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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

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Nature vs Nurture (monster!Konig x fem!Reader)

The new world order - monsters on top, creating the perfect dystopia for humans. You are nothing but a pet to them, a breeding mare for their perverse desires…and now you've finally been claimed by their colonel. Good luck.

Tags and TW: Dub-con, monster fucking, size kink, power imbalance, dumbification, pet play, dystopia, obsessive Konig, tentacle monster Konig, oviposition, breeding. AO3

It was supposed to be a supply run. Fast, quick, stealthy. In and out, the ruins of the abandoned store not so far from your hiding spot. Whatever you could find, some canned food – maybe, but not realistically. Some rubble and garbage that could be exchanged for food for triple the price it was – possible. Realistic.

It was supposed to be a quick supply run. Like a rabbit out of her hole – but not really a rabbit, not even having the courtesy of strong legs and long ears that could spot anyone from a mile away. No, of course not – the universe wasn’t feeling particularly merciful when you were born a human in the age before monsters decided they didn’t want to be servants anymore. You think you remember going to the store like a normal person. Picking up a cart, hauling anything you could afford – not bothering about a lot of things.

There are still stores, you think. Remesances of capitalism, working only for monsters – whatever crude economy they were building, it stayed in the cities. In the military bases, were filled with monsters even before the uprising. Not here, in the wasteland – it belongs to humans, as little as there were left.

It was supposed to be a quick supply run for you and your friends – but you were dumb, but you were careless, but you grew accustomed to being the only one here, you didn’t even spot a patrol. Nasty fuckers, getting humans off the abandoned streets – you tried to fight and it didn’t work. Tried to run, and they were faster. Always faster. You should have been quicker, you shouldn’t have been a human – but you are, your soft self still not hardened by the life on the run, so you weren’t put out of your misery as you saw some other humans who got caught. Monsters took pity on you – or, perhaps, your submissiveness finally paid off. You were shown off the corner of a store – a human store, as you read, the words burning in your mind. You heard the stories about humans – attractive, soft people, mostly weak and obedient – who were snatched off the streets to do god knows what. Monsters can’t breed on their own, you remembered.

You can hear the voices coming somewhere in the hallway, a good few meters away from your cage. You force yourself to stay as far from the bars as possible, not wanting to attract attention. Not even want to bother yourself with trying to see what your captors look like – monsters can take on human appearance and you’d rather live without seeing a human pet trader looking like someone who could have been your neighbor before the uprising. You curl in a ball, hugging your knees. Sobbing softly, quietly – knowing that there is no way out of here now. Not even other humans would help you now. “Just got new batch, colonel. Doesn’t look like a resistance member” “Ja, I heard that the last time. Schlampe killed all the hatchlings the second they were born.” “W…we didn’t know, sir! I promise, it was a…” “You can’t even breed them properly. There wasn’t any new humans in months, wolf” “Humans are…delicate, sir. They don’t want to breed in captivity.” “Make them then.” You hear something heavy shuffling around. You hear heavy footsteps that are making the flimsy flor of your cage shake. Even monsters have their disputes – but you can’t bother with caring when you hear footsteps approaching. Large shadow casting down on you. Making you feel even more small and miserable than you did before. Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. Your everything hurts.

Someone is staring at you. You see…someone. Humanoid silhouette – too big to belong to a human, at least 7 feet tall and broader than the entirety of your cage. You whimper when the creature tilts its head to the side, a surprisingly boyish tone of his voice grasping on your panicking mind. It isn’t the one that captured you but, for some reason, you can sense that he is even more dangerous. There is something on his uniform – some decorations, you think. Soldiers from the age before the uprising are all have quite high ranks in the new society – if they are monsters, that is. Large, droopy red tentacle falls from the guy’s hood. Definitely a monster.

— Come closer, human. You whimper, trying to get up – only to get as far away from him as possible. You’re terrified, but he only hums in acknowledgment. A group of tentacles rising from under his hood, pushing you towards him through the bars. You were never more thankful for being locked away.

— Disobedient. Or just dumb?

