blatant disrespect slide? He's done it before, it sat heavily on his stomach, and his tongue bled with the sharp words he had to keep behind the teeth he couldn't bare. He hates it, and the world he grew up in hated it too – that's why they'd teach their children how to hone their skills from a young age. So they could shape the perfect moment to strike with their two hands. Waiting meant getting killed more times than not.
This time, waiting meant the feeling of a dull knife ripping through his heart lasted longer, and the bitter taste in his mouth wouldn't ease no matter how much honey he added to his tea. He couldn't rush his brother, he couldn't rush this – his acceptance of his relationship with Kakashi. In fact, after so many years of watching Sasuke grow into his own person, he learned there was hardly anything he could push the younger Uchiha into doing. So for the last month, Itachi was forced to sit on this and wait. The image of Sasuke storming out of his apartment replayed on a loop in his mind, as did his own voice asking Kakashi to leave right after that.
Now, though, he was at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea in his hands, watching the tiny particles of herbs floating around in a beautiful and hypnotizing dance as he, once again, waited. The question caught him off guard, and dark-brown irises rose in search of Sasuke's face and any confirmation that he hadn't heard him wrong.
“ Why, you ask... ” The realization that he never spared a moment to think about why or how he had feelings for his partner... It hit him like a train. He pondered, trying to think back to the moment he realized he loved Kakashi, but his head was empty, and it felt like thoughts were purposefully escaping his grasp. Itachi continued to look at Sasuke for a while longer. A thick silence hung over their heads before his eyes roamed the room until they stopped at the sink, where he found Kakashi's mug – a smile pulling his lips. “ Would you believe me if I told you it snuck up on us? ” Us – because he was fairly certain Kakashi hadn't planned this either. Them – because he understood Kakashi's struggles with loss and resentment. Because Kakashi wasn't big enough to fill the holes in Itachi's soul, but when they were together, he didn't feel like he was missing anything. And he knew it was the same for Kakashi.
“ Kakashi... He sees me for what I am. No matter how hard I try to bury my ugliest parts, to paint them with a pretty color, he recognizes brokenness, and he's not put off by it. He accepts it, but furthermore, he helps me embrace my flaws wholeheartedly as well. ” He knew this could be a difficult concept for Sasuke to understand. Itachi had been his role model for most of their lives, after all, but it wasn't blind bias anymore, he hoped. “ We are very similar people, Sasuke, and yet... We couldn't be more different. Every day I learn something new about him, and while discovering who that man is, I also learn more and more about myself. Things I never thought I could be or feel. ”
With a sigh and a faint feeling of warmth spreading across his face, Itachi looks at Sasuke again. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Sasuke – nothing. “ If this is going to be a problem between us, Sasuke... I will stop seeing him. I will. You are my brother, and you are my most precious thing. I don't need any of that at the expanse of having you in my life. All I ask is that you consider it carefully. ”
@tempestflames
#[ answered ] – itachi.#[ act iii ⋅ whatever the price٬ you pay ] – itachi.#tempestflames#kakaita#oh well#i really tried to write something shorter so we could continue this#but damn when i came to my senses i was already in the fourth paragraph#🤡🤡#anyways thanks for indulging me jana....#[ long post ]
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The Flight of the Western Crane: Chapter Five
(A reupload/repost of my fic/dark retellingof Journey tot he West because the whole AO3 site, where I originally posted this, got taken down for now)
(General info about this fic/wip/retelling is here)
****
“Argh! Watch out! Do you want me to execute you? Should I count this as a treason?!“ the gang leader roared furiously at the healer. He was lying on a large plush bed. The lanky body seemingly floated on silk covers, brocade blankets and satin pillows. Dying light of candles casted shadows of tigers, lions and peacocks which were embroidered into a round red veil surrounding the bed with a lying patient. On its each side, a tall statue of stag crowned with large antlers reared up. In the centre of the round room was located a decorative limestone and a table with a teapot as green as the wide emerald forest bordering the mountain region.
“I’m sick of your incompetence!“ he kicked his legs and swiftly sat up ignoring the gut wrenching cramp and stabbing pain on the right side of his face,“Dong! Give me the mirror.“
“Boss, but your treatment isn’t completed. You should wait for the wet pack and the balm to work.“
“Boss, Dong is right. It’s not good for you to speak either. Stitches may loosen or worse, they’re gonna rupture…“
“Shut up and bring me the darn mirror! I wanna see what that shrew did to me.“ As soon as he was handed the small looking-glass with inserted rubies into a silver handle the reptile froze. Despite a great effort to stitch back what the witch had bitten off, a large hideous hole grimaced in the reflection. Traces of teeth were sinking deep into the jaw and went up the edge until the protruding cheekbone stopped the injury’s further flow. A dark thread was barely able to hold the flesh altogether. It was as clear as a day that it was too late to save the majority of the cheek. Shaking the core of his whole world, the ruler of the Mysterious White Cloud Cave almost threw the treasure away. To soothe his boss, Dong waved over for the fourth viper to bring the prepared tea.
“Instead of being grateful that I, Golden Wind Viper of the Mysterious White Cloud Cave, paid enough attention to her,“ he forcefully snatched the cup,“she does this. I should have spanked her, should have beaten her until she lost her senses. Should have let my venom flow into her veins until her blood boiled. Screw the deal! Should have ripped her apart while munching on her guts before eating that monk, too! I should have fed her the meat of that girl after I took her in front of that demonic, unthankful…“ Golden Viper stopped in the middle of explaining his horrendous plans. His unnervingly yellow eyes shot up the minion’s arm,“What are you looking at, boy? Why are you shaking like a dog in the middle of the winter?“ Like a lightning striking down from the clear sky in the early spring, he grabbed the wrist, nearly spilling another poured cup. Their elongated faces drew near, Golden Viper clearly felt the fumes puffed out by the younger viper demon. “I don’t recall seeing you around. What’s your name?“
“The name’s Da. I’m new, Boss. I joined only about half a week ago.“
“Dong, is it true? Do we have newcomers?“
Dong hesitantly answered,“I don’t know, Boss. But I guess that boys mentioned some new faces in the troop.“
“Yes, me and my younger brother, Boss,“ the young snake added quickly with determination. “We’ve heard there's a strong leader in the mountains. So we decided to follow you.“
The leader withdrew, still flickering with his forked tongue,“Your reason?“
His subordinate replied with a foxy smile. His brown eyes seemed to burn in the candlelight. “Everyone knows infamy pays better than begging in the streets.“
During the unsettling exchange even dropping water from dripstone seemed to have the force of monsoon. Slit pupils slashed their opponent. Cold scales made the weak stream of air whistle as it brushed against the thin arms.
One drop.
Nothing. Who knows what devoured the demons first - the unspoken yet strongly present hostility. Or a rat masquerading itself in the nest of its own predator. If so, the sly creature doesn’t dare to move any time soon.
Two drops.
Golden Wind unleashed the dagger. Curved grey whizzed through. Tongues stayed locked behind teeth as sharp as a needle. Only lungs sucked in the cold humidity of the musty chamber.
Third drop.
The tip of the weapon faces the young viper’s larynx. All it takes is a single slip and the blade leaves a lethal signature on the soldier.
Finally, it happened. The tight collar ruptured and the owner was allowed to breathe freely.
“Nice answer. You’re one of the smarter sorts,“ Golden Wind patted the younger demon’s cheek,“but next time wear something more comfortable. We ain’t no filthy Heavenly officials ‘round here.“ He maliciously chuckled, let go of the arm and slid the blade back into the shabby sheath. “Boys, go and bring that witch. We have an interrogation ahead of us. Or rather, a small revenge…“
“Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea,“ Da declared.
Instead of eyebrows, Golden Wind furrowed chapped skin on his forehead. “Why do you reckon so, boy?“
“Think. Isn’t our skin one of the toughest to penetrate? Only rhinos and elephants surpass us. Apparently, she had no problem biting off a good portion of your cheek, Boss. This witch must be a strong breed. Maybe she’s got a deal with another demon or, worse, a deity. Personally, I wouldn’t kick a barking dog in the street just to see whether it has rabies or not. Pretty risky.“
“What do you propose, then?“
“Let me investigate first. I ask her a question or two. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have the witch on our side-“
“My goodness! You’re right! Boys, get her into a different cell. The monk and the girl don’t need to know,“ Golden Wind Viper bursted into laughter. The rest of his subordinates mimicked their leader.
Before Da could open his mouth again, Golden Wind’s fiends had already taken the command. Heavy boots boomed in the long hallway even before the not so numerous but well armed group walked out. Candles and torches flickered once again. The wax nearly ate the only light source in the room, thus letting the closing door be lost to the gloom that also conquered the rushing Da. In spite of his quickening pulse he didn’t face the joyful Golden Wind. During the next quick moments, Da was promoted from a simple pawn to the main investigator. A task so simple for anyone else but for the youngster. Such an uplifting event only few could say no to.
Enlarging lump in his throat slid down whilst scratching as a rat in the sewers. Empty eyes of stags pierced the stone heart as if Golden Wind Viper commanded once more. The prideful demon didn’t shake. Resolved, he inhaled deeply and let himself be guided further into the black mouth of the sleeping rocky giant.
****
The space was confined giving off a significantly more hostile impression. Unlike the previous cell, even the makeshift bed of hay was missing. Only a nearby flat stone offered a feeble illusion of comfort. Having no better choice Márgerdra sat down, wrinkling her nose. After all her yelling and vain attempts to fight off her opponents her voice became sore and raspy beyond recognition. At the very least, the blonde slashed several vipers with her long nails. Memory of a bulky demon crying in pain while holding onto the empty eye socket brought a faint smile to her face. Desperate faces of the monk and the princess swiftly made it freeze. Well, now she has a bigger chance to escape, if nothing else. Having nobody to make a sound she may work herself out from behind the bars. An inconspicuous survey for a way out before reaching two poor souls again. Then…then they’re going to be free. Wind brushes their clothes as they run down the crooked path. Vultures, still feeding on the corpse of a black-and-white bird with a red top of head, watch three escapees. Their footsteps echo against the tall orange peaks bathing in the setting sun…
Out of the blue, she snapped her head. A familiar ringing reached her pricked up ears. Distant torchlight flickered. The wind carried a smell so stinking it made the blonde almost vomit. Turning in every direction she scanned the whole room. Coldness of the wall was all she could find. “Time to pull out new tricks,“ she thought to herself and nimbly climbed up. Seconds became minutes and those hours to the northern foreigner.
“...should be careful…the tall woman…biting off a cheek…“
“...her to trust me…“
Breathless voices creeped down the corridor. Now, only one pair of leather boots stepped out and continued toward her cell.
Every muscle stiffened. No more air tickled her upturned nose. Her back slightly arched, her pupils dilated. The witch’s lips curled while she pulled back corners of her lips. The person was near. She could smell him even before he opened the door, that’s how much his tunic reeked from sweat. How strange for a snake…
The barred door opened. A shadow of a viper in a baggy shirt formed across the sill. Just when he shut the door behind and stepped further in, Márgerdra jumped. Landing down, her hand swished through the air. Her opponent didn’t waste a second. Lean figure swiftly ducked down, agilely stepped back and rushed forward, tackling down the prisoner. The woman headbutted him immediately. Dull pain enveloped his scaly head. Márgerdra used the moment to her advantage and switched their positions. Dominating the groaning guard, she raised her right high above her head where two blue shards shone like those of a wild, untamed beast. Mightily, the fist landed. The man covered his left eye and grunted,“I thought you’d go for revenge…just not this hard…blondie…“
“Who on earth? Wait,“ she gently touched his sharp jaw and directed his face to hers. The healthy eye carried a warm brown tone. “Wukong?!“ Márgerdra exclaimed in between heavy puffs.
“Yeah…Wukong.“ The soldier’s form shivered slightly. In front of the witch’s eyes, greyish scales began to vanish and thick brown fur replaced them soon. Metallic headband glisten in the light of a dropped torch. “Glad to see you alive and well,“ he cautiously sat up and supported himself on the right forearm, at the same time,“maybe too alive.“
“Glad to see you being chatty and cheeky,“ the blonde repaid him with an amused smirk.
Wukong eyed her momentarily, the daredevil in his gaze vanished. Apart from her forehead and neck sweat droplets glistened under her torn open vest, as well. Only the linen wrapped tightly around her chest while the blue silk barely hung by the edge of her torso. As soon as he opened his mouth to say something she averted her face completely.
He pursed his lips into a thin line. Changing his mind once the blonde pulled the remains of her garbs, Wukong made her sit beside himself and took off his own baggy vest with a belt. “Take this.“
“No. Don’t think I can’t take care of…“
“Shut up, blondie. Take it.“
Balancing on his knees the monkey lost all the patience and threw the vest on her shoulders. Despite focusing hard on their escape the Sage's attention slipped to numerous bites and bruises coming from her nape. The disgusting stench of Golden Wind Viper beat her perfume. Swishing of a monkey tail accompanied the demon’s tightening jaw.
Noticing his temper was wearing thinner by each second, Márgerdra seized the monkey by the collar and threw him off of her. “Thanks. I can buckle it up on my own, imbecile.“
“Oh, back to name-calling? Missed this even more than your screeching, blondie,“ Wukong replied, an ever present snarky glint sparked in his face.
The Wolf Witch rolled her eyes and huffed. “Fine. What’s our next move?“
“Well, not quite sure. I thought they would lead me to the cell with Shifu. Instead, I took up the trail which led to you. So, naturally it goes without saying…“
She moaned,“Get to the point already!“
“Whoah, keep yourself shut, blondie. Looking back, I reckoned patience was your strong side, not mine,“ he nagged her with his tail. “Right, we should get Bajie and Ol’ Sha. They should be in the southern quarters.“
“What about Mei and your Master? Won’t we be late for their rescue?“
“Not if we stop chatting and get to work.“
Márgerdra nodded. Standing up, she jumped to the door.
“It’s not going to work. I locked the door when I got in. I’ll unlock it-“ The Sage’s sentence was cut in half by the clinking of keys and the squeaking metal.
The woman offered a playful wink and threw the disciple a bunch of rusty keys while waggling long fingers. “No need for that, dear imbecile.“
Amazed Wukong shot an appreciative look at the smug sorceress. “You’re more fun to work with than what I expected,“ he picked up the torch and changed his appearance back to a viper.
Márgerdra’s footsteps followed behind as they walked out of the cell. They went down and up, took several turns and yet they still didn’t reach their destination because the underground labyrinth mimicked the flow of the river with its various meandering. Bare steep walls of the cavern welcomed them everywhere, refusing to reveal any indication of an upcoming corner. In order to avoid the possible danger keen senses had to help the duo at every occasion. From time to time, there was a shadow from a guard in the parallel passage casted by the dying out torch which kept the space somewhat visible. Apparently, it wasn’t enough as two friends managed to pass undetected. Keeping themselves as quiet as possible their feet softly trod.
A thought nagged on the Lady Wolf Witch’s mind. After a while she couldn’t contain herself anymore,“By the way, how did you get in? Surely, you know the transformation trick. But I still can’t put my finger on how you persuaded the demon.“
He didn’t bother with a long answer,“I got my fair share of charms.“
“Fine. Then I assume you pulled out all this horrible, stinky, gut-wrenchingly smelly…“
Wukong eyed her over his shoulder when the taller woman started sniffing the vest she was wearing. “You can go naked if you don’t like being unfashionable. I’ve heard your skin will get shinier if you do so. I see it’d be more useful for you to have less pimples.“
Smack! Her slim palm collided with the monkey’s nape. “Watch your mouth, runt!“
“Argh! What are you doing?! Isn’t my eye enough for you?“
“No. So, are you going to answer?“
Corners of Wukong’s lips hanged down, twisting into a convulsive grimace as his long ears turned into the colour of his vibrant waist sash, flames smouldering right beneath the surface of his ever so hot skin. Certainty that the icy gaze of the ruthless sorceress shall drive him insane one day gnawed his mind inside out. To avert such a grim future the eldest disciple regained some willpower and sighing, the demonic warlord gave in by providing exactly what his persistent friend clamoured for.
****
“Ol’ Sha, are you sure?“
“Absolutely, Brother Bajie. Look! Guards are arriving.“ Wujing whispered as three demons watched the entrance of the cave on the highest mountain peak. Two snakes were changing with their fellow peers at noon. All four of them grunted and swore like sailors for their uniforms were all tattered and didn’t offer much aid in the harsh mountain conditions.
Their eldest brother shook his head, found a small pebble and threw it on the confined plateau. Both snakes looked in their direction however only one went out to investigate.
Bajie slapped his low forehead,“What are you doing? You wanna blow our cover? And you call me an idiot!“
“Brother Wukong, we can’t let ourselves be caught!“
Wukong shushed them. All three of them crouched even more and waited. Crumbling stones and a dusty road accompanied the snake guard with a pointy helmet. The Monkey King motioned for his brothers to crawl over the next rock. As soon as they reached their new cover the guard scratched his head. Yet, the monkey didn’t intend the game to end here. Again, he picked up a rock and threw it. The small shard landed on the helm and caused the viper to disappear from the field of vision. Right then, Wukong jumped to his feet and punched him so hard the blow knocked the guard out. Without replying to his brothers he switched his clothes fast and went to the second viper, repeating the process. Once there was no danger he said,“Bajie, put this on and transform. You’re going to pretend to be a scoundrel and that you’re bringing back Sha Seng. You’ll try to look for Shifu, ladies and a way out, too. If you do just whistle into this,“ he handed Pigsy a strand of his hair,“I’ll get back to you immediately.“
“Let me guess. You, on the other hand, will take care of the gang leader, won’t you, hero?“ Sandy remarked. “What if they get suspicious that the eldest disciple isn’t coming for his Shifu?“
“Simple. Bajie will tell them he saw me on the way up here,“ Wukong blew into another strand of hair thus creating a perfect copy of himself. The copy smirked and positioned itself on the opposite hanging cliff. “If any trouble appears don’t whistle into my hair, just blow it. That guy will know what to do next.“
“Another havoc?“
“It’s my speciality, after all,“ Wukong checked his cover for the last time and looked into the deep cave,“Good luck, brothers. See you soon.“
Two demons patted his back and watched their senior descend into the underground darkness,“Good luck, Brother Wukong,“
****
Márgerdra uttered under her nose,“I see you like to share a brain cell with your juniors.“
The impish demon shrugged her off,“Not quite, blondie. Just doing my job when my Shifu gets kidnapped. The same goes for you and your princess. When we’re done we split ways. End of the discussion.“
“The Great Sage Equal to Heaven turning into a lonely wolf is quite the news for me,“ she held onto his shoulder more tightly to avoid tripping over.
“Well, I can’t exactly deny the strength of my jaw.“ Wukong swiftly turned on his heel. Slowly, he leaned forward and placed a hand over Márgerdra’s head. The purple of his swollen skin gave the monkey man a comical appearance, indeed, however the witch was certain the left eye would shoot equally chilling sparks as the hairy demon’s unharmed side of the face. Such a terrifying image would startle an ordinary person for sure which couldn’t be said about Lady Wolf Witch, of course, who in the meanwhile crossed smooth arms on her stuck out chest. “How did you bite through the snake’s skin? And stop making excuses. I saw the wound. I also saw the claw marks at the inn, too. Come on, spit it out. You don’t need to tell me what exactly you are. Just admit you aren’t human.“
The crimson creeped into Márgerdra’s pale cheeks as the young woman averted her gaze. Her sealed lips, offering but a silence, didn’t stop the perseverance from the disciple’s side. “I gave you a promise I’ll make sure you’ll be fine, Márgerdra. Just come out with the truth for once. Eye to eye.“
“With death?“ she cocked a well-tended eyebrow. “Have you forgotten we played this game? You ran out of your questions that evening. This was one of the unfortunate ones. Thus, I won’t say a thing. Let me go now. “
Still not satisfied with the fruit of his work, Monkey King’s child-like curiosity jumped in, living its own life,“Then say, did they hurt any of you three?“ His index pointed towards the fading bruises.
“I’m surprised you must ask something so primitive. I recognised you as someone level-headed.“
She added after a painfully long silence, “These are thugs. Brutes. Of course, they tried to do horrible things.“ The tall foreigner bounced against the wall and continued in their way down the narrow hall. Her fingers clutched to the side where her whip used to hang. All the advisor found was only empty air. She chewed on her inner cheek. Creeping through the sleeping guards she took into her head to bite off even the second Viper’s cheek.
****
Sha Seng shook his head. Probability of his brothers mutually agreeing on being smart and yet unreasonable at the same time was minimal. Witnessing how the dart actually hit the tiny target wasn’t only a surprise because the whole plan was an insanity itself. Just like the rest of their shenanigans. Either, their cover was going to be blown up or the monk wouldn’t even recognise his own disciples. What was worse, Friar Sand didn’t want to know. Suddenly, Bajie whispered to him from behind,“Alright, Little Brother. Try to look as miserable as you can and act like a real prisoner.“
“Aren’t I one? You’re bringing me back with my hands tied up.“
“You know what I mean. Now duck down. The sooner we get rid of the guards the better.“ Zhu Bajie pulled down the round helmet. In order to hide the face with a snout oddly too similar to the pig one instead of that of a snake, the plump middle brother had no better choice. Every step conditioned for their hearts to create the wildest beats.
Some vipers snoozed, some entertained themselves with gambling and telling jokes. The moment they recognised the blue head with flaming hair the reptiles collectively hissed and rushed out. A long yell and a withdrawn arm stopped them in a second. “Hold and behold, my dear brothers. No need to worry anymore for our safety. I caught and brought back the Sand Monk who goes under the name Sha Wujing. I came to throw him back into his Shifu’s cell. Where may I find it?“
“Quit all that stuff or you’re gonna give me a headache. You soundin’ like that dumb monk. All formalities but fancy words but no sense.“ Later, the guard murmured loud enough for Bajie to overhear,“Better break his fingers next time so he shuts up.“
“Is that all?“ Pigsy didn’t let those words discourage him,“Can I now lock up this runaway?“
“You serious? No way. You know what Boss said. Punish the prisoners as hard as you can if they’re given’ ya troubles. The same goes for the tall weirdo and her crying puppy.“
“Tall weirdo? Lady Wolf Witch? Crying puppy? Princess Mei? This guy’s got some nerves,“ Bajie hoped his silent thoughts didn’t invoke the gathering anger, fortunately, his sly tongue saved him,“You’re absolutely right! What a pathetic bunch, are they? All we need is just that brave hero who would crush us all only by mere flinching. Yeah, that flea-bitten monkey man, too.“ Seeing vipers took his joke well, the second disciple pursued his goal further just as his mouth watered by the sheer sight of the lunch that had been being brought,“Say, brother, why don’t you tell me more after we eat? Guess, I can lock up this fishman later.“ A low squeal forced out from behind Pigsy’s masked tusks because if it weren’t for the Friar Sand intervening by kicking his shin would’ve been exposed.