— I d…don’t…

You cry, not wanting to give an answer – too disoriented, your nostrils are filled with the smell of sea and blood. You feel light-headed, dizzy, you’re hungry and dehydrated and you don’t know how could you even proceed to resist when one of his tentacles goes through the bars of your cage. Caresses your face, surprisingly gentle. Smearing cold slime around your skin, but even this is a welcoming feeling – you’d take everything that isn’t damp air of the human compound and the old sweat tattering your skin. You’d give anything for a bath right now. At least a few wet wipes, to wash the grime off your face – to stop feeling like an animal even though you know you’re already been reduced to one. — Just dumb, then. Gut. Monster caresses your face for a while, admiring your features. Salty tears feel like heaven on his tentacles – you can’t possibly see him, but he is grinning under that weird hood of his, adoring how obedient you are. It might be just exhaustion, but he missed humans like this – broken and abandoned. Soft and adorable, crying at the brim of a hat. König is going to have a lot of fun breaking you in – you couldn’t possibly be worse than the last wife he took. He wants to see you round and filled with his eggs. He wants you to see you cry for his cock, begging him to fill you up like the dumb, pathetic human you are. He wants to lay in the nest with you, pressing his body against yours – stealing the coolness of your body, covering you with his tentacles like a perfect chewing toy. He wants to… — Ah, sir. This is the new one. Just took her yesterday.

A merchant smiles, slimy face spreading in a wide grin. Tentacles retreat from your face and shoulders immediately, only leaving a small trace of liquid over your features. If you were dumb enough, you could have sworn the monster was affectionate – but you don’t want to be dumb. Can’t survive in this world only on silliness, unfortunately. — I will take this one. — B…but it isn’t properly domesticated yet! You know how wild strays can be, colonel… — I thought you said all pets were properly obedient?

— W…well, of course, sir, but… — I don’t need a trained slut to carry my eggs. This one would do nicely. Consider this your sacrifice to the order, ja? Before you know it, the merchant showed you in the hands of a giant man. Colonel, as you heard – not knowing proper military ranks, you wonder how high it can be. Or low. Monsters only value power and personal strength – and the merchant was fucking terrified of the tentacle creature who was holding you right now. Perhaps, you should have tried your chances of running away and being killed. Perhaps, you should have slowly died of hunger instead of coming out for supplies. `You’re held high in the air – too high for your liking. The monster presses you against his chest like he expects you to run away any second now – and you want to, really, nothing you’d love more but to simply jump off and run for the hills. But you’re too exhausted, the hunger sitting deep in your empty stomach makes you think that, maybe, for whatever reason this monster bought you for, he’d at least feed you. Maybe turn you into a pet – this is why there are stores for captured humans, right? Humans were treating their pets nicely, maybe the monster wouldn’t be too far off. Tentacles are swirling around your legs, around your hands – now you can’t even move your neck properly, cheek squished against a warm chest. This monster is a weird one – it’s like he can’t stop his tentacles from touching you, the cold tips of his tendrils spreading slime on the dryness of your skin. His body is warmer than any human would be, and his tentacles are cold – the contrast against your naked skin, barely covered by your torn clothes, is making you crazy. Making you think about weird things – like the monster reproduction again. Like your empty tummy, like the friends you left at the compound when you were supposed to go for supplies. Not getting captured by one of the monster higher-ups.

— You’re soft for a human. You weren’t even sure he was talking to you at first. You’ve been walking for a couple of minutes before you could finally hear some traces of civilization. Roaring vehicles. Gunfire. Laugh and groans – moans, too, to your surprise, not all of them very pain-induced. Your face is still pressed in his chest, you can’t see anything meaningful – but he stops in some corner, you think, covering you in his arms like a package he needed to deliver. You aren’t sure if you remember what the word “package” means. Something naughty, you think. — Quiet, too.