Conveniently for the two brothers, one of the less diligent vipers wasn’t happy to listen to his growling stomach anymore and navigated the fake guard with the fish prisoner to the cell. Not merely all the guards went after the plates and bowls full of sour soup and meat, the cell itself was located far enough for Bajie to unlock it without being detected. Still disguised as a reptile demon, he walked in with Wujing in front of him. “Shifu?“ Before he had the chance to duck down, something solid smashed his nape hard. The former general squealed as the hardened skin burnt with bright pink and red, tears immediately forcing their way to the edges of Pigsy’s eyelids.
“Tripitaka, Ol’ Sha, quickly! Follow me!“ the gentle voice called out.
Bajie blurted out, transforming back,“Your Highness, please, wait! It’s me. Zhu Bajie. We came to rescue you.“ He barely managed to stand up so both Shifu and Wujing had to support him from both sides. Although seemingly being such a fragile flower, Mei certainly surprised the pilgrims with her massive blow. If only they knew what she hit him with.
All three men, now facing her, noticed the girl holding not her usual stance. Otherwise coyly folded arms were defensively kept in front of her chest, legs moderately apart and back slightly hunched over like a tiger prepared for a jump. Undoubtedly, lessons taken from the foreign witch came in handy for the princess fed up with being a bait. Untamed beast quickly dissolved and a guilty expression replaced it,“I’m so sorry, Brother Bajie,“ hands shot up to cover the girl’s mouth,“if I had known it were you I wouldn’t have kicked you. I swear! Are you alright? Does it hurt? I truly didn’t mean it!“
“Don’t worry, Your Highness,“ Bajie balanced on his wobbly knees. Never-disappearing sparkles embed themselves into his vision.
“It should be me apologising to you, Your Highness, that my disciples frightened you. I’m sure they truly meant well…“
“Shifu?!“
“What is it, Sandy?“
Sanzang’s almost black eyes widened beyond belief once he looked over the place Ol’ Sha was pointing at. A drunk soldier, who was too lazy to make up his shift and decided for a small walk around instead, stumbled upon the prisoners in the lock-picked cell. Forked tongue flickered, venomous teeth bared as his high-pitched voice let itself be carried across the corridor right to the ears of the other demons. Not wasting a second, the princess kicked the guard’s jaw as hard as she could, took the first weapon she saw and slammed the bar bamboo door behind. “Quickly! Barricade it with something!“
“Like with what?! There’s only stupid rocks, you dumb kid!“ Bajie lost his temper once he heard the incoming bustle.
Sanzang desperately tried to lock the door. The unreasonable monk immediately forgot how much he wished the opposite a few moments ago. The unsteady construction shook under the sweaty palms even more once the young man spoke up in pure terror, “What now? What are we going to do? Where’s Wukong?!“
The name lit Sandy’s eyes, he yelled out,“Middle Bro! That’s it. Whistle into that hair Big Brother gave us.“
“But we need the distraction more. What if he’s busy fighting the leader?“
“And Shifu? I think whistling will do more.“
“No, blowing it is better.“
As the two fellow pilgrims fell into an argument the monk and the princess prepared for the hoard which was mercilessly rushing forward. Veins on their necks and foreheads rose up, pupils dilated,yet they let out a deafening shriek,“Do something already!“
And so Pigsy blew the strand of fur. A monkey screech mixed in with the demonic warrior cries and a fight began. Alas, the havoc was all too close for the defenceless to run away unharmed or undetected.
****
The tall blonde walked into a spacious dining hall. Strangely, not a soul was present there. Broken plates and benches, empty cups, dirty velvet pillows and torn drapery replaced the laughter and untamed dancing of the fiends. Hair on her nape stood up as she distrustfully watched over the area. Her fingers felt itchy again. The lack of leather in between them agitated Márgerdra. Beyond the point of return, she turned around to see her former rival carefully examining the left items. “Where do you think they went?“
Wukong sniffed and his eyes burnt with flames. Looking around to find some clues, he uttered,“I don’t know. But I sure don’t like this.“
“Neither do I,“ the protector picked up a spear somebody had to abandon in the sudden chaos.
“The same goes for me,“ a lanky figure walked out of the shadows, silver of the curved daggers shining in each hand. “Nice to see you, runt. I see you brought round-eyes, too. At least, I’m going to have another partner for the dance in case you can’t keep up with me.“
Dangerous smirk glistened in the dim light alongside the readied cudgel and spear. The triangle where a life shall perish formed in the centre of the cavern. Three warriors, three strangers with a deadly past and not one of them was willing to back down.
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Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added): @vanessaroades-author @rubywrite @aohendo @rbbess110 @jgmartin @outpost51
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List of chapters:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Epilogue
#writeblr#dark retelling#jttw retelling#jttw fiction#jttw fanfic#jttw fic#jttw#journey to the west#jttw au#journey to the west au#writing community#blended with original fiction#original characters#writers of tumblr#jttw sun wukong#jttw monkey king#jttw six eared macaque#jttw sha wujing#jttw tang sanzang#jttw ao lie#jttw zhu bajie#wip: Flight of the Western Crane
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How would the yanderes react if their darling was the one to initiate intimacy/sex for the first time, and how do you think their darling would come to that point? (stockholm syndrome? being touch starved/deprived as punishment? etc.)
thirsty ! BNHA imagines
TIP-JAR
goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, noncon/dubcon, abuse, profanity, anxiety, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control
BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN
-ADDICTION
She was riding for dear life, chasing that light at the end of the tunnel.
Eyes tightly squeezed shut as she hopped up and down, sliding upon Bakugo’s impressive girth, moaning each time his tip poked into her cervix as she clapped down onto his lap again and again and again and again, harder and harder, deeper and deeper, hitting knew spots upon new spots, messaging uncharted territory, rearranging her organs, poking and prodding and fitting so snuggly and perfectly inside her she could all but start crying from the bliss of it all.
She was crying. Hot tears streaming down her cheeks, numb with how warm she was, feverish and febrile and growing madder with pleasure, drunk and drowning in euphoria.
“Fuck.” He stuttered out his gruff moan, barely holding onto her hips anymore.
He'd been inspired and insured that it would be fine to let her move on her own now, knowing he’d made it clear enough she wouldn’t be going anywhere without him being satisfied first, thinking she was showing so much enthusiasm simply to make him come quicker.
He hadn't yet sensed how desperately she was chasing the same release he was, especially since he’d already made sure she came twice before they even started. Once on fingers, once on his tongue. He wasn’t at all thinking she was preparing herself for a third time, especially not on his cock.
Having left her to do all the work for a while now, having been rendered completely blissed-out and awestruck with feeling her eager movements on top of him, he couldn’t really care much for how pathetic a mess he must have looked beneath her.
His eyes scrunched together to hold onto every sharp movement of her hips, lips pursed out and puckered with his grit-teeth, his cock standing proudly, pushing into her again and again at such a fast pace he was barely able to feel his climax coming dangerously close, too numb with pleasure to part it from his release, but as his balls were emptying inside her he shot up into a sitting position in favor of lying down, needing to hold her still so he could pump his load without it spilling, arms reaching around her to keep her pushed down and impaled on him.
She tried humping for more friction even in the tight secured lock, rocking into him, kept snug against his chest, trying so desperately to reach with his cock what was screaming inside her.
He made some indication he was done. His thick arms losing their grip around her torso, head resting on her shoulder as he panted, not yet understanding what hell or heaven he was in for, taken by surprise, by overwhelming panicked surprise.
“No!” She roared out her little whine. Her smaller hands protruding nails digging into his chest to push him back down on the bed, then continuing to ride despite feeling him tense beneath her.
He tried moving again, fearing, panicking because of his overstimulated cock being continuously pleased almost enough for it to be painful. The hunger already quenched being kept fed, drowning the thirst, so much he felt as though something might burst.
Her hands moved to yank his hair, pulling him back to rest on the pillow, her other hand pushing, seizing around his throat, violating his Adam’s apple, forcing him to gasp as he choked both on the action itself but also at the sheer controversy of it all.
Her mouth hovering above his own as he groaned from the pain of having his hairs ripped from his scalp and his vocal cords abused, whereas she only moaned in return, too concerned with feeling every inch of her being on fire to care.
“Oh fuck, please, Katsuki, please, more.”
Something tight tugged in his pelvis at the same time awe blossomed in his chest at the sight of her and those pretty eyes looking at him with tears and that sweet crinkle of plead between her brows.
His name dripping from her tongue like honey as she continued going up and down the length of his oversensitive cock, slipping even easier in now when coated in his cum. Her thighs sticking to his in juices as her head dipped to lay against his chest while she continued slapping, jumping on his cock with an unrelenting, unsatisfied determination.
His cock throbbed inside her, nearly crying, screaming with something playfully akin to aching, a pressure building again even as he thought it impossible.
She was stabbing herself with his cock, squeezing and seizing and fluttering around the blade, driving him mad.
But as soon as he got over the feeling of bursting, could he pull himself back.
Grabbing her waist and hoisting her off him, she nearly sobbed at the loss of contact.
He pouted in mimic, condescendingly. “Is the little slut begging for more?”
He grinned maniacally as he mounted her, surprised to see and feel her desperately trying to get closer as he pushed her down into the sheets beneath him, lining himself up with her sopping greedy cute little cunt.
He only teased for about a moment more before impaling her on his length once again, pushing all the way into her in a mere swift second, dragging a real pornstar-beautiful moan from her, gleeful to see her squeal with pleasure as he began thrusting into her sharply, angled to hit that sweet blissful spot inside her.
“Be a good girl and cum for me again.” He growled and she swore she felt it like thunder in her stomach, like explosions, like lightning striking. “That’s what you want isn’t it?” The frenzy in his voice, once only terrifying, now made her toes curl and her head feel like cotton. “You want me to make you cum? You want to cum on my cock like a good slut? My slut? Come on, cum for me.”
She was being fucked completely silly.
Tongue falling from her mouth along with a string of wet moans and drool and his name. Her eyes swimming with tears as she tried focusing on his and the gut-churning look of feral dominant lust in the heat of them that had her pussy clenching around him, yet was barely able to hold his gaze as she was being fucked into a cross-eyed mess, feeling the pressure build and build and build and getting so close to bursting she was crying with how she was being kept from her climax by some unknown cruelty.
She just needed him to go harder, go faster.
She just needed more, she just needed him, needed him and his glorious cock to help her.
MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU
-APOLOGY
“I hate you!”
It slipped before she was able to stop it, before she could reconsider, before she could save herself.
She watched with terror-wide eyes locked on his, awaiting whatever awful murderous intent he chose fit for her punishment, and was at once trembling.
Knees growing weak, apologies falling broken on her tongue as her fear’s need to cry outweighed her wish for recovery, resulting in simply blubbering on her sobs. Small frail hands reached out in protection, in a timid means of making him give her a second to gather herself as she fell apart with the painful fear that clenched around her heart, making it hard to breath, making it hard to see, hard to stand, hard to think, hard to do anything except for gasp for air, air that seemed to not want to enter her lungs quick enough.
“Hey, hey… breathe.”
She hadn’t even realised she’d collapsed, nor that Izuku had come to catch her fall, rocking her back and forth in his arms, head resting in his palm. Her eyes wide and frantic as she looked up at him for help, helpless in her crippling anxiety, anxiety he was the trigger of and seemingly the only source of comfort as well.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I take it back, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, please, forgive me, forgive me!” She gulped on shuddering breaths, sobbing, hysterical in her scrambling, so completely panicked, so utterly destroyed by her fear of him, knowing how those hands of his could hold the world just as easy as her head and her heart, where despite knowing that through and through she still sought out the comfort in how his fingers stroked through her locks, petting her calm.
Her hands, retrieving more and more mobility, reached up to fold across his back.
“I don’t hate you, I’m sorry, I’m just stupid, forgive me, I’m just ungrateful and spoiled and stupid.”
Tears rolled down her face as she propped herself up in his lap, hands desperate as she intertwined them in his locks, fervently trying to make up for her mistake, trying to prove she was able to correct herself, that she didn’t need another lesson, another one of his mind-shattering bone-crushing lessons.
The fact that he’d forced her into a perverted set of lingerie had fallen to waste, the fact that he’d been lecturing her about how she belonged to him, how she had no right to disobey him, how she was just a dumb little girl in a world too big for her to ever possibly understand, how she was good for nothing but being stress-relief for him. None of that mattered anymore.
What mattered was persuading him into taking enough pity on her to let her indiscretion slide.
She just needed to beg enough, she just needed to grovel and plead and cry enough.
“Sweetie…” He hummed, no anger present in his voice, but then again, there never was. Tone always laced or dripping with honey, giving no hint as to where his mindset was or what he was about to do.
And all it managed to do was make her cry harder, hold onto him tighter, fear climbing higher.
“It’s okay, Sweetie… I know you didn’t mean it.”
His words were all but reassuring, as she was waiting for the other side of the coin to show its face, waiting to hear his but’s and if’s and punishments and corrections, waiting for those hands of his to show her, to prove to her what she already knew yet let herself forget, that she was a small helpless stupid girl and he was nothing short of god.
“But…”
And there it was, her worst fear, her worst nightmare, all sounded in one word.
She couldn’t let him continue, and by god she couldn’t let him finish.
Wet soft bloated lips met, or rather pushed, forced themselves upon his stiff ones, suffocating all reprimanding comments, all and everything he was about to say.
She shuffled into a cradling position on his lap, body and chest glued tightly in his embrace, hands running, tangling, gripping desperately onto the emerald locks at the nape of his neck, lips whimpering upon his ones, as though begging them to kiss back.
That desperation tasted delicious on his tongue. How she sat on his lap like some wounded animal, begging for the kind and nurturing hand of their master to help soothe the pain away.
He wasn’t about to discourage that type of behavior, that form of apology.
She wasn’t ready to take his cock, but then again, she never was with how gifted he was and how cursed she were. His cock being so threateningly huge, just like the rest of him.
But given the rest of him was just as threatening, she could manage, she could survive taking but one of his limbs rather than having all his brutal strength take care of her.
So she buttoned up his pants, trembling fingers working hurriedly, spiked by fear of both what was to come and what would come were she to stop. Her mouth still laying sloppy tearful kisses onto his lips, as he didn’t seem to mind just how much she was sobbing to please him.
She was at once stroking him when he was out, her other hand rushing to save her own life as it messaged her clit, trying to warn her of what was to come, what needed to come.
Still he hadn’t said anything, still let her slave for him. Though that might be for the best in this case.
His large hands placed palms down on the floor, simply supporting him as he leaned on them.
When she broke off the kiss, he was about to correct her, yet she ducked quicker, wrapping her warm and wet lips around his cock and giving th head a swirl with her tongue before pushing down as far as she could, glucking on him so eagerly and desperately, rendering what reprimanding movement was to come of his hand to an encouraging petting of her head instead.
She only sucked for a brief moment, leaving the proudly bobbing spit-slicked pole cold once she parted with only strings of drool connecting them. She shuffling back up to align him with her entrance hurriedly.
Her lip quivered as she looked at him to search his stoic features, her body frozen, left to simply hover and sway above his impatient member, as she tried her best to quickly brace herself for the pain she was about to feel.
But then his patience wavered, and strong hands griped her hips and forced her down to take the cock, impaling her as he sheathed himself fully, earning a high-pitched screaming whimper from her.
She fell to his chest, hands tugging his shirt to steady herself as she winced at the feel of him tearing her apart.
“Silly me…” He chuckled, the sound cold and gut-wrenching. “Rewarding you when I should be punishing you.”
She breathed sporadically, hitched and hiccupping.
“I don’t deserve it, I don’t deserve it-”
Agreeing was the only course of action for her, the only thing she could afford.
“That’s right, you don’t deserve it.”
But the world is far from fair.
TODOROKI SHOTO
-DISTRACTION
He was coming.
He was coming and nothing could stop him, nothing could change his mind, nothing could help and nothing could save her, except maybe the next worst thing.
Bargaining pain with unwanted pleasure, the price being her pride, her dignity, her strength.
It would happen anyway after he was done making pretty artwork of her flesh, after he’d tampered with her limits long enough.
She had the chance to skip to the end. But the price remained her spirit, steep like her fear and heavy like her mind, heart and soul scaled together.
And yet, she made the gamble.
It was either she let him bite, chew and swallow her heart and spirit and soul on repeat or she bit back.
This was her biting back.
This was survival of the fittest.
This was her surviving.
She needed to take her aim now or never, before he did it first. So, she barreled the arrow, struck the bow, leveled her hawkeye and took the shot.
“I love you, Shoto.” She proclaimed.
Arrow flying, hands smooth in receiving his chest before he could tug her towards him. Meeting his hungry approach with a focused desperation of her own, dedicated as she pushed him back so that he was the one sitting and she was the one on top for once.
Hands gentle, without much pressure, drumming up the bruises and scars of his chiseled stomach, one side cold, the other hot.
“Will you let me show you how much I love you?” She questioned.
Time to see if the arrow had hit, lips pressed firmly to his forehead a short second later, before pressing one against his temple, careful to not hurt him where the skin was scarred and sensitive around his eye, then one against his jaw, and neck, and shoulder, and chest, trailing down further and further.
He stirred once she kissed on a particular cut, his hands coming to hold her back as he began sitting up.
Yet she was firm in her resolution, her own hands pushing his shoulders down.
“No, no...” She tutted, tone still soft. Not at all as though she was giving him a demand. Not at all like how he thought a command should sound, what he’d learned his mistakes would grant him from those people he trusted.
Not at all like his father’s voice of tyranny and terror.
“Let me take care of you.” She whispered it, and his heart clenched with memories of how his mother would patch him up after training.
The arrow well planted in his chest now.
“You just lie back...”
She kissed his cheek then, adamant she’d make him cry, make him become soft, help him, to save herself.
“Relax....”
She kissed his lips then and she swore she heard him whimper like a kicked pup, all fragile beneath her, broken and just a boy rather than the cruel man she knew him to be.
And then he was crying. Softly and quietly, but crying nonetheless. Thin streams of saltwater running down the corners of his pretty eyes.
He looked so vulnerable then. Vulnerable like glass, no… like ice melting.
And when the ice had finally melted she could either swim or drown in what ocean was left behind, all depended on how softly she handled him, where one wrong word would make him sharp like bladed icicles again, and the right words would keep him like this. Small, weak, needy, tame. You can only kiss storms when you’re right in the eye of them, where one misstep will send you flying, falling, to your despair, to your death.
She could make no mistakes.
She aligned her naked sex up with his. The steam in the room layered thick with dew on their naked bodies, alongside nervous sweat.
“You and I are the only ones that matter in this entire world, Shoto…”
She sat down, hungrily ripping a groan from his chest at her almost brutal pace, and she moaned as she dipped down to lay herself on his chest, feeling him sink and twitch inside her, fill her up so perfectly, like two things falling into sync, like yin and yang, like balance.
“It’s only you and me between heaven and hell.”
She whispered the words like a chant, like witchcraft, the breath of them tickling his skin as she kissed down his pelvis, still firmly planted on top of him, hand trailing after, running over him smoothly and precisely, careful in their venture, before dropping down from the loft of his hips to entangle her small breakable finger in his destructive hands
“And everything else is just falling snow…”
She rocked her hips, like a smooth wave rolling into shore, thighs cradling his torso snugly, keeping him safe and trapped beneath her as she continued lolling forward on repeat, tentatively feeling after the pressure his hands gave hers, how tightly he squeezed, if it were a form of encouragement or discomfort, their wrists laid on the warmth of her thighs.
“I love you, Snow-Angel.” He cried, voice jagged and so far away from anything she’d ever heard.
And though this was what she’d been aiming for, having it enrol before her was a frightening type of uncharted waters she hadn’t at all any knowledge of how to tackle.
And that fear, the fear of drowning, increased so spectacularly when he sat up.
His fingers slipping from hers, leaving her control and wrapping around her torso instead, tightly, so tightly she feared he’d break her spine.
And then the heat followed, the blistering heat.
And then the cold, the promise of frostbite.
But then… he was still crying...
Crying like a toddler into her shoulder, nuzzling in her neck and all those terrifying and painful promises seemed to mellow, leaving her unscathed yet panicked, as without the pain she had no way of knowing when or where to go, resulting to her simply sitting there, comforting her captor, speared on his cock of her own choosing, with his tears running down her back.
Her heart beating painfully rapid in her chest as she slowly and unsurely raising her freed fingers to wrap into his dual-coloured locks, petting his head and hoping, praying she wasn’t falling prey to any false sense of safety.
DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA
-HABIT
They were doing what they always did.
Simply lounging.
Slugged on the bed, in each-other’s arms. Sickly sweet fumes in the dank room. Air thick like a cloud, dark and grey and matt.
The walls having been erased or rather blurred out into nothing, leaving them there, floating in and about nothing, each-other’s warmth the only constant.
Where in the complete lack of scheduling it had become like schedule, like ritual to simply lay and do nothing, then do something that threw them back into exhaustion which in turn resulted in yet again doing nothing, except maybe sleep.
The day lacked much, and in its lacking there were certain expectations, certain instincts and impulses that had arisen inside her.
She knew something was coming, anticipation, she knew something was supposed to come, and yet they still laid there and did nothing, when they were supposed to be doing… well… something, so that they yet again could go back to doing nothing.
It was safe to say her head had become rather empty at this point.
“Are we forgetting something?” She felt the need to ask, felt the need to hear Dabi tell her, give orders in where she should go and what she should say, something not allowing her to feel the terror of why those necessasties had become second nature or why she found refuge in them.
He mumbled in return, tone dark and scratchy like gravel or coal, evoking something to twist in her lower abdomen and purr with pleasure. “And what would that be?”
Dabi’s hand still fingered a rolled blunt, perfect with his expertise and nimble lanky fingers. Hand dragged to his mouth to take the final blow, smoke puffed out into the small space of the bedroom, layered thickly in the air.
Her eyes puffy and watery and red yet remaining open out of habit. Her lips burned, or rather stung, prickled from the after affects, her mouth dry as though full of ash, and as she breathed she felt the scratchy raw feeling of her throat by how much she’d been coughing earlier.
Dabi was always certain she didn’t take proper drags, therefore resulting in taking the drag for her, locking his lips painfully tight around hers, blowing until her face turned red and he could be sure the smoke reached her lungs. He was never satisfied before her eyes glossed over, blank and stupid, blinking at him so softly, as all off her became softer and softer, both her gaze, her voice, her words, her actions, her thoughts, her resistance.
“I don’t know…” She honestly didn’t, all she felt was that something was missing, that she required something, or that something was required of her, the feeling that she was supposed to be doing something or have something done to her.
Dabi turned his head to look at her, inspecting her features, the cute confusion warping her face into a feeble timid expression, brows softly scrunched together, eyes focusing on nothing yet something as she raked through her empty head, her foggy ditzy subdued head.
A look of near endearment present on his face as he watched on for a second for the sake of amusement.
He cupped her cheek, her eyes quickly skittering to meet his, as though on command, knowing by instinct that was what she was supposed to do.
“Are you waiting for something, doll?”
Her lips quivered, and he could already spot the brimming of bubbling tears that came flooding to the surface. Soon to be spluttering out hopeless mumbles if he didn’t save her from the fall first. He was almost tempted not to, if only to scoop up what was left afterwards, put the pieces back together in whatever order he so wished, but he was feeling benevolent tonight.
His smile was soft as it neared her, deceptively so, kind and well-wishing, as his lips met with hers.
It felt like salvation, it felt like peace, it felt like all was falling into place, the way they should be, and she felt safe, no… she felt saved. From what? She did not know, as she had not the mind to care. All she had the mind for was to kiss back.
She moved more on her own now, with the reminder of his tongue in her mouth, the taste making her feel like she was being welcomed home.
Leg sweeping over his to plant herself in his lap, in her rightful place, feeling the all too familiar poking of his hard cock kept bulged beneath the comfort or discomfort of his briefs and jeans, brushing into and past the thin fabric of her cotton laced panties, soon to be drenched, as on cue, as though she’d been taught that would be best.
Her eyes were wide, wide with falling, with being lost, with wanting him to catch her, to save her, wide with waiting, hanging onto his every movement, as though incapable of doing anything on her own, as though only capable of taking orders. Just as he’d shaped her.
His finger drummed alongside her thighs where she knelt on his cock. His other hand doing the same, meeting where his jeans were kept on, unbuttoning, then zipping down, all so slowly, all to watch her features turn even more lost, into something that looked so adorably like hope.
“Is this what you wanted?”
He pulled his stiff dick out of his boxers, having it spring and stand proudly in the air, curved and pierced with all sorts of fun.
She licked her lips mindlessly, eyeing the pole, wanting, no, needing, no… compelled to pull her underwear aside, revealing what dripping drooling well-trained mess had pooled from her.
Feeling so utterly fulfilled, it feeling so positively right, as though what she’d lost was now returned, was she’d been missing she’d found, and what more, what she’d been missing had been missing her as well, hungrily so, painfully so. It was all she could think of when she eased down onto the towering pole until she was filled up to the brim, only to push down some more to envelope him entirely, feel him stretch and curve inside her.
More after that, she didn’t know what she needed to do, but she was sure she’d know once she got there, she was sure Dabi would be a saint and tell.
SHIGARAKI TOMURA
-BOREDOM
She was losing her mind.
It was a horrendous type of silence. Silence that wasn’t really silence at all as it was cut and sliced and murdered and bled out into the tactless endless mocking clicking of Tomura’s consoler.
Sharp aggressive smacks where he thumbed the joysticks, quick slaps with his long veiny bony fingers slamming with unneeded force into fragile buttons.
She felt the sting in her temple, eyes squeezed so impossibly tight to a close as her ears sung with irritation.
“I’m done.”
She only barely recognised her own voice. Though she knew she mouthed the words and she knew she added timber and tone to sound them, but that whine, that sickly sweet defeat that laced the syllables, as though she were crying, as though she were begging, that wasn’t her, but that was who she’d become.
“You win.”
And she wasn’t at all sure if she cared anymore about her defeat.
“No… I’m about to.” He mumbled, eyes glancing to her briefly, split-secondly, before they swiftly, with lightning speed, stuck back to watch the bright screen a foot in front of him, the clicking made by his ruthless fingers never once stopping.
She wondered how such force was even possible, given he had to lift one digit on each hand in order not to destroy what he held so preciously. How he had the grip, the agility, the mobility and speed and precision was something that spurred through her mind each time she watched him go on, winning more so than losing. She guessed it was practice. Sometimes it would amaze her, somedays she would watch mindlessly as he sped through all levels, all ranks, all challenges, all side quests, win after win, wondering if it even posed any challenge, any stimulation when he seemed to complete them all with such ease and finesse, effortlessly.
Sometimes it would amaze her, but this was not one of those times.
She swore her ears were bleeding, they were screaming and crying and strangling all wishes she had of sleep. The bed was too soft and everything was too soft, too quiet, yet not quiet at all and she was so fucking bored, so fucking drained of everything and anything except irritation and the need for something and anything, something loud, something sharp to wake her up, something terrifying or something anything everything that could make her feel something anything everything.
She needed it, and she needed it desperately, all things aside, fuck who she was, and especially fuck that shitty fucking game he was playing.
“Fuck! Your stupid! Game! Tomura!”
She hadn’t even realized she’d slid off the bed and was standing on her numb feet, game controller snatched from him in one second and smashed to smithereens on the wall in the next.
She looked more shook than him, if he was being honest.
Nonetheless.
“What the fuck?!”
He was mad, no, he was fuming.
And she lived for it.
“I swear, you’re gonna pay-”
He hadn’t even reached her before her lips split into a grin, eyes like lightning awaiting the thunder.
“Gladly, punish me, do something, do anything!”
She wasn’t proud with her playful hinting, but you aren’t supposed to live your life without doing things you regret. And though she was playing spoiled brat for a notorious villain, the most dangerous individual she’d ever met, he also had a cock crafted by monsters that seemed to hit every spot it needed to, finding and creating new ones as it filled her up to the brim and she was salivating just by the thought of being split open on it, especially by seeing what mood she’d conjured from him.
But, even though her pride dripped from between her thighs, she was not too eager to plainly say that she desired his dick balls-deep within her needy cunt.
“What?”
He’d stopped in his tracks, eyeing her. And though some part of him wanted to believe what disgusting depraved thoughts he had regarding why she was seeking his attention, he knew better, rendering her annoyance to simply picking a fight with her captor, quite like a how child throws tantrums at their parents or prisoners riot.
Turns out her playful words did little to sway his thoughts regarding the situation.
“You’ve been playing your dumb videogames all week!” She whined, almost screeching. Eyes angry and lips pouty.
He wanted nothing more but to show her what bad behaviour would give her, but seeing how punishment would be giving her what she had requested, he wasn’t too quick to fold to his desires.
“It feels like I’m dying, make me feel something, anything…”
She was pleading he realized, and stopped in wonder at the revelation.
She was pleading with him, begging for him, for anything of him, anything meaning anything…
Yet… surely not what he wanted it to mean.
“No.” He forced on a nonchalant tone. “You smashed my controller, I’m not rewarding you for that, there are nicer ways of asking…” He drawled and turned casually to get back in his chair, pondering his need to purchase another custom-made console, thinking he had a couple things he wanted to fix anyway.
Was she really going to have to be so literal? Was she really going to have to bend over and beg for him to take her? Was she really going to have to serve him her heart, her spirit, her mind, and soul and body on a silver platter for him to take it?
She thought he was greedy. She thought he was depraved enough to hear what she was asking of him.
No way he was ignoring the invitation, right?
If that were the case, he could at least mock her for her begging, but he barely seemed to even recognise her change in attitude at all. Granted, she couldn’t really see much of his expression beneath that mop of hair.
She wanted to scream, pull her hair out of her head, yet as her knees hit the floor and Tomura sat back down in his chair, she realized she had but one thing to do.
Crawl.
She was silent, shuffling under the table, taking one gluttonous drag through her nose, mouth watering at the reek of male musk, his musk, Tomura’s musk, a smell so undeniably him.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to let him know she was there yet, but decided to be a tease and better prepare him for what she was about to do.
Experienced and confident fingers pressed a woman’s touch to his ankles, running skilled tender touches over the flexing of his calves’ muscles, despite feeling him tense beneath her. Undiscouraged as they went smoothly over his thighs to reach the hem of his boxers, reaching inside them to pull out what she was proud to feel thick and stiff and just as needy as her, warm and pulsating in her tiny palm.
Handling him delicately. First she licked her lips wet and gave the head a pretty popping kiss, before producing her tongue like a pillow for the cap and flicking the pink muscle from side to side under the sensitive skin that was already oozing with precum onto her tastebuds.
She her his breath stifle, but allowed him no rest as she closed her warm wet mouth around him.
He broke instantly.
Now knowing it wasn’t his mind playing tricks.
“Fuck! You win, you win!” He hissed, hand wrapping around her throat to pull her up from her conquering. “If I’d known what a needy little slut you were I'd have given you cock earlier. You should’ve just said so...”
They both giggled ludically as he threw her down on the bed, Thrill already bubbling up a storm on her insides with such lust to be fucked out of her bloody mind she was quaking from head to toe and screaming out her moan when he pushed perfectly into her wetness in one fell swoop.
TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS
-NECESSITY
He heard the padding of her approach. Soft footed and gentle. Not at all like how she would usually stomp around in rage of being trapped.
He didn’t look up at first, thinking she didn’t want anything to do with him, as per usual, yet in his blurry unfocused vision he could spot she’d stopped in front of him, waiting for his acknowledgement, where he sat on the coach, undisturbed and undisturbing until now, scrolling through his phone.
He decided to ignore her, testing to see if she’d speak up and announce her demands, yet was surprised to see she stood there patiently, no words, no screams.
Curiosity getting the better of him he looked up, finding her standing there bare-footed, skin wet, towel wrapped around her, hair dripping, eyes leaking, though not from shower-water, but from brimming with tears.
His instincts kicked in then at the sight of her.
“Are you okay?”
He sprung from the coach, expecting her to push him away once he reached for her, yet was surprised to feel her attach to him, latch around him, welcome his warmth and his offered condolence instead of her usual rejection and snarling.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry, why are you crying?”
He realized then that her body was quaking, seemingly febrile, so much plead knotted between her brows he’d never seen anything like it.
It made him concerned to say the least, eyes searching her body for any possible explanation in the form of bruises, thinking maybe she’d hurt herself, already scolding himself for having left her alone.
“Baby? What's going-”
He didn’t smell it at first, what with the scent being washed off and all at the hands of her shower, but the aroma was soon layered thick in the room, growing alongside her desperation.
A scent so heavenly, so lavish and sweet and ambrosial, already making water pool in his mouth.
Her shaking made sense then, so did the tears, and the desperation and the potent adorable look of despair written all over her pitiful little cute face.
“Oh… I see.”
He was going to take advantage of this.
He was going to ring it for every drop it was worth.
“Does my little angel need me?” His voice shed its concern swiftly, curling into something sweetly sadistic and salacious.
His fingers hung onto her chin, or rather, her chin hung off his fingers.
“If you ask nicely perhaps I’ll-”
“You’re being cruel.” She stated, voice so sweet, so vulnerable, breaking as she sniffled, bottom lip trembling so preciously, as he wasn’t sure the shower-water was instead not indeed sweat. Knees weak, arms heavy, head pounding, stomach hurting, eating her from the inside in desperate need to feed the bottomless hunger that was growing and weeping in her lower abdomen.
Her hand held loosely over her stomach, visibly shaking.
He ignored her statement. “That was a long shower…” It was an insinuating observation, cocky in its nature. “Were you trying to help yourself on the showerhead?”
He quirked a brow at him, a smirk playing in the corner of his mouth.
“Trying to get out of grovelling for me, hm? Despite knowing how my cock is the only thing that can save you.”
He was gleeful, sadistic bliss tickling through his body, sending pleasure through every nerve, because he knew, he knew he was right and he knew what was coming. He knew she would fold, surrender, succumb, and he knew how grateful she’d be afterwards, dripping with his cum, eyes opium-blown, euphoric and fluttering, and looking at him with such wholehearted, such won-over love.
Though, know all that filled her eyes were glistening tears and swirling suffering.
“It hurts…”
His heart clenched at that.
She looked like a toddler, small and weak and helpless and innocent, as though if it weren’t for her predicament she wouldn’t be abusing every ounce of energy in her being to make him miserable.
How ironic, she being the miserable one now, all dependent on him.
“It hurts, please, please help me, help me, Keigo.”
She was aching. Her small needy hands coming to grab at him, to pull him closer as she sobbed, whining so beautifully for him.
“I need you, Keigo.”
He was getting wrapped up in it, hanging onto every perfect needy jerking she did to try and get closer, to try and help herself against him, licking it up as though he was parched
And he was, he truly was, she’d drained him dry, rejecting each and every proclamation of his love. She’d laughed at it, waged war against it, and here she was, finally, embracing it, begging for it.
He realized, he needed this just as much as she did.
He didn’t need anything weightless like a stupid apology, he just needed to hear her say those pretty words.
“I need Hawks.”
Her eyes grew dark, pupils blown wide with lust as her words were laced with such feral carnality.
His hands grabbed ahold of her ample hips, grinding her into himself, where she met his attack by effortlessly maneuvering her legs to wrap around his torso, hands cupping his face as she peered into his eyes, wanting to drown herself in the gold.
“I need you deep inside me, filling me up, wreaking me…”
Her lips hovered above his own as she clutched tightly onto him, begging with every inch of her body, clinging to him as though it were for her very life.
“I need your cum, I need you to fuck me until I can’t walk or talk or think or feel, until I’m numb and all I can see is you, all I can think is you, all I am is you and yours.”
He was left awestruck by the way she looked at him, as though he were the world, or her god, with so much love and so much desperate desire and fear.
A fear he’d come to know all too much chasing her. A fear of rejection, a fear of having her heart broken, a feeling that’s all too much like dying.
“I need your love, please, please love me, Keigo.”
He couldn’t refuse, despite wanting to have used this opportunity as a lesson, he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave her suffering and he most definitely couldn’t leave himself suffering now that his cock was hungry for the attention she was all too eager to give him.
SHINSO HITOSHI
-SUBMITANCE
She knew she should be disgusted, she knew she should be angry, she should be fighting it.
If she were the feral creature quite alike the lioness or tigress or any other wild cat, she should by law be scratching and clawing and snarling. She should revolt, reject, uproar at the feel of a collar around her throat.
But here she was, big wide glossy opium-soaked eyes staring up at her Master and his compelling lilac orbs, feeling her stomach curl at the feel of his big fist tugging her leash as he hovers above her, purring like a little kitten, like the little kitten she was, at the feel of his swollen thick cock filling her up so snuggly, breeding her good, while she drools at the collar put, not just on her throat, but on her mind, panting over the thought of having his commands lick every nerve of her body, making her twist and bend and bow all to his wishes.
Fluffy tail wrapped around his leg, holding onto him in the softest form of embrace as her hands are otherwise occupied with being tied to the bed-post.
She whimpered, aching fingers wanting to touch, to run smooth soft fingertips over his skin, his scars, tangle in his wild lavish purple locks.
She bit her lip and clenched around the member inside her, making him groan as he bottomed-out and pulled back again.
“Could- could Master… untie me?” She needed to ask, voice timid and hopeful, again feeling him slowly inch into her core, messaging her insides, her walls kissing alongside his girth, sucking on him gratefully.
He quirked an eyebrow, as if to ask why, or to tell her why he couldn’t do that.
“I want to touch you…” She pleaded, a confession so sweet and voice anything but brazen or wanton, blinking shamefully, guilty of her lust, even though in the light of what he’d done to her and made her do to him, it sounded like mere child’s play, something she shouldn’t even be allowed to be embarrassed about.
His eyes scanned her, curious, doubting her, yet having felt how her legs wrapped around his torso, and the ever-playful cuddling tail that had slithered between his thighs and latched itself around his ankle, tugging on him like such a clingy little devoted kitty.
His lips curled up into a smile, looking down at his little bashful housebroken pet, thrilled to see her look up at him too, eyes full of awe on both sides, lustful, loving.
He pushed himself fully into her, cockhead kissing her cervix, and she gave a mew, moaning while he bowed down to meet her lips with his.
His hands danced up her arms, drumming alongside her limbs before they met with the knots around her wrists, tugging them loose.
Once she was free she hesitated. Eyes still so wide, as though asking for permission, as though asking for guidance, or… as though she were waiting for him to tell her what to do, and then, as though a question was burning at her lips.
“Master… ask me a question?” She requested, slowly bringing her hands down from their position, placing them around the back of his neck, fingers playing with his soft wild hair.
He needed to take a second or two to really fathom what she’d just said, where his mind seemed to leap once he did.
“Something you don’t want the answer to.”
He swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling a rush of blood pool in his cheeks. His breathe grew heavy and eyes intense.
“Do you know what you’re asking?”
He needed to be sure, he needed to hear her say it, admit to it
His doubts were answered as she blinked, biting her lips, looking away shyly, clearly knowing how wrong it was of her to request him entering and playing with her mind like that.
“Yes…”
He couldn’t help but smile at her timidity, how she blushed under his gaze. But still, he needed her to give him the entirety of her desire.
“Tell me…”
He rested his forehead on her hers, happy with butterflies in his stomach at the feel of her affectionate hands running through his locks.
“What do you want from me, Kitten?”
Her breath shuddered, legs climbing higher up his back, pulling him closer. Their eyes so adamant on looking, drowning in the other. His storm of lilac so dominant and dangerous, making her mouth water and toes curl and head flutter with knowing how she was completely trapped, completely where he wanted her, loving it all the same, finding refuge in the fact, finding safety and belonging and peace.
“I want…”
Her eyes where only wide, wide with hope and searching for if he’d catch her when she now jumped, leaped into his arms.
“I want you. I want your- your teeth in my mind, marking me, making me yours, making me… feel…”
All of her was clinging to him now, her tail so neatly and snuggly slithered around his ankle, as though chaining him to her, her hands as well entangled with the unruly hair at the nape of his neck, her legs wrapped around him so tightly and desperately, pussy clenching around his cock like a vice, and her eyes hanging off of all and everything of what was giving her.
“Making you feel what?” He pushed, giving another thrust where he barely pulled out only to rock into her again.
“Safe.”
That was such an innocent word, such a sweet wish it made his heart hurt with something he couldn’t quite place, whether it was guilt or satisfaction he couldn’t tell.
“Will you do that? For me?”
He could get lost in those eyes of hers forever, those moon-big round eyes, opium-black and blown pupils so wide he thought he was falling through space with how much they reflected the limited light inside their room.
“Do you love me?” He asked then, fearing the answer.
“Yes.”
A word can be so many things, a vow, a promise, an echo, a welcome.
Her eyes went blank then, but not before she gave the softest hum as though to say thank you as she felt his presence seep into her mind. Her limbs losing all types of stress, becoming numb and soft. All her worries blanketed, where all she dreamt of was velvet lilac-tinted oceans, getting drunk on grapes and the smell of lavender and all things purple like those great godlike eyes staring down at her, the ones keeping her spellbound and tethered in a deadlock, the ones she belonged to.
CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL
-COMFORT
The slamming shut of the apartment door, followed by the digital clicking of the lock being closed is how she knew he was home.
He hadn’t said anything.
Where usually he would at least greet her as she quickly sprung across the marble floors to welcome him home, take his jacket, kiss his cheek, all so perfectly like he’d taught her.
He hadn’t said anything.
No ‘I missed you’ or ‘thank you, princess’.
He hadn’t said anything at all.
But most things with Kai weren’t verbal anyway.
She’d learned to pick up cues, analyze a raised brow, or a slight shift in posture, or the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes.
He hadn’t said anything, but the scowl that accompanied his aura spoke volumes to the girl. Finding his state of mind, concerned with what she found, as it was not his usual nonchalance nor his occasional contempt, but bitter.
He groaned then, once she’d helped him out of his jacket, green and tacky, purple faux fluff, something so out-of-place on Kai, yet also serving as one of his key recognizable traits.
He kicked off his shoes, also something so very out of character it brought her concern, followed by him shuffling, feet dragging on the floors in complete opposition to how he would usually walk, with his head held high, regarding the floor as though it should be grateful to be gifted by him walking on it.
Now though, he slumped, still without a word, up the stairs, sauntering without haste, without enthusiasm, all in goal of reaching the bed, which he laid out flat on once he got to it.
“Are you okay?” She asked timidly, having followed him and standing unsurely on the threshold of the door, not knowing whether she was welcome or not.
He simply pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing, giving her the answer she’d guessed already.
“Can I do anything to help?” Again, she kept her voice soft and tender, hopeful; cheerful in hopes of cheering him up.
“I doubt it.” His answer was curt and bitter as he sat up on the bed, tugging loose his tie with an exhausted growl of irritation.
She padded around the bed then, not exactly having been given an invitation to stay, but not exactly having been given any indication to leave either.
Careful as she climbed up behind him, like a cat easing in on its prey, gracious and soft and focused on not alarming or disturbing the goal.
“Surely there must be something I can do?”
His ears picked up on the play in her voice, the thin hairs at the back of his neck rising, yet his curiosity was stifled as her hands, once so small and insignificant, became the hands of God.
Fingers kneading into his back, thorough and forceful yet welcomed by him through a breathy guttural groan, closing his eyes with much needed rest as he let himself fall completely to the feeling of her messaging all his tense stress right out of his shoulders, seemingly sucking all the bad out of him.
He gave yet another throaty groan as her fingers rubbed and dug into his back, her hand stopping his head from slugging forward, cupping him tenderly and guided him to rest against the softness of her chest instead.
“Do you feel better now?”
She spoke like how a mother should, sweet like summer breeze, just above a whisper, eager to please, affectionate, without ill-will, without anything to gain, selfless and beautiful, and something he was in desperate need of.
He moaned, a long dragged out breathy moan, one filled with such potent gratitude it made her smile.
“Getting there...”
She hummed, her hands like absolution handling his back like dough, thumbs rubbing the stiffness into tender soft flesh once again, working through the knots, before climbing, mounting his shoulders and ensnaring his neck, gentle fingers running smoothly to unbutton his shirt, her face nuzzling in his neck as it was exposed to her, soft plump lips kissing the sensitive skin found there, knowing exactly where to focus, hearing him moan in relief as she zeroed in on his soft-spot.
Her hands running, dancing down his chest, unbuttoning the last of his buttons, helping him slide out of it.
Quick to take her bra off, still while kissing his neck, before pushing her warm soft mounds into his back, hugging herself against him.
“How about now?” Her voice like honey as her words tickled on his neck.
“Almost…”
She slithered around to seat herself in his lap, hands cupping his cheeks as she leaned in to kiss him, naked chest rubbing up against naked chest, warm and soft, homey and safe.