You still don’t answer, and he hums. Pushes you on the ground, suddenly – you fall on your ass, yelping in pain and surprise as you lay on something softer than a concrete floor. It’s a pile of mattresses, you realize. You’re in a room, you realize – still too dizzy after everything that’s happened, you didn’t even notice when he entered the building and pushed you away from the sounds of life you wanted to hear so much of. You’re sitting on your ass on the pile of soft, rotten mattresses – a faint smell of decay builds up in your nose, but you can’t even concentrate. The tentacles are spreading your legs suddenly – you cry and whimper, your walls breaking down to reveal a soft center because the monster tears away your pants with ease. Your clothes weren’t much, to begin with, dirty and torn after the capture – still, you don’t want to be naked in front of him. You don’t want to be naked in front of anyone.

— Spread your legs, human. You don’t want to, but you obey – you don’t wish to give him an opportunity to pry your legs open, to use force and make your life even more miserable. You know that being so obedient is kind of pathetic but, honestly, you couldn’t care less at this point. If being pathetic would save you from a broken leg, you will spread yourself open. Place each ankle on the side of the rotten mattress, not even caring that the thing fabric of your clothes – whatever little is left there – is slowly whiskered away by the tentacles. His hands are worse, somehow. He pushes your legs a bit wider, making you hiss from the stretch – and then he tears off your underwear. Not even letting you a chance to save your dignity – before you could cover yourself with your hands, at least, he is already launched at your cunt, smaller tendrils swirling around your core. You’re dry, obviously – and the monster tilts his head to the side. Acknowledging. Looking. He isn’t soft in his movements and the prying attention makes you embarrassed – if your legs weren’t in hid hold already, you’d try to close them. To save yourself. His motives are obvious, his intentions are clear – still, you sob and whine i his hold when his hand slowly presses on the button of your clit. The colonel – you try to remember this, it’s probably important – is somewhat slow – he pushes your inner lips, spreads your hole as much as you can with a meager amount of fluid from the slime of his tendrils and, somehow, you find yourself getting aroused. Maybe, it’s his attention – he isn’t laying his eyes off you, and it almost makes you blush too much. He is adorable in this way if a monster of his regard can even be called this – and you’re freaking terrified when he goes closer, looks at you even more.

His hand is making squelching sounds as your cunt becomes wetter by the second – it’s the first time in forever you had this kind of attention, and surviving the monster revolution didn’t exactly help with getting the edge off. You’re desperate for anyone to touch you – and the monster has beautiful hands. Big and burly, with tendrils sometimes running around to add even more lube – you know you’d never get anything like this with a normal human. — Need to check you first, Maus. The merchant keeps sending me infertile ones. You don’t know what he is talking about – but his hand lays flat on your tummy, putting you in place, and the larger tentacle – big, slimy one, with uneven structure with little bumps that made you wonder how it’s even going to fit inside – slowly creps to your sloppy, wet opening. It doesn’t hurt, you’re wet and open – something in the lube he extracted made you dizzy, dumb, you don’t even know when you spread your legs a bit more and welcomed the intrusion. It feels right, it feels wrong, it feels like the thing to die for – it feels like something that could kill you. He laughs and it sends slow rumbles right to the tendril penetrating your pussy. The pressure on your clit is too much – and your brain is to foggy to think that it reminds you more of a medical exam than actual sex. The tentacle inside is vibrating, twisting and turning, pressing on your cervix – it should feel painful, it can’t be this good but, somehow, you welcome the feeling of being this fucking full. You don’t buck your hips, but you cry and moan – and it’s enough of an indication of your pleasure. Monster laughs, his other hand goes to lay on your face – a surprisingly gentle gesture. Short-lived, but you could still feel the warmness lingering on your tattered skin. It’s hot and cold with him – you aren’t sure what comes next, but the tendrils are sliding in and out, probing at the entrance of your womb and, despite everything, you feel the knot in your stomach untying. The orgasm is a quiet one – build up is slow and small, and it doesn’t make you black out – but you whimper nonetheless, the tight embrace of his hands on your body feeling more like a cage than a normal hug. He is too powerful, probably not sure about his strength – you feel him squishing you like a fruit. The slime is leaking from your empty pussy, clenching around nothing. — Obedient. You’d be a good vessel for my eggs, human. You whine, turning away from him. He chuckles, pressing you in his arms again. Like a child with his favorite new toy – you feel squeezed and touched in various places, his tentacles having a mind on their own. Not an inch of flesh getting ungroped. — Ar…are you going to kill me? — Ach. You can talk after all. — Are you going to… — No. Have a much better way to use you. He chuckles in your hair, pressing his face in it. Inhales the scent – if he has nose, of course. This stupid hood conceals everything, not letting you know anything besides his rank. Which makes you think about…

— What is your name?