Her hand drummed playfully down his stomach, reaching his pants, moving skillfully on its own to undo the belt-buckle, then the button, then pulling down the zipper.
He shuffled them down his thighs on his own, still keeping his chin lifted to receive her kisses. His clothed erection bumping up into the thin protection of her panties.
Her hand, still so smoothly, reached under the band of his boxers to pull him out. Though his rough way of ripping her lacy underwear off managed to break through her calm demeanor as she yelped a bit and flinched.
However the surprise was quickly followed by giggles as she continued to kiss him, feeling his smirk against her lips and soon his hand cupping her ass before running hungry pressured fingertips around her thigh to play with her slit, thumb roughly pushing into her clit as other reckless digits ran though her folds to test the waters, quite parallel to how carefully she handled his cock with her own elegant hand, rubbing him up and down ever so gently, with the tenderness he carved.
He hissed once her thumb rubbed over his sensitive head, biting into her lip, and though his beastly impulses used to alarm her, now she could only think of them as an invitation.
Holding his cock up to her entrance, giving him time to remove his fingers from her now soaking folds.
She sunk down on him slowly, moaning softly against his lips as he groaned upon hers.
“Better now?” She asked, without giving way to the cockiness her question carried, but he deciphered it with ease nonetheless, giving her ass a playful squeeze before guiding her to lay down on her back, nibbling on her neck as he chuckled at how she disguised her devilish naughty humour as being innocent, wanting to make her choke on that haughtiness as he gave a quick sharp thrust up into her.
Her moan rung throughout the massive penthouse where no doors were kept closed, as he licked the sin right off her expression with one needy hungry kiss and a promise as well as a threat.
“I will be once I hear you scream my name, princess.”
TIP-JAR
#yandere#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere mha#yandere my hero academia#yandere bnha#yandere bakugo#yandere bakugou#yandere bakugo katsuki#yandere kai#yandere kai chisaki#yandere chisaki#yandere katsuki#yandere katsuki bakugou#yandere dabi#yandere touya#yandere todoroki#yandere tomura#yandere midoriya#yandere izuku#yandere keigo#yandere hawks#yandere headcanons#yandere hitoshi#yandere hitoshi shinso#yandere shinsou#yandere shoto#yandere shigaraki#yandere shinso hitoshi#yandere shouto
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The Happy Years
- The one where Y/n is unhappy in her engagement and finds an escape with her former lover
Part 1
Masterlist
(A/N) IM SO EARLY IM SORRY I KNOW I SAID 9PM BUT IM DONE SO MUCH SOONER THAN EXPECTED OKAY IM SORRY LOVE YALL <3333
-
Three years later.
The heaviest of thunderstorms hit the city of London by early morning, the loss of the sun and the gloom of the day leaving Harry bedridden for the first time in weeks.
He always tried his best to avoid days like this — trapped within his home, caged in memories that make every step he takes heavier than the last, wishing for just the smallest taste of salvation — because it’s when he’s left alone between these walls that the darkest parts of him come out, ravaging, feeding off of what’s left of him.
Rain reminds him of the day Y/n left. Thunder reminds him of Malibu. Malibu reminds him of all the things he ever used to do with her — on the bed, on the couch, in the hallways.
There’s no escape from what he’s done.
But when the time hits two in the afternoon and Harry still hasn’t gotten up from under his blankets, he decides that doing even the bare minimum with his day would be some sort of accomplishment.
He decided to get the mail.
And what a terrible decision that was, Harry thinks, as he sees an envelope addressed to him in unfamiliar handwriting by an unfamiliar name. Something about it upsets his stomach and throws him off key, knowing in his heart that he shouldn’t open it, but it’s heavy in his hands and he can’t ignore the temptation of it all.
Another terrible decision he’s made.
Please join us for the wedding of Alfie Lexington & Y/n Y/l/n.
Saturday, September 25, 2021 at 3:00 PM.
Dartmouth House. Mayfair, London.
The downpour feels like a drizzle compared to the cries Harry lets out as he reads the wedding invitation, his worst nightmare playing out right before his very eyes and if he wasn’t already so fucked up, he’d try his best to ignore it.
Y/n played her move. She wants him to strike back. She wants to win and watch him lose more than he already has. That’s all she has left of him.
His lips tremble as he sniffles, the invitation shaking between his palms as he lets reality sink in.
Y/n is getting married.
Y/n is happy.
Y/n is going to spend the rest of her life with somebody other than him — somebody that was once his friend.
It's unfathomable to him. The connection him and Y/n shared was unlike any other. They were drawn to each other instantaneously, their feelings of infatuation never once dying down because it was simply incapable of doing so.
They put each other first. They made each other better people, helped each other grow through all the droughts and winter days, and continuously found ways to become closer to one another. They were so comfortable and confident in their company, and so every day they spent together within those four years had never been anything less than pure happiness.
They were meant to be. He didn’t see it then, but he sees it now, and now that’s all he sees because everything he sees is her.
To know that it’s no longer the same for her kills him from the inside out, because now she really doesn’t belong to him.
He lets out a sound that can only resemble what would be a whine and a groan made together, sobbing as he flips the invitation around, only to find another saved date he just doesn’t have the heart to see — an engagement party for all the invited to join.
He’s so overwhelmed with devastation that his brain becomes fogged, his body disassociating from itself as he rips the invitation apart, growling and screaming and wailing as he just keeps ripping it and ripping it and ripping it.
He’s destroying it in the same way it destroyed him until he gives up, slamming his fists down upon the counter, losing control of himself beneath all his pain and regrets. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to happen. This isn’t what was supposed to come from this life.
He’s barely surviving as it is.
And he just needs to see her again.
But he doesn’t know how he’d react once he does. Whether he’d want to kiss her, to hate her, to love her all over again, he doesn’t know. His entire world is collapsing and he doesn’t know how to save it from falling apart. He can’t take any more risks when it comes to her.
But what is love without fear and danger? What would it say about him if he were to walk away from this now instead of trying just once more with her?
So with a heavy heart and a sobbing chest, he doesn’t take his chances.
And Y/n simply just couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.
Harry is standing at her doorstep, soaked head to toe, shaking in his bones. His lips are a light shade of blue and his eyes an alarming shade of red, somehow wetter than the rest of him. And as the thunder rumbles beneath her feet and nearly sends her to her knees, it goes to show her that he really is here, standing at her doorstep, and it’s not just a dream.
And she must have been struck by the shock of his presence because her tongue is suddenly tied, her throat dry, her lips fallen open yet forgetting how to breathe.
She just looks at him, soaking him all in, trying to understand what exactly led him back to the biggest mistake of his life.
“Harry?”
“So that was your way of getting back at me?! After three fucking years?!”
Her mouth falls open in disbelief, her eyebrows furrowing in defense. How he could possibly accuse her of something she didn’t even do — considering she hadn’t made any attempts to reach out to him since the moment she left Malibu — makes her feel even more betrayed than before.
He should know her better than this. He should know her from the inside out at this point, but she supposed three years really is a long time, because she’s never seen this side of Harry before. He seems so different to her now.
“Don’t you dare come to my home and try to make an ass out of me! Since when have I ever been the kind of person to get back at somebody?!”
Harry stutters for a moment, his anger and jealousy and hurt blinding him from the truth that Y/n never goes out of her way to get even. Her heart is too big, but he can’t shake this feeling that the person who sent him the invitation was out to do him harm.
And nobody had more of a reason to hurt him than Y/n.
“So the wedding invitation, then? You had nothing to do with that?”
He speaks it condescending, as if he didn’t believe a word she said, but that’s not what it comes down to. It comes down to the fact that she has moved on and found herself somebody so much better than him, and he has no one.
She shakes her head as if to gather her thoughts, confused about how he even found out about the wedding considering Harry quit the firm just hours after he left Malibu, leaving him with no contact to anybody that had any string tied back to her.
“Of course I had something to do with the wedding invitations! I’m the one getting married!”
She pauses then, her cold demeanor dropping into something Harry wants to say resembles a hint of relief, but it’s much more cross than that, much more serious, and he doesn’t expect what’s coming next.
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Me getting married?” She speaks it through a small, bitter laugh. “I should have known the only way you’d fight for me was by being with somebody else. You never could stand being second to me, as ironic as that is.”
“I could give two shits about you getting married.” He lies through clenched teeth, his stomach sick at the mere thought of it. “But I do have an issue with you inviting me to your wedding after walking out on me.”
Her head snaps back up to him.
“Wait, Harry, what are you talking about?” She frowns, trying to make sense of it. “I didn’t invite you to the wedding.”
Why would she?
They are no longer friends, no longer much of anything, so for her to take time out of her day to sabotage anything but herself wouldn’t feel right to her. Besides, it was her decision to never speak to Harry again, she wouldn’t ever take her word back.
Harry frowns then, too, because she isn’t faking her emotions. She’d always been terrible at doing so, and the way her eyes scream and beg for answers can’t go ignored. He, again, feels like the absolute worst person in the world.
“Then who did?” He whispers.
There’s only one possible answer.
-
Seven months ago.
Alfie insisted that he and Y/n had a New Year’s Eve party. They’d never had one before, as Y/n much preferred staying in with a bottle of champagne and celebrating with a lobster dinner and late night reruns of The Honeymooners.
But Alfie was persistent. Very persistent. Too persistent. So persistent she had no choice but to give in, and she just didn’t understand why.
She didn’t understand it as days passed and all Alfie talked about was the stupid party. She didn’t understand it when he rented out one of the most expensive venues. She didn’t understand it when he laid awake the entire night before, too anxious to fall asleep. She didn’t understand it when he asked her to wear his favorite dress.
She wished that she did the moment it happened.
The clock was ticking.
“Five!”
Alfie reached for Y/n’s hand.
“Four!”
Y/n noticed something shift in the air.
“Three!”
Alfie reached his other hand into his pocket.
“Two!”
Y/n knew what was coming.
“One!”
Alfie dropped to one knee.
“Happy new year!”
It was every girl’s dream — the fireworks, the balcony, the view, the prince charming that would whisk her away to spend the rest of eternity together — yet it couldn’t have felt any more like a nightmare.
It wasn’t what she wanted. Not then, not ever before, not once during the span of their relationship, and time seemed to have stopped moving forward.
There she was, in the center of the universe as everybody stopped and stared, gasping and gushing at the sight of a man on his knees for a woman. An act of vulnerability, of love, of submission, yet it didn’t feel like any of those things.
It all felt so wrong.
She began to cry.
To everyone else, it seemed as though she was crying from happiness. Her devoted boyfriend of two years finally asked for her hand in marriage, to be the mother of his children, to spend the rest of their lives tied together by a vow, unable to be broken. So it was no surprise when everybody let out an awe of endearment, nobody (not even Alfie) knowing her well enough to distinguish the difference between her happiest and saddest cries.
Harry would have known.
And that was all it seemed to come back to in that very moment in time.
Harry.
What she would have given to feel his hands on her waist, blocking her body from view with his, taking her away from all the unwanted eyes on her fragile body. He would have done it in a heartbeat because he always did — he always found a way to help her escape her horrifying realities, even the sweetest of ones.
What she would have given for it to be him kneeling in front of her… this all would have been so different.
Her lover of two years was promising her a future, yet all she could think about was somebody stuck in her past, yet so heavily prevalent in her present.
But she couldn’t say no. How could she when everybody expected the answer he was looking for, ready to toast to the bride and groom? How could she when phones captured the beginning of the rest of their lives, ready to share for all to see?
But she couldn’t say yes, either.
She settled for a nod of her head.
The crowd cheered, some clapping, others clinking their glasses, lovers kissing. She only caught a glimpse of those celebratory moments before everything around her drowned in her tears, voices of congratulations so distant beneath her heavy, hyperventilated breaths.
Alfie embraced her, then, and she felt his laughs of euphoria rumbling in his chest as hers met his, and she couldn’t even pretend.
She rested her chin on his shoulder, her expression void of everything that she should have been feeling. And her eyes went blank as they caught a reflection of her through the balcony windows — the last time she ever saw herself for what she truly was.
-
That same day.
Y/n was a mess waiting for Alfie to get home.
Seeing Harry again filled her with so many different emotions, she didn’t know which one to start with. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to destroy everything and everybody that dared get in her way, she wanted to disappear. Yet she had done none of it. All she could manage to do was pace around her bedroom, biting at her nails and getting lost in her scrambled thoughts, her mind and body moving at a million miles an hour, unable to be tamed.
This is precisely the reason Y/n never wanted to see him again.
He does things to her, he always has. She hardly has any control over herself whenever it comes to him and she fucking hates it. No matter how sad, how mad, how hurt or how upset, there was something about his presence that made her see past all of that. It saddens her how much she used to love it.
But her moods swing at her relentlessly, the sadness turning to anger because yes, she is angry. She’s angry that he still has this much of a hold on her, especially after everything he’s done, and she’s even more angry that he hasn’t yet apologized for it.
Because it was all getting better. The constant wondering about what he’s doing or who he’s with and the continuous string of thought always leading back to him was all finally falling into its place. She was finally finding her place.
And then her fiancè did this.
When she hears the bedroom door open, she hardly gives Alfie any time before she starts a fight, wishing nothing more than to take it all out on him.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Y/n fumes, everything tainted red with anger as she looks into his eyes and feels nothing but hurt and betrayal. “Inviting Harry to our wedding behind my back?! Do you not remember what he did to me?! Do you not realize what you just did?!”
He frowns, not sarcastic or menacing, but he genuinely seems upset that she’d ever even ask him such a question.
“Y/n…” Alfie sighs, and she suddenly hates the way he’s always managed to remain calm in the most heated of arguments. She wants to start a war with it, to go for the kill, to make him crawl and beg and bleed for her forgiveness. “Of course I remember what he did to you, which is exactly why I did it.”
Her hands turn to fists.
“Are you kidding me?!”
“I wanted to hurt him for hurting you! God damn it, Y/n… after finding out what he did to you all I could think about was ripping him to pieces and that urge never left me, especially after we got together.”
He slumps himself down at the foot of the bed, loosening the tie around his neck, almost too aggressively. And if she wasn’t so out of her mind enraged, she would try her hardest to understand his side.
But there is no excuse for this. There’s no excuse for any of it.
“So now you use our marriage as a way to get back at him?!”
Y/n may not love Alfie the right way, but she had never stooped so low to treat her marriage like a weapon, ready to strike at any moment in time. It wasn’t something she used to inflict pain onto anybody else but herself, no matter how hard it had gotten.
And though she once believed their engagement meant more to him than it ever meant to her, she can’t help but feel as if that’s just another lie she’d been forced to live with.
He went behind her back deliberately to hurt somebody even she never intended on hurting. He knew what was to come of this and yet here he is, letting it all happen for satisfaction’s sake.
It feels like all she will ever be is used.
“Is that what this is to you?! A point on your scoreboard?! A big ‘fuck you, i won!’?”
“Isn’t that what this is for you?”
“Don’t you dare turn this into my problem.” She spits through clenched teeth, punching at the dresser beside her with the side of her fist, face burning with fury. “I’m not the one sending him our wedding invitations!”
“And I’m not the one staying up past midnight scrolling through pictures of him on my phone!”
Her mouth shuts then, her hard and pressed features softening at the unexpected turn of the conversation.
She had been looking at pictures of Harry almost every night since Malibu, she just never expected to get caught. She could physically feel Alfie fall asleep against her, so she always waited thirty minutes before she took her phone out, looking back at everything that once was.
It was the only thing she ever truly wanted.
It’s what she kept going back to — a habit that came as naturally as telling her best friend about her day, about her perspectives on the world, about the lack of guidance in her life — like a phone call at the end of the day as a way to unwind.
She had make believe conversations with him as she scrolled endlessly through her favorite photo album, the thickness of his accent engrained in her mind as she thought of everything he’d say to her if he were still around. And if that wasn’t enough, she’d live vicariously through the memories they made together and replay those moments all night, until they lulled her to sleep.
“I told you from day one that —”
“That you’re never going to let him go, I know. I know that he was the love of your life at one point but this is just pathetic now, Y/n. Absolutely nothing short of pathetic.” She frowns, his choice of words making her heart sink because he knows exactly how to do it. And he sighs, rubbing his hands up and down his face as if he were in agony. “I didn’t know this was the kind of shit I was signing up for.”
Her eyes brim with tears but don’t offer anything more, only upset that he couldn’t find a way to understand her when she’s trying so hard. But he never has and he never will — not in the way she needs him to and not in the way that could ever make this work.
“I’m not sorry for what I did.” She confesses sadly, her bottom lip between her teeth and fingers picking the skin around her nails as she tries, yet again, to make him see. “He was my best friend before he was anything else to me. There was a time in my life where he was all I had.”
And though her heart is still with Harry in every aspect of every way, it’s true. He was her best friend and that’s what she misses the most. There was so much to him that meant so much to her and none of it could ever be replaced, not even by Alfie.
“You know I love you but you also know I'm not the same woman you fell for in Malibu. I’m my worst self when I don't have him around and your favorite parts of me don’t exist without him. Don’t pretend like you don’t see that.”
His hands twitch against his lap, his shoulders slumping because it’s true. The most lively and brightest parts of herself had died the first step she’d taken away from him that night. Sure, she’s still the most resilient and beautiful woman Alfie had ever known, but she’s never been the same since then.
She’s still in love with him and there’s nothing for him to do about it. He didn’t see it until he saw the way she sulked over Harry that night, all those years later, with a diamond ring on her finger that just seemed to weigh her down even more.
None of this means anything to her.
“It’s been three years, Y/n. Just find yourself a new best friend and move the fuck on already. I’m getting sick and tired of this.”
What he doesn’t understand is that she is, too.
-
Two weeks later.
Y/n shouldn’t be this alone at her own engagement party, but it’s the impossible things that always manage to find their way to her.
The party consisted mostly of Alfie’s friends, considering Y/n is much more of an introvert than he is and the small number of friends she does have seemed to have disappeared within the sea of unfamiliar faces. She felt lost for a moment, but when she finally found her fiancè, he had been too invested in his own friends to spare her a single one of his glances, and it soon became disheartening to wait for him to acknowledge her when the thought of her never once crossed his mind.
So she ends up on the steps of their back porch, sipping on a glass of champagne, overlooking the garden, breathing in the silence.
She closes her eyes and succumbs herself to the summer breeze, wondering what she has to do to find a single glimmer of happiness. Her life is just so sad, a labyrinth of betrayal and hurt and heartbreak she can’t ever escape.
Darkness is all she sees when she thinks about her future. There is nothing for her to look forward to. Every day will come and go the same way it has been — unwanted, dreaded, wasted, another failed attempt of contentment. It all seems so hopeless to her now.
The champagne doesn’t stand a chance when it comes to a lonely Y/n, and it isn’t nearly enough to curb her mood, either as she huffs at her empty glass, wishing she had taken another.
She sets it down next to her, placing both her elbows on her knees, getting lost in her world of sorrow, long forgotten by her lover.
Harry is the first one to find her.
He had parked his car across the street from her shared home with Alfie, and even from his distance he knew Y/n wouldn’t be inside. He knows her too well to know she wouldn’t find her place in crowded rooms where the attention is all on her, even if it was all in the comfort of her own home.
And the fact that Alfie didn’t know her senses of belonging well enough to accommodate them made him seeth. She is an independent, a lone wolf, a woman who moves solely in her own way and anybody who’s ever loved her knows that above all else.
He doesn’t care for her.
And he doesn’t need to go looking for her because he can feel her, as if the universe somehow bent its laws of gravity and pushed him straight to her back porch steps, where he finds her all alone.
She nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand fall softly on her shoulder, but immediately sinks into comfort when she sees that it’s Harry moving to sit beside her, his hand refusing to pull away.
Finally, she has a friend.
“Hey.” She says softly, one of the corners of her lips turning slightly upward at his unexpected visit. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
He smiles briefly at her before he overlooks the garden, his fingers squeezing at her shoulder before resting his palms over his lap. And there’s something about being next to her again that makes everything around him fall back into place. This is where he’s meant to be.
“Honestly, neither did I, all things considered.” They both let out a chuckle, the atmosphere between them so horrifically sad yet so incredibly right. “But I just really felt like I had to be here for you tonight.”
Despite the years that had passed and everything that drove them apart, Y/n remains who he loves most in this world. His connection to her never died, so the sudden gusts of off and disturbing feelings Harry used to get whenever Y/n was troubled had never left him. He felt it all just as strongly — her anxieties, her fears, her tears and everything in between. And he’s glad that part of them never died because the look in her eye tells him everything he needs to know.
She’s absolutely miserable.
She sighs, the corners of her lips falling as she stares at her engagement ring, her thumb and pinky twisting it around her ring finger, itchy and heavy no matter which way it's worn.
“Me and Alfie aren’t doing so well.”
She didn’t have to say it because he can already see how treacherous they are together, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to hear.
He lost his right to be selfish with her in Malibu, and though he does gain a sense of happiness knowing he may have a chance with her again, it’s significantly outweighed by her sadness. Nothing had ever pained him more than that.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She shakes her head, her fingers reaching up to tuck fallen pieces of hair behind her ear.
“Don’t be. I don’t really know why he decided to do this, anyways.”
Harry’s lips fall.
“Marry you?”
Y/n’s leg begins to shake, her greatest and most absentminded nervous habit. And Harry had always been quick to place his hand over her thigh and rub at the surface, meeting her eye halfway and taking a deep breath in, to which she would always follow. He hesitates to do so tonight, but settles for it anyway.
She looks appreciative beneath it all.
She’d forgotten about Harry’s subtle favors over the past three years, so to feel it all again when she has been so low and neglected feels like a blessing to her. It feels like somebody finally cares for her, and that’s all she had been wanting all along.
Harry, she feels, is the only one who ever truly has.
“We just never talked about it. It was this big, ginormous, unavoidable, life changing question thrown at me with no warning at all.” Her forehead falls to her palms, as if humiliated by the memory. “In front of everybody.”
Harry’s heart crumbles from within him because nothing Alfie has given her has been anything she’s wanted, and that’s not what she deserves.
He remembers it so distinctively now — the way she poured her heart out to him just a few months before Malibu. It was the third Valentine’s Day they’d spent together and Y/n got so drunk, she spent nearly the entire night venting to him about everything she’d feared when it came to her future relationships.
With her head on his shoulder and her leg slung over his hips, Y/n’s thoughts were so destructive, she couldn’t bear to entertain them any longer, so she decided to let it all out.
“And what if my boyfriend proposes to me in a room full of people? I’d drown in sensory overload. And what if I want to say no? Or maybe? Or yes, just not right now? With all those people looking at me? I think I would pass away.”