A stupid question, really. You shouldn’t care about the name of a monster who bought you – still, you don’t want to refer to him as just “a monster”. This dumb part of your brain wants closure. — König. Remember it, little human. Oh. So his name is König. Somehow, it doesn’t make you feel any better.

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feninina · 9 months

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𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

taglist: @lovesickxcherries @genini @ilunapb @ostricx @devotedlyshadowytheorist

if you want to be added let me know, it’ll be my pleasure🫶🏻

#cillian x fem!reader #jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy x reader #cillian smut #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #jonathan crane fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #jonathan crane x you #cillian one shot #cillian fic #peaky blinder imagine #batman fanfiction #scarecrow x reader

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 days

Note

@thelightofmylife wouldn’t it be funny if I decided to reread your entire HSR writing list again (I in fact did)… lolol <3 I’m still thinking about your response to me btw. You’re very kind 💖💞💗 truly I can’t get enough of your writing and I suppose kind words

No pressure to do this request if you don’t want to, you can also take this ask as an invitation to chat too

( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

ahh! I was thinking ,,,, Sunday + Aventurine + Jing Yuan… and anyone else you would personally want to do …!! Giving them headpats because you love them soooo much!!! And receiving or asking for headpats in trade … <3 i think it’s a universal thing that headpats are <33 so good and lovely and good for showing love ;w;’ <3

Jing Yuan will gladly accept your head pats, he finds your beaming face adorable as you gently patted his head as though you were being extremely cautious with how you gave him head pats.

He recognises it as your primary display of love after awhile and would create a routine where he would just sit himself in front of you, claim that he was meditating, and closes his eyes and waits until he felt you begin to pat him on the head and mutter ‘soft floofy hair’ under your breath as he fights back the urge to smile.

You really do want his heart and he didn’t want to go back to a reality where he did not know the power of your comforting head pats.

Someone could’ve been looking for him about something serious and when they’ve enter the room, they are greeted to the sight of him him dozing off all the while getting treated to some well deserved head pats from you.

A bird popped out of his hair once during a headpat session and you were scared off of giving him head pats for a while in fear of having another tiny bird fly out from his hair. Jing Yuan was a sad man that day and would stop fucking pouting until Yanquing asked you to put him out of his misery and give Jing Yuan his head pats, he couldn’t train with a moody general who didn’t get his daily head pats.

Jing Yuan wasn’t afraid of giving out headpats of his own. He gave Yanquing a couple in the past but he used them sparingly. You however, you could have as many headpats as you’d like from him and Jing Yuan wouldn’t complain, especially not as he got the chance to watch you melt under his touch to the point you were practically cuddled into his side with a look of pure content written across your face.

So if he were to see that you weren’t having the best of days he’d immediately start giving you headpats in hopes of making you feel better. Jing Yuan’s logic was that seeing as how your headpats always helped make his day just that little bit brighter. Jing Yuan could only hope that he could pay it forward to you in a way that let you know that he would always have your back, always.

Aventurine leans into your hand as you give him head pats and closing his eyes as he enjoyed any amount of affection you decided to give him.

He needed this, he really did.

At first he was afraid of what the implication meant but now, he would practically sprawl himself across your lap and silently wait until you were done with what you were doing to give him some head pats, whining that you don’t pay enough attention to him.

He wasn’t use to such gentle, loving touch such as yours and now that he’s gotten a taste, he’s become addicted and would always find a way to get you to give him head pats no matter what. He would ask but Aventurine felt as though he was only worth them when he’s done something to earn such affection.

He viewed everything as a transaction and your headpats were no different.

Until you told him one day that he didn’t have to ever ask to receive love and affection, at least not with you and that you would gladly give him headpats just for waking up.

Aventurine cried that night in your arms as you gave him soft, comforting headpats.

Now aventurine demands headpats for practically everything but you didn’t mind as you were more than happy to spend hours on end if it meant spending time with your lover and reassuring him of your love for him. It heals apart of him that he didn’t know needed healing before, you heal him with your unwavering kindness and compassion and he didn’t know how the appropriate way to thank you, other then to give you some headpats himself.

Aventurine’s headpats were soft, gentle, Alamo as though he was scared he was going to hurt you but they were reassuring and encouraging at the same time that made you feel as though you could move mountains.

His headpats were like a silent ‘I love you’ for a singular reason.

He would pat your head three times and linger there for a couple of seconds then patting your head three more times before repeating this a couple more times, even going as far as to adding in a couple of kisses to your face in between. He loved hearing you laugh but he loved it when you shown signs of being comfortable, being safe with him as that was all he wants was to make you feel safe and happy with him because that’s how you made him feel on a daily basis.

Sunday finds your need to give him head pats amusing and will gladly let you do so to your hearts content if it brings you so much joy.

It doesn’t matter if he was busy because Sunday will always make room for you and you head pats no matter what, and will stress the importance to his staff that a specific time slot remains reserved for you and only you because your head pats were pure magic to the Halovian.

His wings would flutter softly and in time with your head pats that you couldn’t help but giggle at how cute the sight was as Sunday tries to get them to stop, but ultimately just accepts that his wings had a mind of their own when it came to you and how reciprocal they were to your touch.

He defiantly needs them after a hard days work and will most defiantly collapse on your lap, wings drooping like a pair of dog ears in tandem to express his exhaustion, and sigh as he felt you begin to softly pat his head.

‘You’ve done amazing today honey.’ You tell him.

‘Thank you my dearest but all I want to do now is relax with you if that’s quite alright with you.’ Sunday said tired and you couldn’t deny him when he was like this, and for the rest of the afternoon you spent cuddled up with Sunday and giving him head pats as his wings tried to match with the pace of your pats.

Sunday does reward you with headpats of your own but they may not come as frequently as you might like but you understood that he was a busy man, when you do get your headpats its mainly when you were on the brink of falling asleep, so often times it felt like a dream. Sunday wishes he could give you as many headpats as you’d like but giving you them while you were half asleep was for the best.

Bonus: when he’s cuddling you from behind, his wings will try and give you headpats but end up hitting the sides of your face, so somethings you’d wake up to a pair of soft grey wings softly smacking you first thing in the morning.

#hsr imagines #hsr imagine #hsr x reader #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr sunday x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #Honkai star rail imagines #Honkai star rail imagine #sunday x reader #sunday imagines #sunday imagine #aventurine x reader #aventurine imagine #aventurine imagines #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan imagine #jing yuan imagines

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 2 months

Text

Horikoshi giving hero tropes to the villains is probably my favorite part of bnha.

He presented us with a nervous wreck of a boy at the beginning of the manga. Look, he seemed to say, isn't he creepy? isn't he evil? He met Tomura in his most lanky form. Malnourished, neglected, real dead hands all over his body and blunt nails digging mercilessly in his skin.

Sure, the story paints him as a real villain. He is there to kill kids, after all. He wants to kill the light of the hero society, to spread violence and hatred all around. He's also very very suspicious. You get that feeling that there's more to the story. It's in the way he acts, his desperation. He looks sick. What is he making him so? What is his story?

Tomura is a loser. A failure since the beginning, if you follow the narrative. Characters like Stain, Overhaul and Redestro point it out: Tomura isn't the best strategist per se, they can't understand his reasons to do what he does, there's something wrong with him in villain terms.

That's when the brain starts to pick up the signals and plants the doubt. Many people don't notice it, but something in the story gives away that he is a very special type of villain.