Harry looked down at her in subtle curiosity, his fingers playing with her hair in the way they always liked. She was the only thing in his sight that wasn’t spinning out of his control.
“So how do you want to be proposed to?”
She hummed, as if contemplating her answer. But she knew. She already knew.
“In bed, probably. It’s so intimate and private there. So non-traditional. You’re the most done down at your first hour and something about someone wanting you at your worst, forever, is so poetic.”
She looked up at him with doe eyes merely seconds after.
“Will you make sure he does that for me, please? Promise me you’ll try.”
He smiled the best he could at her, pressing his lips down to her forehead. They lingered there for a moment, and Y/n’s breath was taken away.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
What makes the memory even worse was how much he really did love her and how blinded he was to it. He kissed her. He held her. He played with her hair. He slept beside her that night. He kissed her again goodnight. He brought her breakfast in bed the next morning. He did it all over again.
It couldn’t have been any more obvious.
But there’s something about the way she hasn’t expressed any of those concerns with Alfie that doesn’t sit right with him. It just doesn’t make any sense to him.
“Been with him for how long now, two years? And you really didn’t expect him to propose to you? Have you met you?”
She sulks herself deeper into her knees.
“I don’t know. I guess — I guess I just never really thought about it.”
Never thought about it?
“But you’ve always wanted to get married.” He says it more like a question than a statement, genuine concern and confusion in his tone of voice as his eyebrows furrow, trying to comprehend it.
She looks up at him with a void, empty expression.
“Yeah, but never to him.”
Her eyes linger on Harry’s for just a beat longer — just long enough to catch a glimpse of the way his lips fall and the way his face drains of color — before she blinks away from him, turning her gaze back toward the garden. The flowers have never looked so lifeless.
“Y/n… if I had known how you felt, I —”
“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Y/n shakes her head, looking back down at her trembling hands, tears now burning in her eyes as the sudden sadness of the conversation starts to weigh down on her. “You had four years to feel the same for me and you never did. My feelings would have done nothing to yours.”
“And I never did?” Harry asks incredulously, his voice low and faltered behind the heaviness of her words. “Is that really what you’ve been living with the past three years?”
Loose tears begin to fall down her cheeks because yes, she has been living with his unrequited love for six years and no, it’s never gotten any easier. It’s pathetic and ridiculous and the most unexplainable form of grief she’d ever carried, but it’s the most devastating kind. “How could I think any differently?”
“Because it was real, Y/n. Fuck.” He lets out a strangled, dry chuckle upon his words as he runs his shaking fingers through his hair. He’s nervous, absolutely terrified because if he fails to show her how deeply he feels for her now, he may never get the chance to again, and losing her is no longer an option for him. Not when she’s so close. “Because you know me better than anybody else and you know I wasn’t faking it with you. How could I have been? You would have seen right through me and you know it. You always do.”
Perhaps the love blinded her. Perhaps her heart was so invested it deceived her to see only the things she wanted as a subconscious form of self-preservation. It’s not an impossible possibility, and it’s certainly one she believed in throughout all this time, but a part of her can’t help but find a hint of truth stuck somewhere between his words.
The kissing, the touching, the tasting, the laughing and the loving did feel real to her. It felt real when she saw the way he smiled after every one of their kisses, and the way he reached for her when it was just to two of them, like he couldn’t get enough, and the way he moaned against her, and the way he told her he loved her, like he meant it.
She knows all of his movements and all of his habits — knows all the signs of his stress, his sadness, his tension, his ease. She knows the emotions he wears and the ones he doesn’t, notices everything he does and doesn’t do, and never once did anything he did with her seem anything less than genuine.
She hates that it’s taken her so long to see that, but it doesn’t fix all that he had broken now that she does. She wishes that it could, this life would be so much easier for her to live.
“You really hurt me.” Her voice quivers, low and quiet as she speaks her truth, and it breaks his heart all over again. Never has he heard her sound so sad in his life, and it’s all because of him.
“You think I don’t know that? I hate myself for everything I put you through because you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
He pauses, waiting for her to say anything else, but it doesn’t come. All there is for her to offer are her silent cries and waterfall eyes.
“That night with Lydia… nothing happened. She caught me off guard and I panicked because how could I not? She was giving me everything I thought I wanted yet all I could think about was how I wanted it to be you.” Y/n’s breath falters then, a knot forming in her chest as she revisits the sight of that horrific night. “I tried so hard to talk it out with her, but she wouldn’t let it go. She kept persisting and persisting and she didn’t give me the chance to explain myself before you walked in on us.”
She didn’t truly know what happened between him and Lydia, but she had her ideas. Whether they kissed, touched, confessed their love or crossed bases, the truth would have only made it worse for herself. Ignorance was bliss when it came to them.
But she didn’t think nothing happened, either, especially when the first words that Y/n heard Lydia say to him that night was I love you, too.
Too.
Too.
Too.
Like he said it first.
She really hopes he didn’t, but she’s so afraid of his answer that she doesn’t ask.
But she doesn’t say anything else, either, because there’s so much more she needs to hear from him but she doesn’t know where to start. She doesn’t know what to do, yet she wants to know everything.
“You were all I ever wanted and I’m so sorry for the way I had to find that out. I’m so sorry that I had to hurt you to realize how ridiculously in love I am with you.”
And how ridiculous it’s gotten.
“It haunts me. It follows me everywhere I go. Every morning, I think about the way you slept beside me in Malibu and how perfect you looked before you even had the chance to wake. I still reach for you even when I know you’re not there just so I can say I tried. Every time I walk the street, I somehow convince myself that I see you walk past me and I always turn back just in case I missed you. Then I spend the rest of my day wondering where you are and how much happier I’d be if you were with me.”
And it’s all so true.
She is around him at all times. Her spirit lingers in the air he breathes, her shadow alive in every ray of sun that touches his skin, unable to be soaked away. The ghost of her is everywhere he is, always, and it pained him just as much as it comforted him.
“I come across all these women and go on all these dates in hopes to find someone that makes me feel half the things you do, just to go home hours later and watch all the stupid videos and photos I’ve taken of you throughout the years because it’s you that my heart is after. Nobody else.”
She melts into herself at his confession.
To know it wasn’t one-sided — the longing, the missing, the wanting so bad that he couldn’t help but look back at all their memories together. Whether he was beside those women or not, she had done the very same thing, and it’s almost as if those hidden moments of desperation were a silent call to one another.
He reaches his hand to her thigh again, his skin warming her to her bitter core, setting a fire in her that had burnt out many years ago. And she doesn’t stop staring at it.
“I love you, Y/n. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else in this world. I love you so much that it drove me crazy to think about you spending the rest of your life with somebody else because I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of mine without you. But that’s my heartbreak to live with, not yours.”
But it is. It is because he’s the only one she’s ever wanted and living her life with someone else was once unimaginable. It still is. Even through her relationship with Alfie and everything they’ve built together, it wasn’t ever the same.
And it’s not a matter of her not loving him, because she does, just not in the way she loves Harry. He is a high she constantly fiends for, an intoxication that keeps her wild and free, an addiction like no other. Being without him makes her feel sober — in a constant state of withdrawal, falling down deeper into her urges, dependent solely on her relapses — and Alfie is just the mild distraction.
All of this is her heartbreak.
His fingertips rub softly at her leg.
“You’re the best person I’ve ever known. I don't know how I’m ever going to find a way to move on from you, and I don’t know if I ever will, but at least I had the chance to tell you everything you deserved to know. I didn’t think I’d ever have it.”
She still doesn’t answer him, but he didn’t expect anything more.
He wishes he could stay with her for just a bit longer, but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome (if he could even call it that). And he starts to cry as he thinks about leaving her alone again.
She’s forever going to be his hardest loss.
“I have so much more I want to say to you, but this is your night with Alfie. I don’t want to be the one to hold you back from it.”
He squeezes the top of her thigh, dreading the let go. This may be the last time he sees her or speaks to her for a while, and that in itself is enough to make this so much harder on him.
“I’ll miss you everyday.”
He can’t even look at her as he says it.
His eyes are flooded with sadness as he stands from where he sat beside her, shaking fingers wiping at his tears, his heart the emptiest it’s ever been yet his chest heavier than ever before.
It suddenly dawns on her that she never wants to see him walk away from her again. She doesn’t want to go another dreaded day without him beside her, or go the rest of the night thinking of everything she could have said, but didn’t.
She wants him. She loves him. And she doesn’t want him to go.
“Wait.” She grabs his hand in both of hers before he can make it too far, her eyes wet but the brightest he’d ever seen them. “The party doesn’t end for a while and — and Alfie hasn’t come looking for me since it started, so…” She hesitates, his hands still in hers, and everything is right in the world again. “Do you want to take a walk with me? It doesn’t matter where just, please stay here with me?”
And how could Harry ever say no to her?
He lifts her up from where she sits, the first real and genuine smile he’s seen out of her since they’ve reunited spreading on her lips, and he wouldn’t trade this for the world.
They stray further than expected, catching up on everything they’ve missed throughout the years. It all feels so easy and so right, as if time had hardly passed between them, yet they’ve never felt more apart. Never once did they expect to live in each other’s world through late night storytelling and clandestine getaways.
They laugh. They cry. They reminisce. And they don’t let go of each other’s hand the whole night through.
-
Y/n returns to the back porch a couple hours later, grabbing the finished champagne glass she’d left on the top step to seem as inconspicuous as possible. Not that she necessarily has to, she doesn’t feel as though she’s done anything wrong, she just couldn’t imagine what would come from this if Alfie was to find out.
She slides the back door shut quietly behind her, the remaining guests only giving her a small smile of acknowledgement, none at all suspicious. Some offer her hugs and mingle with her, congratulating her as if it were their first time doing so, telling her how perfect of a marriage she and Alfie are going to have.
If only they knew.
But it isn’t until the last of the lingering guests make it out the door that Y/n and Alfie are left alone — the most dangerous place for them to be. And neither of them speak a word to each other, just meeting eyes for a brief moment in time, as if avoiding everything else that came with the night.
The air is heavy, the chill brutal, but it’s what Y/n is so used to. This is her normalcy.
“I’m glad you had fun tonight.” Y/n says plainly, gathering all the littered champagne and wine glasses floating around the kitchen.
In any other circumstance, she would have stood her ground much more strongly, but the bitterness inside her subsided to something much sweeter after her time with Harry. The weight of the world is gone, it seems, the moon and sun and stars aligned perfectly in her universe. She is weightless, floating, her spirit dancing along the edges of her own personal heaven.
The silence Alfie responds with doesn’t strike a nerve like it usually would. It rather goes unnoticed, only furthering her into her illicit dreamland.
Harry’s touch lingers on her skin and she can feel it all the same even though he’s gone. A shiver runs down her spine as she thinks back to the way his lips pressed against her cheek before parting ways, muttering the quietest goodnight, lovie against her skin, leaving her breathless.
She is endlessly hypnotized by him, forever under his spell, as if his lips were made of magic.
And Alfie’s heart sinks when he sees the look on her face. It’s been years since he’s seen it, yet it’s all so familiar once he does. It’s the same look he fell in love with when he first met her in Malibu.
It’s all so clear to him now.
“So we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t leave our engagement party with Harry?”
Y/n lifts her head to look at him properly for what seems to be the first time tonight, his question catching her off guard since she had so rightfully assumed he wasn’t concerned about her whereabouts, and Harry didn’t make his presence known to anybody but her.
But she doesn’t fight it, doesn’t deny it, doesn’t try to scrape for excuses that’ll only dig her in deeper because she doesn’t regret what she did or why she did it. She has no reason to.
“And we’re just going to pretend that you didn’t completely exclude me from our engagement party?”
Alfie’s hands slam against the kitchen counter, a bitter and sarcastic laugh falling from his lips, as if she had said something untrue. “So I don’t give you attention for two minutes and you decide to run off with some other guy?”
“Two minutes? Try two hours on a night that was supposed to be for us.” It’s her turn to slam her hands down, except hers land on her thighs. “I was sitting on our back porch all night and nobody, not even you, came looking for me.” She sits down on the island stool with burnt-out eyes and heavy shoulders, drained from the reality of their relationship, tired of trying for somebody that’s never held her heart the right way. “Harry was miles away and even he found a way to find me.”
And just like always, it all circles back to Harry.
She’s never been one to compare — verbally, at least — so there is a gloom that hovers over her after she says it, the guilt settling in her bones, but it’s the reality of their situation. An old lover held his hand out to her while Alfie refused hers, and it ended up exactly where it had always belonged.
“All you had to do was ask me to be with you.” He sighs, depleted, because it’s true. He would have been there the second she called his name. It’s the fact that she didn’t that shows him how incompatible he is with her wants.
“I shouldn’t have to.” She frowns, fingers fiddling with the skin around her nails as she contemplates what there is to say next. “Is that how this marriage is going to work? Me begging you to be there for me all the time? Because I’ve never been that kind of person. I will never be that person.”
Alfie breathes heavily in response but doesn’t know what else to do or say to get her to stay. She’s slipping right through his fingers and he can physically feel it — can feel the way she feels for another man, can see the way her eyes refuse him, as if hiding away from something.
But this isn’t about him, it can’t be because it was all going so well, so much better than ever before and nothing ever pushed her away, until Harry.
This is all him.
“You know he doesn’t love you, right?” Alfie breaks the silence, her heart along with it, because she needs to be reminded how badly he had done her wrong. She wouldn’t be turning him into the villain if she did. “He lied to you. He used you to get what he wanted. He —”
“He does love me.” She interrupts him because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want him to talk her out of this, no matter how much she should. But it’s on the tip of her tongue, almost breaking from its resistance, and she can’t swallow it back down now. “He was there for me more than you were tonight and he’s not even the one I’m engaged to.”
Another deafening silence.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He understood her, loud and clear, but she’s speaking between the lines. There’s a part of her that’s holding back from something and he already knows what it is, he just needs to hear her say it.
So she does.
“I’m in love with him, Alfie.”
If the confession of her disloyalty wasn’t enough to tear her apart, the choked back sob she heard from Alfie undeniably did so.
She shuts her eyes, pained, unable to take it.
He doesn’t deserve this, but she’s left with no choice. She’ll only hurt him more if she stays.
So she doesn’t.
-
The morning after.
Harry didn’t know what was to come after he confessed his love to Y/n — whether it be a new day of a new life away from her, or the beginning of something so beautifully timeless, he had no idea.
The closure warmed him enough to lull him to sleep, to keep him deep in a dreamstate where all he envisioned was sunny days and the touch of her hand in his. He had never felt so light, so free, so liberated from the cage of guilt and unspoken truths that even if he were to never see or hear from Y/n again, it would have been okay.
He said what he needed to say, she heard what she wanted to hear and that’s all he could have done without interfering with her relationship.
But what he wakes up to is far from anything that ever crossed his mind.
Seven missed calls and five text messages. All from Y/n.
H, please tell me you’re awake. I need you.
I ended it with Alfie.
I don’t have anywhere to go and you’re the only person I want to see right now. Can you meet me at the coffee shop? I really need to talk to you.
Please wake up.
H?
Harry sits himself up in a state of panic, his eyes jumping between the time she had messaged him last and the time it is now. And he springs himself out of bed when he realizes that he hasn’t missed out on her yet, planning to get to her as fast as he can as he throws yesterday’s outfit, not at all caring about how it makes him look.
She ended it with Alfie.
He’s the only person she wants to see right now.
She needs him.
That’s all he can process as he scurries down the street, thinking of everything he has left to tell her to try and win her heart again. He knows he’s undeserving of it, and she does too, but that doesn’t stop him from loving her the way that he does.
His life is meaningless without her, so dry and bleak and depressing he can’t live another day like it. He can’t and he won’t because he’s going to fix this. He has to fix this.
And it doesn’t take him long to find her because there she is, sitting at their usual outdoor table, a large hot tea held between her hands, her leg shaking, her eyes distant. It's such a heartbreaking sight, and he suddenly wonders if she ever sat there after their breakup, waiting for him, hoping he’d do the very same.
The thought makes his head twitch to the side and fingers twist with guilt because no, he never did. He never went back to that coffee shop since the goodbye. It would have hurt too much, it would have reminded him of everything he’d ever done wrong and he couldn’t bear to face the person he once made of himself.
That person died along with her.
She stands from her seat when she sees him walking toward her, exhausted mentally and physically enough to nearly fall from her feet in the process. But her heart is racing a million miles an hour, her stomach fluttering as he grows nearer, her senses of anything but the love she has for him disappearing to nothing, as if it were just the two of them.
And she just needs to know if it feels that way for him, too.
“Y/n —”
“Did you mean it?”
Harry hesitates then, stopping in his tracks, his head tilting at her in curiosity but his features are softer, sadder, as if the question somehow broke him down further than before.
She doesn’t need to elaborate because he already understands what she’s asking. It was his mistakes and his selfishness that led her to question all his intentions, to doubt every sentiment he’s ever given to her, to wonder what was real and what was pretend.
But he doesn’t know what to start with, he doesn’t know what she needs to hear from him to be satisfied with his answer, or know if what he doesn’t say is what breaks this relationship.
“I need you to look at me and tell me that you meant it.” Y/n demands when he fails to answer her, tears flooding yet her face pressed and hard, committed to hearing every last bit of truth he has left. “Because I gave up everything I had for just the smallest possibility that you did. And that may make me weak, that may make me pathetic, and I may hate myself for the rest of my life knowing I made that decision but I can’t help feeling the way I feel for you.”
This is his last chance.
The window of opportunity is open and he is more than willing to dive head first out of it, but he can’t get ahead of himself. One wrong move, one wrong word, one wrong anything and he will have to endure an eternity of misery without her.
So he gives her more than she demands.
He grabs her face between his two hands, gently stroking her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze set on hers so that she can see how deeply he feels for her and how desperate he is for her forgiveness.
“I meant it.” He breathes out, his lips so painfully close to hers, she can feel his breath as he talks and it makes her legs shake from beneath her. “I’m in love with you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I want.” He leans in closer, ever so slightly, just so the ghost of her lips can meet the ghost of his. “There’s never been anybody but you. Just you. Only you.”
Her breath stammers, quivering and cracking as she flutters her eyes shut at his words, unforgiving tears pouring down her cheeks. And she doesn’t know why she’s reacting this way — the love of her life is giving her everything she’s ever asked for and yet all she can manage to do is break down from everything she’d been keeping inside for so long.
He knees buckle as a particularly violent sob nearly takes her down, and if it wasn’t for Harry’s strong hold on her, she’s sure she would have collapsed to the floor.
Her tears, his shirt, his hands, her back.
This is the closest they’ve been to each other in so long, his heart nearly shatters along with hers. He missed this more than he missed anything else in this world.
“Don’t cry, baby. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Harry shushes her, his lips settling on the top of her head as he presses chaste kisses on it, his fingers combing through her unbrushed hair. “I’m with you, okay? I’m never leaving you again.”
And he holds her for a while, tying her together as she falls apart in his arms, vowing to her over and over again that this is all over. All the pain is over. Everything will be different now.
And it was.
It felt different when Y/n and Harry spent the rest of the morning sitting in their favorite coffee shop, at their favorite table, drinking their favorite lattes. It felt different when Harry reached his hand over to hold hers, this time with no ulterior motive.
It felt different when she held his hand back, and when she smiled down at where they were intertwined, as if they were an extension of each other.
And unlike the last time they were there together, he doesn’t have to let go.
#harry styles imagines#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#IM EARLY I KNOW IM SORRY BUT I FINISHED SOONER THAN EXPECTED#WHOOP WHOOP#LOVE YALL
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𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗 | 𝖇. 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘
→ pairing: beefy shadow monster!bucky barnes x black!reader
→ word count: 5367
→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, dub con, a tinge of somnophilia, exophilia, #monster fucker, smut, sex, rough sex, masturbation, rough masturbation, sex toys, butt stuff, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, voyeurism, explicit language
→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo
wiping the other’s tears away
→ author note: guys, i’m... this is who we are now. we are monster fuckers. this is based on @idga-buck INCREDIBLE ask that was bred from this post. i honestly don’t know if this holds a candle to that ask because, whew girl. that shit fucked me up when i first read it! anyway, hope you guys enjoy because i might be planning a little monster fucker series based off of this and another certain someone that is mentioned in the fic.
→ read hirsute
The stress in your shoulders makes it hard to lift your arm once you finally reach your apartment door. It takes everything in you to shove your key into the lock and slam your hip against the old, swollen wooden door to pop it open, but just crossing the threshold into your sanctuary helps soothe your nerves. Everything falls to the floor within an instant— purse, messenger bag, coat— hell, even your keys. Hopping on one foot to remove a light brown, velvet heel, and then the other as you make your way towards your bedroom, ignoring the lively green house plants scattered around window seals and the living room.
You don’t even bother to turn on the lights. Don’t make a pit stop in the kitchen, or even the bathroom to remove your makeup. Hunger pains be damned. There are exactly two things that will help with this mood— an orgasm, and sleep. Thank God one always leads to the other.
It was 10:12am, just two hours into your work day, when you knew what you were going to need to help forget about this day. Emails piling up, phone ringing off the hook, picking up the slack for coworkers because you’re just so well versed in this… we could really use your help. Took its toll. By 10:12am you were ready to scream, punch your perky, always in a good mood cubicle mate, and rip your hair out— so you knew, right then and there, that you were gonna fuck yourself stupid when you got home.
Perverted thoughts lingered all day as you rifled through old court filings and scoured obscure statutes. Thighs tightened as your sex started to dampen at fantasies of being bent over your boss’ desk. Caught yourself staring, more than once, through his open door as he chatted on the phone, bright blue eyes glinting underneath the natural sunlight that poured into his office, crinkling on the sides as he laughed.
Then he would furrow those brows as he read through briefings. Jaw and lips set tight, eyes squinted as he nibbled absentmindedly on his bottom lip. Big hands and thick fingers made the pen in his hand seem entirely too small. Pink tongue darted out to wet pink lips.
You’ve spent many a night with thoughts of Andrew Stephen Barber; and tonight will be no different.
Dark shadows are cast across the floor and bed, small slivers of moonlight creeping in. The sound of your shoes hitting the floor don’t even register in your ears as you wiggle out of your skirt and panties and fall onto the soft, warm, inviting Queen mattress.
Deft fingers make light work of the buttons on your silk blouse but the other hand can’t wait— slipping down your stomach and between sticky, hot flesh. A sharp inhale fills your chest as you rub slow circles against your clit, pangs of quick excitement starting to fire off. Your fingers push down to your slit, prodding and stroking gently as a new wet starts to slick your muscles.
A lazy smile curls onto your face. The stress of the day starts to evaporate as you melt into the mattress, the circles against your clit quickening, hips starting to roll and push up into your hand. The expensive silk of your blouse falls off your shoulders just a bit as you push it away from your chest, exposing two bare tits and quickly thickening nipples.
You take hold of one— tweaking it slow. Pinching and rolling the nub before palming your tit all together, cupping and pushing the mound of flesh up your chest. A swipe of your tongue— rough and torrid— against your nipple makes you grunt deep. Makes your hips jut upward as you prod that now filthy wet slit and hole.
Muscles flex as the sound of your dirty deed fills the empty space. Wet squeaks and sloshes bounce off the walls as fingers thrash back and forth and up and down against your clit. Heavy, thick thuds of your palm pounding against your body when one, two, three fingers finally slip inside— but they aren’t enough. Not wide enough or long enough to feed the hunger.
Then… there’s a shift. The atmosphere in your apartment— your room specifically— just changes on a dime. The tiny hairs on your body start to stand on end, goosebumps raising on your skin. Your eyes slide open, blinking up at the ceiling as your pumping hand slows down to just a creep before stilling completely. An already racing heart starts to beat harder, lips part, eyes and limbs completely frozen in place as fear strikes you.
You’ve felt this before, at random times since you moved in. Sometimes in the shower or in the kitchen, when you’re getting ready for work, or catching up on a show— but mainly at times like this. When you’re stretched out on your bed, naked, fingers rooted deep in your cunt, when you feel like you’re being watched. Like there’s a thousand eyes on you all at once.
There’s even a chill that takes over the room, sometimes getting so cold that for a brief moment, you can see your breath. You’ve gone to management a few times, who of course did nothing— but a few of your neighbors put your mind at ease, it happens to them sometimes too. It struck you odd that it was mainly just your female neighbors who experienced the random chills, but you brushed it off. You live on the southside of the complex, the sun gets blocked by the surrounding buildings. You also live on the first floor— heat rises, cold sinks. It happens.
You swallow hard, shutting your eyes, trying to center yourself again. A small laugh escapes your lips seconds later— you’re ridiculous. Maybe it's time to lay off the horror movies for a while.
Shrugging out of your blouse the rest of the way, you roll onto your side and pull open the drawer of your nightstand. Out comes the cute little heart shaped butt plug, complete with a pretty pink crystal gem. A small bottle of water based lube is next, and then, the pièce de résistance. Your ten inch tall, two inch wide realistic dildo.
Your stomach tightens with anticipation as you fumble with the flip cap of the small purple bottle of lube. Just a dollop is enough to coat the steel plug, the excess on your fingers used to wet your warm, puckered hole. Melting back into the mattress, you roll your shoulders, let your eyes flutter closed, and grab your bottom lip between your teeth as you massage your rim with the rounded tip, gently pushing.
A soft moan vibrates in your throat as your body opens up. Your hole twitches, clenching tight around the toy as it disappears with a quick pop as soon as the widest part is shoved in, leaving nothing to be seen but the pink heart flush against your hot rim. You draw your legs up, calves pressed against the backs of your thighs, butterflying open as you drag the fake cock through your folds— against your clit— using your slick to lubricate the soft silicone.
Fingers find your nub soon after, slapping quick, before stroking the delicate flesh as you start to tease your slit. The cock head slips in easy, but you're so tight, so worked up and eager, muscles swollen, that it takes a little more effort to swallow the rest. Tiny little wet squeaks fall from your lips, body tenses and curls inward as you push, push, push— mouth falling open, face splintering with pleasure.
It takes not even ten seconds for your body to adjust, hips wiggling and shifting to get comfortable, before you're pulling the massive toy out and shoving it back in. You start to murmur, indiscernible, clipped words filtering through full lips— a hot tongue slipping out, sweeping over teeth as your hips start to get into it.
You’re soon too far gone to notice the black shadows moving around the room. Chalk up the feeling of the little hairs standing on end, the goosebumps popping up across your body to your arousal— and not the two piercing blue eyes that illuminate at the edge of your bed.
~~~
Bucky could reach out and touch you he’s so close now. He’s careful still— almost getting caught by you earlier, his anticipation for your almost nightly show getting the best of him. Making him sloppy.
He’s haunted these walls, these rooms, these buildings for decades, if not a century or more. Seen generation after generation moving in and out, kids growing up into adults, adults growing old, the old dying off— but you— fuck, you’ve got to be his goddamn favorite of them all.
Deep brown skin. Lithe and delicate. A soft little quiet thing, engrossed in her solitude and house plants, more than happy to shut the rest of the world out more often than not. You’re gentle. Your soul, your physicality, except in these moments. When you fuck yourself like this, and it doesn’t matter when— in the mornings when the sun is soft, in the late afternoons, your body covered in the oranges and pinks of the sky, late at night in the absolute darkness with nothing but the moon and the shadows— you’re anything but gentle.
Unrestrained and wild you are when in the throes of your arousal. Writhing and loud, a thin sheen of sweat on your brow. Eyes clamped closed so tight sometimes sweet little tears squeeze out and slip down your cheeks. Two perfect tits, mounds of soft flesh, jiggle and bounce with the aggressive thrashes of your fingers against a glistening, sensitive nub.
Nights like tonight are his favorite. When you’re acutely aware that he’s here, but too scared to really give it much thought. When the fear strikes you stiff. When you pull out that monstrous fake cock and spread yourself wide— stretch that pretty, pink, wet cunt. The squelch, the squish of the foreign object being jammed into hot, distended muscles.
Your smell. So sweet and pungent— distinctly you. It’s constantly on the tip of Bucky’s tongue, filling his nostrils, swirling in his head and chest— taunting him. Intoxicating him. Begging and beseeching him to just reach out and touch. Taste. Oh, to have your scent— your flavor— on his lips to savor. He wants to bury his face between those thighs, drown between them. Slither into you and curl up, take up residence.
Bucky’s gotten bold as of late— now, not even waiting until you’re fucked out and sex drunk, falling into a peaceful, post orgasm slumber to move around. No. Now he shifts while you’re still awake, still fucking— toy sowed deep, fingers slapping, hips snapping, back arching.
You’ve snapped your head towards him once or twice over time as you’ve caught his movement in the corner of your eye. Sat straight up, mouth hanging, eyes wide, chest heaving as you stared into the darkness— waiting. Scared shitless. You even tried to cover yourself, hands over your tits, legs closing into each other.
It made him laugh.
You’re already his. That body claimed— no need to cover it up now.
Even tonight, he’s even bolder still. Right at the edge of your bed, peering on. It’s a damn near perfect view when you get like this— sloppy. Legs splayed open, heels dug into the mattress, hips arched off the bed. Your slick glistens underneath the moonlight, splashed on your thighs, strings connected between two puffy, balmy lips. It’s nothing but an invitation— an invitation that he can’t ignore for much longer.
He pushes his knee into the mattress, and then the other, his substantial weight dipping it. Piercing blue eyes snap towards your face as he stalls, waiting for any indication that you feel him there— a smile curling onto his lips when it doesn’t come. So he pushes closer, settles right at your feet. Reaches out, hovers long, black fingers over your chest— so close that his pointed, sharp nails graze your skin.
Makes you gasp.
Bucky snaps his hand back, but you don’t stop. You shiver. Goosebumps ever present on every inch of your skin— but you don’t stop. In fact, you get faster, harder. Pounding that fake cock into your cunt, pushing your hips higher as you slap and knead at that sticky, swollen nub.
You like it.
You like his touch.
Pride swells in Bucky’s chest. Maybe you’re much more receptive than he originally thought. Maybe it’s the fear itself— knowing you’re being watched by something, not someone— is what turns you on. And it makes Bucky bolder still.
He looms over you, hand pressing into the mattress right by your head. Head tilting as he leans in, brushing the tip of his nose against your cheek. You jump again, mewl loud when his nails scrape against your skin, between your jiggling, bouncing tits. He wants to fuck you so bad. Stuff you full of his monster cock— he knows you can take it. Knows you can stretch wide for his veiny, dripping prick. Suck those pretty tits into his wet mouth, those hard, perky nipples between his sharp teeth. But he won’t, not now.
You’re so close.
And this is always the best part.
So he pushes away, away from the bed. Hovers up near the ceiling, eyes shifting from their brilliant blue to pitch black so he can enjoy your finale. Then he’ll wait a while, maybe a few nights— maybe a few hours, who knows— to encourage an encore.
With a little help, of course.
~~~
You cry out, shrieking into the darkness as the coil planted deep threatens to snap. The chill in the room has your nipples hard, but the heat blooming across your skin has you damp and sticky. There’s gusts of something— splashing over your naked body— but the windows are closed. The air conditioning turned completely off.
It feels like breath. You’d swear it— and it’s so close. Like someone, or something, is right on top of you. Shudders wrack your body, adrenaline rushes as ice floods your veins. Alarm, panic, sheer horror gripping you.
But, you cum before you can rationalize it. Before you can pinpoint it.
It’s so sweet, the orgasm, so deep as the warmth of it spreads like wildfire. Toes curl hard, so hard they go numb as the waves crash, each one harder than the one before. Heart in your throat, the blood rush in your ears. Muscles spasming, clenching and clamping down around the silicone cock, clit jumping with each contraction of your cunt.
It lasts for awhile— your body knowing that this is what you needed. So you ride it out as long as you can, fingers still rubbing and thrashing against your clit until it’s too sensitive. You stuff the cock into you one last time and leave it there, fixed so deep as your body falls back against the mattress. Your asshole constricts around the plug, twitching and fluttering as the last jerks of your hips start to subside.
Chest heaves with deep, long, ragged breaths. Tits pushing up and down, jiggling, stomach flexing as you go limp. Limp and fucked out. Asshole and cunt used, hot— weeping lube and cum. You’re a mess. A beautiful, sated, sloppy mess.
A lazy smile on your face, eyes hooded, you stare up at the ceiling. Unaware that you’ve found two black eyes just perfectly— stare right into them as they peer back at you.
Sleep starts to pull, a mushy, hazy brain giving in all too easily, not giving you time to recognize that you’re being watched again. That there’s a presence looming just over you— all around you. Or maybe, it's a mechanism. Maybe you don’t want to recognize it. So you roll over onto your side, shimmy underneath the blankets to gather some warmth. Shut your eyes and give into the sleep— vow to stop watching those cheesy scary movies so late at night.
They’re making you paranoid.
-
The sting of cold on your extremities makes you stir. Letting out a yawn, you flex your toes, pulling the blankets up to your chin as a chill ripples through your bones. You roll onto your back, and push out a breath, not opening your eyes to see the white puff of air. Another shiver, a deep one, rolls through you again, making you shift underneath the blankets and push your face into the pillow.
Moments later is when you perceive a warmth. A soft moan trembles in your throat as you smash the back of your hand against your face, still teetering between sleep and consciousness. The ache between your legs grows harder to ignore— the warmth, starting to sear. Your hips buck soft. Another groan scratches at the back of your throat.
You’re writhing within minutes. A white hot molten pooling in the pit of your stomach and spreading out to the tips of your fingers and toes. The cold nothing but a distant memory as the familiar burn of lechery encompasses your tight body.
It feels so real— a long, forked, rough tongue lapping at your folds, swishing around your clit. You jump suddenly, gasping deep when something like teeth, so many sharp teeth, nibble and bite at the meat of your thighs. There's pressure, pressing down on your stomach and wrapped around your thigh as you draw your knees up slow, digging the balls of your feet into the mattress. The pressure, it’s warm and vast— something like a palm… there’s scratching, quick little tickles over your stomach, your tits, your ankles and calves.
Fingernails. Long, jagged fingernails.
You give in to the fantasy— the dream. Not opening your eyes, not giving into the consciousness that tugs at you, not wanting to lose this euphoria. The pressure on your stomach gets harder, heightening the sensation of the tongue against your core and almost pinning your writhing hips to the sturdy mattress.
The tongue, rough and wet, slithers through your folds, flicking quick against your clit before the mouth sucks you right up— lips, clit— right into it. Tongue flattening against your slit, teasing your pink opening. Then, oh God, and then it slithers inside, that tongue. Massages your hot, swollen muscles from the inside. Your body jolts up, away from the mattress, a breathy, drawn-out snarl bursting from your lips.
You fall back against the mattress— liquify into it really and let your hands roam, finding your taut, thick nipples. Tweaking and rolling them, pinching between deft fingers before palming your tits feeling the goosebumps that have popped up on your flesh again. Your knees fall apart, legs splaying open, putting your swollen cunt on full display for this invisible force.
It’s not long before your hips are jutting up into the dream tongue, the lips, the teeth hard and fast, a sharp sting piercing your clit just as you start to cum again. Loud, shaky moans fill the room as your hips pulse and your back arches. Cursing, whaling as the dream tongue swipes and flicks, lips wrap around your nub again, sucking hard, coaxing every last drop of your release out of you.
Thighs, stomach, arms, cunt burn as a delicious stretch, a used ache settles deep in the exploited muscles. Long, hoarse breaths fill your chest, the air rushing so fast, and yet so slow that it makes you dizzy. You couldn’t move if you wanted to, everything is just so fucking heavy.
Brain is mush again, cloudy and dense, stupid with ardor. Lazy, broken moans vibrate through your vocal chords, body twitches with quick aftershocks every now and again, making you giggle. You feel like you’ve been hit by a mack truck. It’s so nice.
Once your breathing has slowed back to normal, you roll your head towards the window, open your eyes just enough to see the moon cutting into the room. Relief floods through your veins, happy to find it’s still night time, still dark, your room still moody, giving you time to fall back asleep with the pleasant thoughts of whatever just happened— but you’re a mess again. Skin sticky and damp, panties ruined. Your eyes droop and close as you push out a soft breath, hand slipping down your body. You should really clean up.
Maybe in a few minutes. You push your knees together slowly, swaying them back and forth as your fingertips find your clit, toying with it gently. They calm your jumbled nerves quite nicely and immediately— the touch familiar. Your fingers stretch out, tips push down just a little lower as you smile stupid and lazy and blink slowly up at the ceiling.
The smile doesn’t last long.
Your eyes pop open as a simultaneous sharp gasp fills your chest with cold air. Blood runs ice cold through your veins.
“Good,” a scratchy voice sounds as your fingers push through a tuft of thick hair just between your legs, hot breath sticking to tacky flesh.
Shallow, quick breaths squeak through your teeth, eyes wide, lips and chin trembling as your limbs grow heavy— oh so heavy. Frozen. You slam your eyes shut when a hand slides slowly up your side, serrated nails skipping across your skin. A sob chokes out as you slam your eyes shut, fear gripping every inch of your body.
The wet, long, hot tongue of your dreams swipes at your core again but you’re still sensitive— jumpy— hips pushing down into the mattress to get away from it. A second hand grabs your hip, squeezes it hard, stilling your lower half as it laps at you again. The crawling hand finds your left tit, cups it— kneads it slow— rolling the thick bud between even thicker fingers.
“Look at me.” The voice sounds again, like gravel, low and rough.
Your clit is sucked into an instant warmth, a wide, flat tongue massaging— rolling— gently. A soft, tiny little noise thrums in your throat as a shudder ripples through already irritated muscles. The sound pleases whatever is between your legs, as it chuckles deep, the vibrations adding to the sensation of its tongue.
It pinches your nipple— quick, hard— and bites down into the meat of your thigh while also squeezing it with it’s other massive hand, “I want you to look at me.” you hesitate— and it doesn’t like it, “Look at me.”
The chill in its voice forces your eyes open, but you keep them on the ceiling as silent tears trickle down the side of your face and onto your pillow. An influx of air fills your lungs when a hand pushes up to your face. A thumb swipes underneath your eye gently before an index finger curls to wipe away the wet emotion.
“You’re pretty when you cry,” it says, a little softer, still rubbing your cheek slowly, “Look at me.”
Against your better judgement, fighting through the fear, you blink, shifting your eyes towards your drawn-up legs. There are two big eyes, unnaturally blue, probing and upturned, staring back at you, disappearing in the dark as it blinks before they settle back on you. In fact, they stay on you as it’s tongue flicks out at you again, sweeps through your folds, teasing your opening, your clit again. It palms your tit, squeezing before sitting up, exposing it’s true size.
Your eyes follow slowly upward as it towers over you, it’s knees pressing into the mattress, dipping it deep with its weight. You struggle to breathe, eyes flutter quick as your lips tremble, taking in the umbra. There’s a wide chest, thick biceps and forearms and hands and fingers that push your legs back— towards your chest and stomach. Stocky thighs and a—
You gulp slow, sitting up on your elbows as your eyes zero in on the throbbing, weeping cock between its legs. The moon illuminates the pulsing veins running the impressive length, the wet, red, dripping cockhead— cum already dribbling out, splashing on your skin. It’s hot and silky— dense, the cum, as it wipes the spot away with it’s thumb, a nail cutting into your skin.
It grabs itself, strokes it’s massive cock slow as it drags its eyes along your naked body. Another shudder trembles through you when it teases your cunt with it’s cockhead, pressing into your clit, dragging through your folds, prodding at your slit. You let your head drop slightly, let your eyes close to slits, let your mouth drop as it’s fingers skip up and down your thighs, it’s jagged, black nails tickling you.
Errant hips canter upward, pushing your clit against its tip again, coating it with your slick before you let it settle back against your opening.
“Now that you can see me, beautiful,” it’s raspy voice sounds, starting to push into you, “I want you to scream.”
It juts into you hard, pulling a loud scream out of you— just what it wanted. You pant as it pushes, deep, deep, deep, until its hips are flush with yours, cock completely sunk. It doesn’t move right away, lets you wiggle and twitch, hiss and grunt as you adjust to the size— the absolute fullness. Stretched so wide, clasped so tight around this pulsating cock that you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to walk tomorrow.
But you’ll risk it.
It locks one of your legs around it’s waist, throws the other over its shoulder, slipping its massive hand down the length, down your calf, over your knee, along your thigh until it’s fingers settle on your cunt— on your clit. Slow circles are drawn into your flesh, a gentle pressure applied as it pulls back, cock dragging out of your death grip. You hiss as it sinks back in, reaching something deep.
It’s blistering after that. Within seconds, hips are snapping, skin slapping against… skin? You aren’t even sure. Long fingers are everywhere, tits, stomach, legs, cunt— gripping, groping, pinching. They venture up to your chin, up to your parted, swollen lips, where they linger. You send wide, innocent eyes up to its blues, tits sliding up and down as you lunge with each thrust— and open your mouth wider, sliding your tongue along the tip of its finger.
When a husky moan rumbles through its chest, your heart soars unexpectedly. It’s pleased with your eagerness— your reception.
You’re empty suddenly. A strong hand grips your side, pulls you roughly down the bed. Flips you over before yanking your hips upward, propping you up on your knees. And then, you’re pinned— an unyielding grip around the back of your neck holding you in place. You grunt and start to whimper, another bout of fright coursing through your veins as it smashes the side of your face into the sheets and pillows.
It fucks back into you slow, a long, shuddering groan spilling out of your trembling lips, “My pet,” it speaks again, squeezing the back of your neck a little harder, “Such a sweet little thing.”
Reaching back, your fingers graze over a sinewy thigh, taking hold as you start to spring forward with each drive of its hips. You slam your eyes closed, more emotion squeezing out of them. The dull burn is back in the pit of your stomach. Your toes and fingers start to curl and flex as each stroke gets sweeter and sweeter, hitting that deep little spot within.
Goosebumps pop up again. Heat blooms across your skin, filling your face and chest and stomach. Spit dribbles from the corner of your mouth as two pouty lips form a perfect little “o” as you start to shriek, each sound coming faster and faster, louder and louder. Your fingers find your nub again, rubbing and slapping to set this release in motion. The sound of your slick is sloppy, wet— and gorgeous, to both you and it.
You’re cursing, sobbing, begging within minutes, teetering right on the edge. It starts to thumb at your asshole, rubbing the rim gently, pushing just inside— coaxing you on.
That’s all it takes. You tense hard— toes curl, fists ball, stomach clenches— and then stiffen as your orgasm hits. A white hot flushing through as you quake, cunt spasming around it’s heavy cock. Jammed full, orgasm rippling, fingers still thrashing against your constricting clit, you’re dizzy, warm all over, sweaty and freezing cold all at the same time.
Your companion— this monster of the night, lurking in the shadows— hammers on behind you, pumping, gripping, squeezing, pushing you down further into the mattress as his strokes get sharper. Stronger. More forceful.
It gets loud. Growling so deep and heavy that the sound shakes the walls— the bed. God, the poor neighbors. It grips your hip with one hand so hard you yelp in pain, hands flailing, trying to grip and grab anything they can as it fucks into you.
One, two more jabs and it stills quick— and that’s when you feel it. Another white hot, this time all concentrated in your overstimulated, tight, wet cunt. Long ribbons of cum, silk soft and warm, fill you up, up, up— to the brim. It’s cock veins pulsate, it’s girth seemingly growing wider, stretching you more as it unloads. Cock jumping in your tight grasp as cum weeps from it.
You take it all, humming loud and proud, panting as you feel it’s seed spill out, down the inside of your thigh.
It drags out slow, as if not wanting to at all. Like it likes the feeling of your messy, cum filled cunt all wrapped around him. You feel that swollen cock head through your folds again, slowly pushing up and down your clit, teasing your slit. A finger, and then another glance over your asshole— lovingly. Softly. Massaging the twitching rim before burying it’s hard cock between your cheeks, slapping you with it.
“No more,” you plead, voice small and broken and pathetic, “Please, I can’t.”
Another chuckle rumbles through its chest, “Ok sweet girl,” there’s a hand on the back of your head, stroking curly, damp, surely tangled hair, “Such a good girl.”
Hands are back on your skin again, fingers pushing and pulling, adjusting you on the mattress. You’re flat now, splayed out on your belly, legs spread, hands shoved underneath your pillows and head. Balmy skin, puffy flesh is soothed by slow gushes of breath, making you jump and whine more— whimper more. The bed sinks again as it moves, pulled again, your back up against a massive chest and hard stomach.
It wraps around you, slinging an arm and a leg over you, enveloping you in its warmth. Rids your face of the wetness, pushing the remaining tears away with its thumb. Nuzzles in close— a scratchy cheek against your own.
A heavy hand over your heart.
“I like this,” it says soft, tapping along with your heartbeat, “The rhythm.”
You hum again, happily fucked out and cock drunk, already feeling an ache settling into your muscles and bones. Hips and ass push back into its hips, pushing its dense cock against you— wanting to feel it resting against your cunt, “You got a name?”
“Brarthronoz.”