We see him alone in his dark messy room, staring at a screen. We see him drinking alone in a bar as he sits on his misery. Over and over, we see that evil boy and his burdened stance. Only Kurogiri is there. His master only talks to him through some radio. He doesn't mention anyone else. No one else seems to live in that bar but Kurogiri and him.

Back then, when Tomura was all about AFO and All Might and no one else, he felt hollow. Rotten.

We first saw him approach someone for help and some company after the first LOV members were introduced. We meet Toga and Dabi, then Tomura goes to find Deku. Is he still creepy? Yes. Is he still evil? Also. We have Giran talking about Tomura with the fondness you reserve for a spoiled child. The way Kurogiri and Giran talk about it, it's more like Tomura needs to make some friends. He's not used to it, so he's being rude to them.

He's a chosen one reluctant to make friends, since he's used to doing things on his own— or at least with people he didn't care about. Next time we see him, his telling Kurogiri that he doesn't want them to die, he wouldn't sacrifice them for a goal and he actually wants them to succeed. He talks like a leader, he considers them important.

When they show us the LOV around Tomura as he talks to a kidnapped Bakugo, there's something in there already. How they worry when Bakugo hits Tomura and knocks the hand out of his face. They humanize Tomura, which is a lot to say when AFO did everything he could to dehumanize him. They make Tomura be more mature, more responsible and more capable. While AFO paints Tomura as a foolish child that cannot get things right until he's guided there, the LOV trusts Tomura to take care of himself and guide them.

That's when the hero tropes with villains started.

A quick list from the top of my head:

Twice overcame his trauma mid-battle in order to save Toga and then the LOV.

Tomura was tempted by Overhaul to betray the LOV in exchange for power. He pretended to agree, only to backstab Overhaul because Tomura would never forgive those who hurt his friends and would never betray the LOV.

Magne went to attack Overhaul for offending her and her friends, defending their ideals and their right to exist 'til death.

Mr. Compress took the leading role in many dangerous situations to assure that the LOV would get their win, but also to assure they'd make it out alive.

Tomura would forgive people not on his behalf, but for the benefit of the LOV.

Giran refused to sell any info about the LOV and laughed in his captors face because he was not so important to them. Turns out he was bluffing about it being all business, since we know from Twice's flashback that he did it also for the fondness he felt towards the LOV and the LOV went there to rescue him.

The LOV rushing through a battlefield the size of a city while desperately trying to find a way to save Tomura.

Twice and Mr. Compress refusing to leave Tomura fighting Gigantomachia alone and taking the burden of his training with him.

Dabi doing all he could to save Twice and snapping when he realized Twice was dead.

Mr. Compress worried about Toga and her solo mission.

Spinner telling Toga that she needs to come back safe and sound to them.

Tomura refusing to die or give up while the LOV still needs him (to be a hero).

Twice already dead and still moving because he needed to save Toga.

The entire LOV refusing to even consider defeat because they blindly believe that there is no way Tomura can lose.

And there's so much more...

The LOV made Tomura act heroic. They gave him a reason to want to save and protect, instead of just wanting to destroy.

The power of friendship but for evil.

Isn't it the best thing ever?

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #league of villains #lov #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura

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ry3breadl0rd · 9 months

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some titles uncle rick deprived us of

”I Fall To My Death (Again)” for the fall into tartarus

“I Get Mugged by Monsters” that one chapter where leo’s tool belt gets stolen

“Jason Meets his Brother” hercules chapter

“I Obtain A Death Ray” the sphere thing

“Leo Makes a Great First Impression” when he blows up new rome

“I Scare Some Pirates With An Unofficial Sponsorship” that chapter where percy scares off the pirates with diet coke

“A Spider Hates My Mom” annabeth at any point with arachne ngl

“Scrawny Is The New Sizzling Hot” leo+hazel with narcissus

“We Get Slapped to New York” zeus smacking the argo ll to new york

“Nyx Gives Us A Tour” when they convince nyx to not murder them immediately by pretending they’re tourists