“Excuse me?” you giggle through a deep yawn as your eyes flutter.
It— he nuzzles again, pushing his face closer, “Bucky is fine, pet.”
“Bucky,” you sigh a little, “I like that.”
You fall asleep with the soft rhythm of his breath against your neck.
-
When you wake, he’s gone— but you kinda figured that anyway. The oranges of the sky and rising sun chases away all the shadows. You go about your routine but a little slower— inflamed, throbbing arms and legs make showering and brushing your teeth a little harder this morning.
You look for him though, in the corner of your little kitchen, in that small spot where the sun just never quite reaches.
A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth when you find a pair of bright blue eyes fixed on you, a little wink encouraging you further.
“Toast?” You ask cheekily, a wide smile on your face as you offer him a plate.
#bad things happen bingo#exophilia#exophilia tag#monster lover#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x black!reader#bucky barnes fandom#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x you#bucky x you#you x bucky#bucky x reader#reader x bucky#you x bucky barnes#reader x bucky barnes#bucky barnes x black reader#avintagekiss24
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The Heart of My Sea
TW: Choking, virgin reader, rough sex, loving sex, bondage, nipple play, oral (fem receiving), and overstimulation.
A/N: Hey so this is my first fic like this so please tell me what you think. My roommate did help me out a LOT @violinwizard thank you so much. This is for the Mythology and Folklore collab so please check out the others here. I have the masterlist reposted.
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Dad always tried to control where you went. He wanted you to stay in his sight when you weren’t with the others luring sailors to their deaths. You’ve never wanted to kill but it was your only saving grace from your fathers grasp, but maybe that was what makes the Captain of the Midnight Rose so alluring.
The main crew looked to be about the same age as you and your friends, they also looked more content in their place on deck. Your feelings of jealousy grew more and more as each ship passed by and sank. Maybe that’s how you ended up in this position, stuck in a net blinded by jealousy and rage.
You feel the coarse net grind against your skin as you struggle to get free. The thrashing around causes the net to scrape up your arms and your tail. No matter how much you squirm, The coarse fibers don’t budge. You feel the water sink below you as you rise up. Panic starts to set in your chest as the light from the surface grows brighter.
“Shit, shit! No no no no fuck!” The ropes cut deep into your skin as your thrashing grows desperate, you feel the salt water flow around your body. You break the surface gasping frantically, thinking of all the stories of sirens before, kidnapped and left for dead. You've seen the aftermath, but you never dreamed it would happen to you.
Your breathing soothes but the panicky feeling in your chest doesn’t leave. You can hear gruff voices, but you can’t hear anything outside of the beating of your heart and the surge of the waves. The panic becomes so immense that by the time you’re set down on the mahogany deck you are already too far gone
When you wake up, all you can see is the shadow of a man on the far side of the deck. At first, his eyes are all you notice, deep and black as the ocean on a new moon night. There’s a scar running under the left one, giving him a dangerous and rugged appearance. He is dressed as many of the sailors you’ve taken to the deep, loose shirt with a deep cut, betraying a strip of an almost well defined chest. His tight pants leave nothing to the imagination, while his long coat makes you wish there was more to see. A scarf hangs around his neck, the end just dipping into the V of his shirt. “I wonder what he would look like in the ocean, all wet and mine for the taking.” The thought comes unbidden and you quickly scold yourself, a blush forming on your cheeks . Someone clears their throat, taking you out of your daydream and you look around at the rest of the crew. Their glares make you look away, and you quickly turn your eyes to the man in front of you. He walks towards you, taking off his trenchcoat and drapes it over your naked figure.
“I’m bringing her into my quarters, if you need anything.” .He stares daggers at the crew, while his hair flies up and eyes turn red, “Don’t.”
With that the roguishly handsome man picks you up and takes you to a cabin below deck. He lays you back on the mattress in the corner of the exquisite cabin, then he leans up against the desk in front of the neat bed. “So, you got a name?”
“Y/n,” you hesitate, “are you going to hurt me, sir?” His eyes go wide, his body stiffens a little, and he bites his lip. Bringing a strong callous hand up, he gently takes a piece of hair and tucks it behind your ear.
“You think I’m going to hurt you?” His whisper carries straight to your heart, the amount of care in his words sends a shiver through your spine. “Well, y/n, I’m Shota Aizawa, I own the Midnight Rose. I know you’re not human, so what the fuck are you exactly? We caught you in the sea, maybe a Kraken, or mermaid, or perhaps a siren.”
His voice gets lower and his face gets closer, you’ve sung songs to sailors that promise their dreams. A lot of sex, but there were a few of just pasta; those songs are your favorite. You can now see the allure of sex and love just by looking into this man’s tired eyes. Instead of answering him, you opt to stay quiet. “Not talking? That’s okay, kitten. I have ways to make you talk.”
Your face darkens even more at his words, why is calling you kitten? What are his ways to make you talk? The panic returns in full force, he sees the fear and panic on your face and he walks over to the bed and puts a loving arm around you. You freeze, and he decides to rub your back, “shhh, kitty, it's okay. I’ll protect you now. I want to know what you’ve been through.”
His gentle reassurance surprises you, it's not everyday that you see someone so handsome and gentle. Someone who doesn’t want to treat you like a toy, but maybe that’s what made you want him to treat you like a toy. Just to see if he still would want you after or throw you back to the sea violated.
“You didn't answer my question, are you going to hurt me, sir?” You lean in closer to Shota. The tension starts to thicken, with just five words.
“Do you want me too?” Shota looks at you differently, he wasn’t malicious or terrifying. He pulls you closer, looking into your eyes, his breath taking up your air. The different songs flew through your head but only one thing felt right.
“I want you.” You lean forward and kiss him with your entire soul. You’ve never felt this way before, and from what Aizawa was reciprocating, he feels it too. The kiss deepens and a heat starts to form in your pussy and gut. He groans into your mouth and he pulls you on top of him. Feeling his hard cock against your pussy sends a shock that jolts through your bones. He grabbed your arms and started kissing where the net cut into your skin.
“I’m sorry y/n, I did this to you. I’m so sorry.” He kisses you everywhere he can touch, soft, loving kisses. When he reaches your neck, it sends shivers down your back, and a moan bubbles up in return. The shivers soon travel to your stomach, where his hands are caressing in full circles, slowly heading upwards. You can feel the rough texture of the coat on your nipples driving the sensitivity to new heights. Suddenly he slips the coat from your shoulders, and you hear it hit the ground at the same time his hand finally hits the swell of your breast.
His lips leave your neck, a whimper escaping your throat at the loss, which is immediately followed by his moan as his mouth closes on the peak of your breast. You feel his tongue circle your nipple, caressing it slowly, and you are awash with heat, striking to a forbidden place in your core. His tongue is soft, and wet, giving you a pleasure never felt before. He grabs your backside possessively, pulling you impossibly closer, you moan, grasping his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself afloat in the rushing tide that is him.
In your state, you barely manage to gasp out a “Don’t stop”, and you clutch harder as he slowly starts to suck on the breast he is tethered to, his tongue still making tortuous movement. One hand lightly caressing your other breast, his other starts to slowly head downwards, mapping your skin, which has started to gather sweat. He gently nudges your thighs apart and begins to descend further into uncharted territory. Before he can reach his destination, he pulls back and meets your eyes.
“Is this ok?” He asks. Frustration hits you at the loss of his ministrations, and you grab him by the scarf, pulling him back to you, “Please, keep going”. You feel his smirk before he begins, this time on the other breast. His hand continues in your depths, to circle around a single point that opens a floodgate. You grasp him tighter, your hand going into his hair in pure joy, as his fingers continue at the same pace, tracing a whole new alphabet on your center.
You want more pressure, you begin to move with him, trying to encourage him to go faster. “Kitten” he admonishes, his voice low, “Do you need more?” You can only moan in response. His hand is suddenly grasping the back of your neck, pulling you away from him, the breath leaves your throat, and you feel as if you're floating, pleasure filling the space of total awareness.
He laughs, “Cat got your tongue?” You want him, want more, you reach out blindly, catching his shirt in the process. You want it gone, you tug, and it floats down beside you. You see his smirk turn sinister.
“You shouldn’t have done that. Do you know what happens when the Kitten gets the cream before she’s meant to?” He slowly takes the scarf off his neck, and before you can comprehend that you can see the sweat coating his neck, he has lowered you to the bed, the scarf wrapping around your wrists, tying you to the bedpost. Panic rises inside you, before it bubbles over, he slowly kisses you, passionately bringing the softer feelings from earlier back into the game. It calms you, enough to notice both his hands have pressed your thighs back to their open stance, and he is moving down your body, his chest heaving. You feel his breath on your lower stomach, his tongue taking just enough time to dip into your belly button before working further down.
The heat is back, flooding your senses as you feel his breath on your thighs where his hand is, you feel his tongue, followed by his teeth, lightly nipping, moving towards the place you want him most. You want to tug him close, but you are restrained from above, you consider thrusting closer, before he is there. You feel his breath on the most intimate part of your body, sending shivers to your very soul, and ripping the part of you wanting to escape away. He sits there making you wait, before you finally feel his tongue on that same spot from earlier.
It is somehow both cold and hot at the same time, and impossibly wet, adding to the sensual feelings bubbling up from inside. The soft tongue is a stark contrast to the nails on both your thighs. With each swipe of his tongue you are brought to new heights. Just left to moan and writhe on the bed, with no hard body to soothe the shivers. Finally his lips close over the nerves, and your soul is drawn from you and into him, you can’t stop moaning, arching off the bed, your feet finding solace along his muscular back. Your thighs crushing the head between them. He groans out, possessively grasping your thighs to pull you closer to the torture that is his mouth. You feel something else on your folds, one of his fingers, gently prying the opening to your depths, which you have just realized is dripping liquid.
His finger sinks deep just as his tongue passes over the top of the nub, and you almost scream, your breath rising, your vision gaining spots. His finger is joined by another as they twist and scoop, scraping against a part of you that sends pure heat to your heart, and your heart to the heavens above. He keeps striking the place inside as his lips pull your very being into him. Once you take a breath, twice, you rise from the bed. Thrice, you are screaming. And then you are falling grasping at the headboard above. You have spots dancing in your eyes and a fire in your belly. As a tsunami of pleasure ripples through you, starting and ending with the man who is still milking you into him.
“Shota, p-p-please” You moan, as you ride out your intense first orgasm. The pleasure comes in waves as Shota cleans you the mess you made with his insatiable tongue. As you come down from your high, he comes up by you and he kisses you with hunger. He slowly pulls away from you, bringing both hands up to cup your beautiful face. One hand gently caresses your cheek and soothes your heated face. He let his thumb wander to your plump lips and let it drag down slowly to see your bottom teeth. With your mouth wide open, he brings his hand, still wet with your juices, to your open mouth.
“Clean, Kitten.” You stick your tongue out a little and lick a small amount of your essence off of him. Shota groans as you lick his fingers coated in your slick. You love the feeling of falling off the edge for him, the world melts as he takes his fingers away and kisses you with full force. He puts the fingers back into your sweet, sticky spot, pumping in and out, until you could feel the heat return. You let out a small whine, “‘s too much, sir.”
He takes his fingers out and you whine again, not wanting his fingers to leave your heat. He lets out a small chuckle, “Do you want me or not? I thought you wanted me, we’re not even close to being finished.”
You let out another whine as he places his fingers back in your pussy. This time he starts with two fingers and quickly slips in a third, stretching you out. He kept pumping you full, hitting the spongy part in you multiple times. He takes out his fingers, hitting your swollen clit on the way out. You feel so close to the edge again. Not wanting the pleasure to stop, you try to bring your hand down to give some much needed friction to your neglected area. The headboard clicks against the wall of the cabin, reminding you of the scarf that ties you up. You glance down and see Aizawa pumping his full, slightly curved, cock, dripping with precum. The engorged tip is a flushed pink, you watch as he mixes your essence with his pre. Satisfied with the prep work, he comes up and grabs your hips, coaxing your legs to wrap around him. He lines up his length with your pussy, and looks at your panicked face.
“Kitten? Are you okay with this? Have you done this before?” His questioning is endearing, you’ve haven’t had sex before, but you know a lot about it. With all of his ministrations on your body, you don’t want it to stop.
“No, but I don’t want you to stop.” You share a breath with Shota, both of you not wanting to break the silence. He looks at you lovingly and whispers a kiss over your mouth.
“Okay, I’ll try to be gentle, Kitten.” His kissing gives you reassurance. He lines his swollen cock to your folds and slowly lets himself into you. The pressure is painful at first and the pain slowly changes to pleasure. You look down to where you are joined and see that only his tip is in. How is that possible? Is he even going to fit? You feel so full already but there is still more? “Shhh, it’s okay Kitten,” he wipes away a stray tear from the pain, “You’re so beautiful.”
He slowly puts more of his large cock in you, pain makes you cry out and squeeze your eyes shut. He caresses your hair, petting you and giving you praise as you take his entire length. As he bottoms out in you, you let out a wail that would put the banshees to shame. You both wait for your tight cunt to adjust to his size. Your chest heaving as you tap on Shota’s shoulder signaling him to start moving.
“I need actual words, Kitten.” You gather your breath and whisper a small yes in his ear. With that small yes, Aizawa kisses you temple and starts to move in your heat. You feel his cock move at an antagonizing pace, and you need more.
“More, sir-” Aizawa growls in your ear, it is already so difficult for him not to lose control and he doesn’t want to hurt you. When you keep calling him sir, the difficulty increases. He picks up speed slowly, moans coming freely from your throat and tears from your eyes. Every now and then he kisses the tears from your eyes and sings your praises.
“My good kitten, doing exactly what I need.” He starts to go faster and harder. Words and moans mixing in your mouth bubbling up to the surface, coming out as much of a mess as your cunt. You feel a coil of heat rise in your stomach as the tip of his cock pounds relentlessly into your cervix. Something was different about this edge, no longer was it the tsunami of pleasure like you knew it. It’s like being sucked into a whirlpool that doesn’t end, the feeling growing larger and larger until you let go.
You hear Shota shouting, “Fuck, I’m cumming, Kitten,” He kisses your lips, as you fall back into the whirlpool of pleasure. You feel thick ropes of cum coat your fluttering walls, you let the whirlpool take you completely. A clear liquid coats both you and Shota as you let out another wail. He looks down at the mess and back to your face. You both let out a little laugh, and he pulls down the covers of his bed. He grabs a blanket from one of the wardrobes and drapes it over you. He clambers into the bed and pulls you close.
“You’re so beautiful. I think I’m falling for you.” He kisses you. You’ve never been the one to believe in love at first sight, but with him, how else could you explain it? You have totally fallen for him since you landed on his deck.
“Shota, I think I love you.” You whisper.
“I think I love you, too.” He kisses your nose lovingly.
“Even if I’m a siren?” He looks at you and brings you into a hug.
“You’re the Heart of my Sea, I will always love you, y/n.”
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Who Do You Belong To?
Hard dom! Heeseung x reader; degradation; cursing; dry humping; thigh riding; implied exhibitionism
Mellow speaks: (Don't mind me, I'm just posting this again to see if my Tumblr is fixed yet or not). And here you have it, lovely anon! The Heeseung dry humping scenario like you had requested. I hope this one lives up to your expectations, and that you enjoy reading it! Do let me know what you thought of it!
Unlocking the door, you step inside your apartment, sitting down on the couch in the living room as you wait for your boyfriend to come in. The events from earlier that night play back inside your head, making you gulp nervously thinking about what was to come. You knew when you were doing it that you were crossing the limit, but you just couldn't help wanting to grab Heeseung's attention as he talked animatedly to Sunghoon about something, completely ignoring your existence.
As if on cue, your boyfriend lets himself in, the door slamming loudly behind him. You open your mouth to speak, but he grabs your chin roughly, kneeling down against the couch as he glares at you, a sneer on his face. "Enjoyed yourself a bit too much, didn't you?," he spats, "Having your hands all over Jay?" You just look at him, knowing that even though he's not really mad at you, he for sure is beyond pissed. "I saw you, you know? Rubbing your hand all over his thigh and muffling your face in his neck," he says, voice dropping to a mere growl that sends chills down your spine. Had it been any other moment, you would have begged to differ, arguing that he was blowing things way out of proportion, and that all you had done was place a hand on Jay's knee in a friendly manner. But you knew that right now, Heeseung is already annoyed with you, and you don't want to anger him any more than he already was.
So you stay quiet, causing him to squeeze your cheeks and slap you on the face, his eyes going dark as your hand flies up to your cheek. "Got that tongue of yours all tied up now, have you? Come on, don't be shy. Speak up, like you were doing back there in front of Jay," Heeseung growls, making you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything. "I already knew you were a cock-slut, but I hadn't thought you'd be such a desperate bitch. I don't look at you for one minute, and you throw yourself at my mate?," he smiles, but there is nothing happy or cute about it.
Standing back up, Heeseung doesn't say anything, but you already know what is going on in that head of his. The dark glint in eyes changes to something more sinister, as he roughly grabs you by the hair, pulling you up so that you are standing in front of him. Leaning in closer to your lips, he whispers, "Someone's gonna need for teach you whose bitch you are," before smashing his lips onto yours, biting down on your lower lip harshly, making you gasp in pain. He takes the moment to shove his tongue past your lips, feeling the depths of your mouth.
Pushing you back down on the couch, he rips off your T-shirt, pulling the cups of your bra down as he takes one of your boobs in his mouth, biting down on your nipple. You arch your back, letting out a moan. "F-fuck, Hee," you say, making him pull away. "You don't get to call me "Hee," he growls, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and pulling it down your legs. Spreading your thighs, he leaves a large lick up your core through your underwear, causing your eyes to roll back in pleasure. "Who got you this wet, huh? Was it Jay, hmm? Or were my words enough to show your place?," mutters your boyfriend, not showing a trace of the soft Heeseung that you know of. You can do nothing but moan in reply, bucking your hips, desperate for contact.
All of a sudden, you feel a slap on your pussy, making your eyes shoot open. "Behave yourself, bitch. Stop being such a whore," the man in front of you says, ripping your panties off you. He dips his head between your thighs, licking up your folds before taking your clit into his mouth. After sucking on it for a short while, Heeseung shifts his attention to your hole, his tongue shooting out to enter you, as his fingers replace his mouth on your clit. Curling his tongue, he pushes in and out of you quickly, while continuing to torture your bud with his fingers. Soon enough, you feel a knot forming in the pit of your stomach, and timidly, you let your boyfriend know of the same.
"Ah-ah, I'm c-close," you moan out, and just like that, the burning sensation in your core starts receding, as Heeseung pulls his tongue away from you, leaving you hanging. You let out a whine at the loss of contact, making him sneer at you. "Such a pathetic little whore, so desperate for my tongue," he says, "I don't think you deserve my dick after you've been such a bad, but I bet you'll be glad to even ride my thigh" And with that, he takes hold of your chin again, pulling you up into a sitting position.
Sitting down on the couch, he pulls you onto his lap, making you let out a scream and hold him by the shoulders at the sudden movement. "Move," he whispers in your ear, making you start rolling your hips against his thigh, letting out a moan at the friction as his leg rubs against your core. Wanting more, you speed up your pace, making out Heeseung's name as his mouth makes its way to your neck, sucking on your skin and leaving and a trail of hickeys all the way down to your to your chest, dipping into your boobs once again. You continue to ride his thigh, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel his jeans rubbing against your pussy. Seeing you in such a state does unspeakable things to Heeseung, causing his dick to become so hard it's almost painful, but he doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of his length filling you up just yet.
So instead, he flips you over, slamming your back against the couch once again. Getting off the couch, he quickly takes off his jeans, before climbing back up and aligning his clothed member against your entrance. Looking at you, he tries his best to control the urge to just ram himself into you, mind going into overdrive seeing your fucked out form. "Seems like you enjoyed it, huh?," he says through gritted teeth, smiling mockingly at you, "Touch Jay's thigh all you want, we both know only my thigh can ruin You like that."
You meekly nod in reply, making him say, "You look so innocent that I wanna completely take you apart right now. But at the same time, I don't think you've learned your lesson yet," as he starts rubbing himself against your core, making you buck your hips as you feel his length so close to your pussy, hard as a rock. He continues rubbing himself against you, rolling his hips faster, his deep groans mixing with the lewd sounds coming from your mouth. "Who do you belong to?," he questions, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Y-You," you manage to get out, making him grunt in response. "That's right, you are. Fucking remember that."
With you already being sensitive from the torture he inflicted upon you earlier, and his clothed dick working wonders on your core, it's not long before you feel the knot in your stomach tightening again, stronger this time. Heeseung notices it too, from the way your moans become shallower and your panting become heavier. An evil idea strikes him, making him smirk as he speeds up his pace, eager to make you cum. He doesn't have to wait long, and a couple thrusts later, you cum all over his boxers, squirting out onto the couch as well.
Coming down from your high, you open your eyes to look at him, mind still reeling from your release. "Look at the mess you created, love. And I haven't even given you what you want yet," your boyfriend mocks, picking up his jeans from the floor and taking out his phone from the back pocket. "Shall we show Jay just how much of a slut you are for me?," he says, making you give him a questioning look. You soon understand what he means though, seeing him put the phone up and hearing the distinct "click" of the camera.
Once he's done, he looks back at you, smiling darkly. "Let's take this to the bedroom now, shall we?"
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filthy; s. r.
pairing; steve rogers x female!reader
a/n: this is dedicated to @vineridden💕 mean/evil steve is superior
masterlist reblogs/comments/feedback is appreciated!
summary; you intentionally piss steve off, but at least you get what you want!
NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI PLEASE!!!
WARNINGS: mean!steve. lots of teasing/humiliation. slapping. hair pulling. oral (female receiving). riding. crying but good crying. unprotected sex. squirting. spitting/cumplay.
word count; 2.6k
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You’d be lying to yourself if you said making Steve angry was an accident.
Granted, it’s pretty easy to piss him off. He wanted everything to be perfect, always. Mister “my plan is the best plan” even though the old Captain has had his fair share of mishaps.
Ever since the tension broke between you and Steve just a few weeks ago, a fiery kiss that resulted in him pounding into you against his bedroom wall, he’s been a bit more cold.
You can’t tell if he’s being rude to continue fucking with you or if he truly regrets having sex. Either way, you wanted to light his fuse. You wanted to see the deep crease in his brow and how serious his face gets.
All you did was take a turn in the dimly lit, abandoned HYDRA facility.
Albeit a left turn instead of a right, like Steve instructed you to. How were you supposed to know a group of HYDRA agents were stashed away in one of the rooms in that hallway?
Regardless, it still jeopardized the mission and cut it short, leaving the team empty handed.
To be fair, you felt a little bad. Rebelling against Steve’s orders to purposely get on his bad side was fun, but maybe you took it too far? Nobody got hurt, but also nothing was accomplished.
Usually when Steve was mad he’d shout a few angry words at someone but this time he’s completely silent.
He gives you a stern look before jumping in the passenger seat, shrugging off questions from the team.
You began to worry you did take it too far. But a light ‘ping’ sound goes off and you check your phone to see a text from the Captain himself.
Skip the debriefing. Come to my room after you wash up.
The text bubbles pop up then disappear, leaving you with those two sentences to interpret and overthink the whole way back to the compound.
You couldn’t scrub the dirt off of your body faster as you take the quickest shower of your life.
Pondering for only a moment before deciding, fuck it, you throw on your favorite lacy set, covering it with a big t shirt. As you walk down the hallway to Steve’s room, you hope to dear god he’s really as into you as you are into him.
He’s most likely still mad at you, but that’s how you got fucked in the first place. You called him a jerk and it struck him deeper than you expected. So he fucked you until the only words out of your mouth were about how perfect he was.
You knock lightly on his door and it whips open. Steve pulls you in and shuts the door with a kick.
“Would you like to explain yourself?”
He stands tall with his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. His eyes quickly look down at your bare thighs. You feel small under his stare.
“I just took the wrong turn,” you state and he scoffs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Just took the wrong turn, my ass.”
“Listen-”
“No! No, you know what?!”
Steve lets out a deep sigh before continuing,“I don’t care if it was just some wrong turn you cost us this fucking mission! Now we have to regroup and make sure we have a competent team next time, not including you.”
You stare at him wide eyed.
“Uh, no you’re not benching me,” you start but he’s standing his ground, shaking his head at you.
“Well I am. Because I’m allowed to, that’s what a Captain does right? Based on your actions honey, I think you deserve a time out.” he says.
The nickname falters you for a moment, stopping any words that were about to come out of your mouth. Steve notices, tilting his head to the side.
“Oh, I see,” he mumbles, stalking over to you and leaning closer to your face. You wonder if he could feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks.
“Was this a little ploy to get back in my bedroom? Hmm?”
His eyes bore into you, as though he was trying to read your mind. Your eyes lock onto his and you try to keep a straight face as his gaze drops to your lips.
“Tell me, honey.”
You say nothing and a slight smirk etches it way onto Steve’s face.
“Really? Quiet treatment? I’ll talk for you then. I think you fucked up the mission just to be here...with me...right now. Was my dick really that tempting? Such a desperate girl. Selfish, too really. Don’t give a fuck about anything because you got cockdrunk after one fuck. What a-”
You strike a quick slap across Steve’s face before he could finish and his head barely moves. He chuckles and you grip your hand that’s stinging slightly.
“Is that all you got? That’s your slap?”
Steve moves away from you to laugh.
“It’s not funny,” you mutter. You did slap him as hard as you could.
“It really is. You can’t fucking slap. Try it again,” he demands while still sporting his teasing smile.
You lay your hand on his cheek lightly before pulling away and slapping him as hard as you could. It is definitely a little harsher than the last, but Steve still laughs.
“That was a little better, but still shit. You want me to show you how it’s done?”
Steve cups your face in both of his hands, his thumbs drumming against your cheekbones. You nod at him eagerly.
“Ah, ah, you know I want to hear you say it, honey,” Steve teases, then leans his lips down to your ear, “tell your Captain you want him to slap you.”
You feel yourself melt into his touch already and you take a very quick moment to thank the heavens for already how good it feels to be like this with Steve.
“Captain, I want you to slap me.”
Steve moves one of his hands down your body to grip your waist. The other one rubs your cheek affectionately one more time before he draws his hand back and strikes it across your face. You whimper and his hand is back on your face, soothing the burning skin.
“You see? That’s how you hit someone.”
His hand drifts down to lightly grasp your neck. You jut your bottom lip out at him and he smiles.
“You’re a brat,” he mumbles, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting it.
Your breaths are heavy and before you could respond, Steve’s pressing his lips to yours. He grips your hips with both of his hands, shoving you as close to his body as possible.
You rake your nails through his hair and he bites your lip again, making you moan.
Steve pulls away breathless, “look at you, already moaning? Seriously? Fuck, you’re going to be so noisy once I get my cock in here.”
He cups your core and moans when he feels your lace underwear.
“Look who’s moaning now,” you retort and Steve winds his hand into your hair, pulling harshly.
“Get on the fucking bed,” he spits out and carelessly lets go of you. Without hesitation, you get on his bed, lying on your back.
Steve rucks up the shirt you have on and tosses it over his head.
“I really didn’t think you could possibly seem more desperate, but look at this.”
Steve trails a finger down your bra strap, then above your tits.
“Got yourself all pretty looking for me. I wasn’t wrong when I said you were cockdrunk.”
“Steve,” you whine out, your hands fisting the sheets a smidge tighter, even though he’s barely touching you.
“Steeeve,” he mocks your whine as he moves down the bed to settle between your legs. Roughly, he pulls them apart, placing each of your thighs over his shoulders.
Steve presses a quick kiss to your inner thigh before his lips are right above your core. His fingers trail the waistband of your underwear, then down the middle. The action already had you trying to buck your hips.
“None of that. Or do you want me to keep making fun of you?”
“Just...just get on with it, please,” you beg him and Steve chuckles.
“Filthy girl, can’t wait, huh?”
He presses a kiss to your clothed pussy, before you hear a tearing sound. You look down to see Steve had ripped your underwear completely off.
“Are you kidding me? You didn’t have to-”
“Aw is the little princess sad her panties were ripped,” he mocks, faking a frown. You let out a sigh and Steve pinches your thigh.
“Steve, you have to replace them.”
“Yeah, sure whatever. But it won’t matter in just a couple seconds will it? Cause my tongue will be on your cunt?”
“Yeah, yeah you’re right,” you relent.
“That’s a good girl. Finally.”
He licks a stripe up your core, smiling devilishly at the squirm of your hips. His tongue laps at your cunt, not holding back from plunging you into pleasure.
Steve groans at how wet you are and the feeling of you soaking his mouth. He’s been thinking about stuffing his face into your pussy since he first fucked you and now that he’s doing it, he’s relentless.
He attempts to keep your hips from squirming at every lick, but eventually he gives up, just wanting to enjoy how much you like his tongue.
“This good, honey? Sure fucking looks like it is,” he growls, moving his fingers up to rub your clit in small circles as his tongue dives into your opening.
You feel like he’s trying to lick every inch of you. All your moans are strings of ‘yes’ and ‘fuck’ and little whimpers as the sensitivity grows.
“Fuck, show me this is what you needed, princess. Cum on my face, come on.”
Your body stills as your orgasm rips through you, your toes curling as you scream out his name. You don’t miss how Steve’s moaning against your cunt as well, lapping up as much of your slick as he can.
Once your high has calmed down, Steve’s getting off the bed to rid himself of his clothes. He sits back against the headboard and practically pulls your body into his lap.
You take the opportunity to take your bra off yourself, not wanting him to rip that too.
“Listen to me,” he says, gripping your jaw so you could only look right at him. As he looks into your eyes, he could tell you’re already a bit dazed.
“Are you listening?”
You nod and squirm in his lap, his hard cock presses into your thigh and with each passing second, you feel more hungry for it.
“I want you to ride my cock. Do all the fucking work.”
He releases his hold on your jaw and leans back. You look at him and Steve points his head to his dick. Holding the base, you guide yourself slowly down his length.
Once you’re fully seated on him, you take a few breaths, already feeling the pleasure building from how much he fills you.
“You gonna do anything, princess? Or is it too difficult for you? You're the girl who's cockdrunk so you better show me how true that really is.”
With his words spurring a sense of motivation within you, you steady your hands on his chest, his hands loosely resting on your thighs.
Slowly, you begin to grind down on him, whimpering at how deep he is in you. A deep groan leaves Steve’s mouth and it turns you even more. As you get into the groove of feeling his cock again, you start to bounce on him.
“My girl, fucking herself on my cock. How cute, huh?”
You moan out a ‘yes’ and he chuckles, his gaze stuck on his cock as it disappears into you. Your hips are already stuttering and it’s difficult to keep a steady pace.
“Think you could go faster than that? Poor baby couldn’t slap right and now she can’t even fuck herself right?”
“Please, Steve, just help me,” you whimper at him, clutching tightly enough at his shoulders, you’re sure you’ll leave marks.
“You sure? That means you’re giving up, honey. Admitting you can’t do this-”
“I know, fuck it. I need you to fuck me, Stevie,” plead and he’s quick to push the two of you down the bed a little so he can lay down more.
He plants his feet on the bed and holds your hips. You’ll probably both have marks from each other’s fingers.
Steve gives one experimental thrust up into you and it sends you reeling against him, dropping your head to his neck. He chuckles breathlessly before fucking his cock up into you.
“So much better, right?” He asks, kissing right under your ear.
Compared to your sporadic bounces on his dick, Steve’s pounding into you. He thrusts hard and fast and his frequent chuckling at the noises you’re making gets you closer and closer to the edge.
One whimper makes him still though and he pulls your head up to look at him.
“Look at this,” Steve coos, using his thumb to wipe the stray tear that left your eye.
“Why’re you crying, honey?”
For a moment, you think he’s genuinely concerned but the way he’s trying to hide his smirk tells you otherwise.
“I’m sensitive,” you mumble and he hums.
“Your cunt’s sensitive?”
You nod at him and he begins to fuck you again, but his movements are slower, deeper.
“So what you’re telling me is...you came once from my tongue and your pussy’s already so sensitive that you’re crying? Think you could even handle cumming again?”
“Mhm, I could do it, Stevie, just so close.”
You knew you could, it’s just him that makes you extra riled up.
“Alright then, princess. You better fucking cum soon, then.”
Just as you were getting used to his slower thrusts, Steve picks up the pace again. He grabs one of your wrists and pushes it down to your cunt.
“Rub it,” he says, his lips pressing against your ear, then leaving a few sloppy kisses on your jaw. Your fingers work fast on your clit until you feel like you’re going to burst.
And you do, as Steve delivers one more thrust and you dissolve into pleasure, with him following and filling your cunt with his load. Steve pushes you off of him and laughs as he looks down at his bed.
“Made a mess, honey. You’re washing the sheets.”
He looks over to you, splayed out on his bed, breathless and still coming down from your orgasm. Steve moves back between your legs and you instinctively shut them from the oversensitivity.
“I’m just cleaning up,” he says.
Steve groans at the sight of his cum dripping out of your cunt and dips his head to lap it up into his mouth.
He moves back up to you and opens your mouth. You stick out your tongue and Steve spits his cum, mixed with yours as well, into your mouth. He closes your mouth for you and you swallow without him telling you to.
“There you go again, being a good girl.”
You watch as Steve picks up his clothes and puts them on.
“Am I really benched?”
You put on your best pout and Steve sighs.
“Yeah. Only stay out for one mission, then you can come back. That sound good, honey?”
You nod at him and he kisses you, his lips lingering against your own for a couple of moments before he’s pulling away.
“You wash the sheets or buy me new ones and I’ll buy you whatever pair of slutty panties you want.”
#steve rogers#steve rogers smut#steve rogers imagines#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers fics#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers one shot#steve rogers fic#steve rogers fanfiction
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words upon the wind
note from kin: i don’t really know how to feel about this one, to be honest - it feels kind of half-baked and messy, but oh well, what can you do?
the basic premise is that, instead of dvalin, it’s you, a dear companion from long ago, that venti finds rampaging through mondstadt after waking up from a long, long sleep
i’m pretty sure adepti are exclusive to liyue, so i guess reader is just the mondstadt equivalent? basically you’re in that grey area between vision-holder and archon - you’re not powerful enough to have received a gnosis and ascend into godhood, but you’re powerful enough to have attained a level of immortality and be able to control the wind to a certain extent!
enjoy!! (or don’t enjoy, it is meant to be angst after all)
fandom: genshin impact
character(s): gn!reader, venti
pairing(s): venti/reader
warning(s): memory loss, general manipulation of one’s actions, brief mention of death, sad venti
genre: oh it is angst time baby (i think so anyway, please let me know if this managed to get you In Your Feels or not)
Where am I?
Your eyes burn, the air whipping around you in harsh gales that tear at your clothes and dig into your skin like blades. Your hands move of their own accord in a pattern that you don’t recognise, and the wind seems to move with them, swirling around you in a vortex that obscures the world from view, until all you can see are blurred lights, blurred lines, blurred green.
Green. There is a boy dressed in green, far below, arms braced above his head, staring at you. His mouth opens and shuts, but you cannot hear anything - only the whistle of the wind.
Who is he? Who are you? Why does the air bend to your will? What is this strange land below you, spreading out in grassy fields to the south and a bustling city to the west?
The boy is shouting now, straining so hard that the force of his own yells almost knocks him over. Something lies abandoned in the grass by his feet - a lyre with broken strings. There is something familiar about the sight, something familiar about him - something that you can’t quite place. His face is twisted, as if in pain. Are you hurting him? You don’t want to hurt him.
“I’ll be back before you know it. Wait for me, promise?”
You don’t know this feeling - you don’t know this anger, this sorrow, this anguish that digs its claws deep into you and threatens to rip you apart. Tears sting at your eyes, but why? For who do you so desperately want to cry for?
The boy stands his ground, even as the wind around you swells in rippling masses and threatens to crush him under its sheer power. You want to shout, to scream, to tell him to run, run far away so that I can’t hurt you, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a guttural, inhuman howl of anger as the storm around you swells.
He fumbles with something on his back - a bow, a bow that trembles in his hands as he raises it and prepares to aim. How can he expect to fight the power of a thousand winds with an arrow? He’ll be killed before his arrow reaches its target, thrown back and forth by the very air around him until his limbs grow limp and his eyes lose their light. He knows this, he must know this - so why does he continue to refuse to relent?
He pulls back the string. You look back, expecting to be staring down the shaft of an arrow, but he isn’t aiming at your head. His face is scrunched in concentration, feet firmly anchored to the ground - and he is deliberately and determinedly pointing his arrow down at your hip. You don’t understand y our wind can easily snap any arrow of his in half, so why waste them on trying to slow you down? Why not go straight for the kill?
You don’t know why, but something tells you that he doesn’t want to kill you. He isn’t aiming an arrow in hopes of eradicating a target. You don’t how you know this, but somehow, against all odds, you’re willing to believe that this boy you do not know would never seek to harm you.
Perhaps that is why you do not intervene when he looses his arrow. Perhaps that is why you do not interrupt its path even as it sails forward, sharp and true. Perhaps that is why, even as the arrow strikes its target and the sound of something shattering rings in your ears, you do not lift even a finger to fight back.
You look down. Something purple and alien is crumbling from your hip, dissolving in the wind as it falls away. Quite suddenly, the wind calms, and you drop to the ground.
The boy stands in shocked silence for a moment, as if he can’t quite believe that his plan actually worked. Then he moves again, running to you, leaving both his bow and the broken lyre behind.
“Stay right there!” You warn as he reaches out a hand, jumping back into a defensive stance. “Don’t touch me!”
He pulls back, and an strange expression of hurt flashes briefly across his face. “But... it’s me. Surely I haven’t slept so long that you’ve forgotten me?”
You ignore the sharp tug in your chest at the sound of his voice, instead narrowing your eyes and glaring at him. The wind continues to swirl around the two of you, tossing the ends of his braided hair about in an almost playful way.
“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about,” You growl in reply. “What are you doing here?”
He’s silent for a long while before he replies. “I’m here... to free you.”
“Free me?” You scoff. “What on earth would you be freeing me from? I control the very wind! How much freer can I be?”
His eyes are sad - so sad that you can barely stand to look at them. “You haven’t been free in a long time, [Name]. Please… all I want is to help you.”
The silence would be suffocating if not for the breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. You refuse to meet the boy’s gaze. You speak again, but your voice is softer… weaker. “What is there to help?”
Against all best decisions, he chooses to move closer, reaching forward and grasping your right hand. For some reason that you can’t quite fathom, you let him.
“This destruction, this rage… none of this is you. You’re no Stormterror, you never have been. You... you were always just my Starseeker.”
“Who are you to tell me who I am?” You shoot back in reply. You want to pull your hand from his, to push him away and scorn him, but somehow you can’t quite bring yourself to. “I don’t know who this Starseeker you speak of is, but they aren’t me, and I most certainly am not yours.”
“Then who are you?” He asks, and you find yourself at a loss for an answer. “Who are you, if not Starseeker? Why are you attacking this land, if not because of the Abyss Order’s control?”
“I am controlled by no one,” You snap, but there is no real bite in your tone. You raise a hand to your temple, gritting your teeth.
“How many gaps are there in your memory?” He presses further, his voice increasing in intensity and desperation with every word. His grip around your hand is so tight that it almost bursts. “Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember why you’re doing this? Do you remember how your abilities came to be, how you were even created?”
“I…” You pull back, and he releases your hand, gazing at you imploringly as you turn away. “I don’t…”
“They must have manipulated your memories, stolen them even,” His voice breaks slightly, and he rubs furiously at his eyes with one sleeve as he continues, “Anything to keep you under their control, to rip away the person that you were to leave only a weapon for them to use… but please… you have to try to remember!”
“What is there to remember?!” You finally turn to look at him, and your eyes blaze so brightly that he freezes in place. “This is all I’ve known, and as far as I’m concerned, it is all that I want to know. I will let you live, but I don’t want to see your face again.”
“No—!” He reaches for your hand again, but you push him away with ease, and he lands roughly in the grass. “Please, wait!”
You only shake your head in response and turn to leave, the air around you beginning to stir in preparation to lift you. But then the boy cries out once more, and you pause for just long enough for him to leap to his feet and throw himself at you once more - and in one final, reckless movement, he rips the flower from his hat and presses it into your hands.
“The Cecilias, [Name],” he says desperately, closing your fingers around the flower’s delicate petals. “Don’t you remember the Cecilias?”
“The… Cecilias…” You stare at the innocent flower sitting in your palm for a long moment. Something suddenly tugs hard at your chest, and you inhale sharply, almost crushing the flower in your fist. The boy catches you as you stumble forward, and two of you sink to the ground in tandem.
“I brought you to Starsnatch Cliff,” He begins to speak so quickly that the words seem to blur together. It feels as if he wants to say so much more than what he can. “We went to Starsnatch Cliff together, and we sat and watched the sunset, and we talked all night, until the sun came up again. You remember the stars, don’t you?”
“Stars...?” You repeat. The boy gazes at you hopefully, nodding, and, before you realise it, you’re lifting a hand to cup his cheek.
He reaches up and softly places his own hand over yours. He’s trembling, but he smiles nevertheless - he smiles for you, even though you don’t know him, can’t know him. How many memories have you lost? And what is his place in them?
“You were still so young back then,” He murmurs, eyes distant as if reminiscing something that has long since passed. “You didn’t know what stars were. That night, when we sat together beneath the night sky, I sang you a song. Do you remember how it went?”
“Star…” Your words come of their own accord, unfocused and dreamy. “Fly me to the stars in the sky…”
Something deep inside you seems to stir at the way that his eyes soften. There is something so achingly familiar about their colour, somewhere between blue and green, like the ripples out on the open sea where there is no land to disturb its waves, like the vast emptiness of the sky that goes on for longer than you can remember and longer than you will live to see, like the quiet rustle of the trees in a peaceful evening breeze.
“It was our song,” He murmurs, and his eyes slowly fall shut. “I never sang it for anyone else, and I never will.”
You stiffen.
“Did you like it?” The boy asks, his eyes bright against the dark sky behind him as the final notes of his song fade into the night.
“I… think I did,” You reply, unsure. You press your hand to your chest, and your heart thumps loudly against it.
“Come on, no need to sound so unenthusiastic!” He sets down his lyre, leaning forward, so close to you that you can see every flyaway lock of hair scattered messily about his face. “I wrote this song just for you. It’s all yours.”
You ponder over his words for a while. “...but it’s your song.”
“No, no, I’m just the one who sang it,” He shakes his head. He pauses and thinks for a moment, then continues, “And wrote it. And composed it. And named it.”
He pauses again, his face scrunching up slightly. Finally, he decides, “You know what, we’ll share it! It’ll be our song. Ours only. I won’t sing it for anyone else, and I never will. How does that sound?”
Everything is coming back now, bursting the banks and submerging you in its endless flow. You remember nights spent beneath an inky sky filled with stars, you remember the ring of laughter around a forest clearing, you remember hours spent riding a breeze above a city of flickering lights. You remember the rush of excitement as you plummeted from the sky to a rippling lake below, only for a pair of hands to dip down and catch you before you could break the surface. You remember arms wrapped around your shoulders in an warm embrace, spinning the two of you through the air until sky and land became one, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and they began. And the boy in front of you—
You know the curve of his smile and the dip of his frown. You know the way that his hair falls around his face in messy waves. You know the way that he laughs, head thrown back as if expressing his mirth to the very heavens above. You know the quiet melody of his voice, soothing you to sleep when the sea is too deep and the storms too strong. You know this boy!
“Barbatos...?” You whisper.
His eyes fly open. For a single, frozen second, the two of you stare at each other, one in disbelieving wonder and one in quiet realisation.
Then, before you know it, you’re toppling backwards. The boy throws his arms around your neck and hugs you tight, burying his face into the nape of your neck as he sobs, and the only thing you can distinguish among his muffled whimpers is your name, repeated like a mantra or a spell, as if you might disappear at any moment and leave him all alone once more.
Venti holds you close and cries. He cries for the memories that you were forced to forget, for the destruction that you were forced to wreak, for the people that you were forced to forsake. He cries because the centuries that the two of you have lost can never truly be recovered, because even though you are here with him, you are still so lost and the years have been so long and he doesn’t know i how to go on from here. You slowly shift and return his embrace, and he can’t help but sink into your touch, like a stone disappearing under the surface of a river.
It will take time to heal. Wounds as old as yours and his do not stop hurting easily, after all. But, as Venti burrows closer to you still, selfishly revelling in the feeling of your arms around him, he listens to the quiet hum of the breeze around him, and he allows himself to be hopeful.
He won’t be afraid of the storms on the horizon anymore. After all, it was those very winds that brought you back to him.
#genshin impact#genshin impact imagines#genshin venti#venti x reader#genshin impact x reader#angst#i wrote this all in one sitting in the tiny hours of the morning and honestly you can probably tell#unedited#i have a full length fic in the works that i should probably be doing some work on but no it's sad venti hours instead#feel like there should be more tags but i don't know what tags
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