“My Evil Great-Grand Mother Wakes Up” self explanatory i hope

“Hazel Orders A Horse From Amazon” hazel meets arion

“I Get Blasted Out Of This World” leo goes to ogygia

“Fleecy Does Us A Solid” when they meet iris

“I Tame A Dragon” leo with argo

“I Vaporize Some Old Ladies” first chapter of son

“I Give My Dad Some Decor Tips” nico and hades conversation

“Piper Talks Her Boyfriend To Life” when piper charm speaks jason back to life

“I Play Roulette With A Blind Man” when percy drinks the gorgons blood

“Piper Sees Dead People (In Her Knife)” i might be remembering wrong but it’s that one where they try to trick piper by showing her how her friends were doing in her knife, like trying to convince her they were all dead

“We Use Adidas To Summon A Goddess” nike chapter

“Mudman, Hazel, and Frank Get Brunch” when they get to alaska

“I Learn The Power Of Positivity” percy and misery

“We Meet A Cool Girl (Literally)” khione chapter

“I’m Leo. You Killed My Mother. It’s My Turn” based on the funny comment:) it’s for when leo blows up gaea

“My Nosebleed Wakes Up My Great-Grandma” when gaea wakes up

“Mr. D Hates Ballet” when he helps percy and jason against the twin giants

“Frank Gets A Blast To The Past” when hazel shares her past with him

“Frank Sets Himself On Fire” with the firewood and freeing thatanos

“I Got A Girlfriend?” jason first chapter

”Why Did It Have To Be Poison?” that chapter with polybotes

“Jason Becomes The Oldest Demigod!” old man jason

“Game Night Goes Too Far” war games in son

“The World Hates Us, Literally” hoh when they’re low key attacked by like everything

“We Traumatize Frank” when percabeth gets caught together

“Lions, and Tigers, and Frank, Oh My!” when frank unlocks his shapeshifting stuff

“I Aquire a Misfortune Cookie” i might be delulu but didn’t nemesis omfg i knew that why did i put nike give leo a fortune cookie to open if he needed help?? but price would not be fun

“The Law is On My Side For Once” percy and terminus vs polybotes

“Being A Dumb Blonde Has Its Perks” annabeth when she drops the knife that one chapter

#heroes of olympus #percy jackson #piper mclean #nico di angelo #hazel levesque #frank zhang #annabeth chase #jason grace #leo valdez #headcanon #demigods #chapter

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strawberrysturniolo · 5 months

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gaming // bf!chris

summary: you’re desperate for attention while your bf is playing a game with his brothers on twitch, and you distract him with a blowjob

My day has been filled with nothing but phone calls and stress. Work felt never ending, and when I finally clocked out, I had endless calls to make.

I could feel my anxiety dripping out of my skin with every bead of sweat that fell. I hate letting things have this power over me, but how can I stop it? At some point it just builds up and I have no choice but to let it take control. Right now, I’m fully checked out of everything for the day.

For some sort of break from life, I use my spare key to enter my boyfriend’s house. I would have given him a heads up and let him know I was on my way, but my phone was occupied with everyone else in the world, when all I wanted was to vent to Chris about my day so he could cheer me up like he always is able to.

I lock the door behind me and head to his room, knocking once on the door before letting myself in. He pokes his head out, his eyes wide in surprise, and I notice when I hear Matt and Nick talking to him through his headset that he had no idea who could have been coming into his room.

“Oh, hi,” he says, finally smiling and relaxing a bit when he realizes it’s me.

I toss my bag on his bed and kick my shoes off. “Hi.”

He nods his head to the monitor in front of him, and it’s at this moment that I realize that not only is he playing a game with his brothers, but he’s also streaming it in front of god knows how many viewers, who can all see me now. It’s a miracle I stopped myself from saying something vulgar before everyone heard.

I whisper a “Sorry” before stepping out of the frame.

When my back is turned, I hear Matt and Nick through the stream going, “Oooooo”

“Guys, shut up,” Chris says.

“Who could that be?” Matt asks although he knows it’s me. They’re just trying to tease Chris for my unannounced appearance during the stream.

He turns around in his chair, moving his headphones so one ear is out. “You wanna say hi?”

I let out an annoyed sigh, already wishing I could take it back, and this only grows when Chris’ face falls, thinking I was reacting that way to him. That’s not the case at all, I’m just mentally and physically tired, and the last thing I want is to be interrogated with questions in the stream’s chat, or feel like I need to entertain people.

“I’m not really in the mood,” I finally say.

Chris gives me a soft smile, noticing something is wrong. He always does. “That’s okay.”

He turns back to the screen, and it’s at this moment that I realize I’ve probably made myself look like a complete cunt in front of tens of thousands of people..

I walk behind Chris, bending over his shoulder a bit so I can see the screen better, scanning my eyes over the chat. “Hi guys, I’m sorry if I sound bitchy. I just had a bad day.”

Chris looks over to me and asks, “Wanna get ice cream later and we can chill?”

As silly as it sounds, one thing me and Chris have to do when we have a bad day is treat the other person to ice cream. It’s such a simple and somewhat foolish activity, but that’s the best part. When we have our days of stress, anxiety, and misery, we always make an effort to get ice cream to forget about our issues.

“When is later?” I ask, getting excited for our plan.

“In like an hour,” he guesses. “We’re still streaming.”

I nod, planning to designate this next hour to getting myself unready and trying to relax for the first time today.

As I undress myself, I can feel my boyfriend staring at me. I make sure I’m far from the camera, but my first thought when he stares is that I have just flashed our audience.

I turn back around to double check, only finding my boyfriend with red cheeks and a stupid smile. He quickly turns back around.

With my shirt and pants off, I purposefully let myself take more time to dress in something comfier, teasing him in front of a crowd of people online. I peek over my shoulder at him, finding him shifting uncomfortably. It’s relentless, like he can’t stop himself even if he tried.

He has a full shot of my ass when I bend over and dig for a pair of Chris’ sweatpants, finally opting for his blue Fresh Love set.

“Chris! Come on!” Nick shouts at him, noticing how distracted his brother has become.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters before the sound of him clicking on his controller.

I laugh to myself at the idea of him becoming distracted, a sense of confidence growing inside of me knowing that I was the one who made him that way.

I stand next to him, staying out of the frame of the camera. I smirk at his boner, which only grows by the second. It’s prominent through his gray sweatpants.

He notices me staring. “Stop it,” he warns through gritted teeth.

I lower myself to the floor next to his gaming chair. My fingers take over, tracing over his thighs. He sucks in a sharp breath that is luckily mistaken as a missed shot on his opponent.

He quickly reaches up to his headset, muting his microphone before he says, “You better be careful,” in his normal volume.

“You better be careful,” I tell him. “You’re the one being watched by…” I peek at the monitor. “Seventy-five thousand people.”

His eyes dart between the screen and me. “Are you just going to tease me and try to embarrass me in front of everyone.”

I pout a bit, insulted that he would think so lowly of me. “Of course not,” I assure him. “I’m going to suck you off, and you’re gonna behave and make sure no one knows.”

He licks his lips, trying to act nonchalant. He does nothing but nod and sink a bit in his chair, making sure I will be completely out of the frame below him.

He returns to his game, spitting out insults at his brothers and trying to seem invested in their game as they continue to play.

My hands tug at the string of his sweatpants, loosening them before tugging them down to his thighs. He lifts his hips a little bit, helping me out without making anything too obvious.

His black briefs hug his dick. His erection is so clear and tight against his underwear, I can see him leaking out onto the fabric. My pussy clenches at the sight.

I trace my finger over where I know his tip is, following the pathetic splotch of pre-cum. His hips shift, and I squeeze his thigh as a warning.

I press soft kisses to his clothed dick, peering up at him and watching his expressions change, trying not to laugh at his attempts of playing off his outward reactions to my touch to him as reactions to the game.

I pull the last layer of clothing out of the way watching his cock smack his stomach before his pre-cum continues to leak, now onto the trail of hair between his belly button and his pelvis.

I wrap a hand around him, stroking him lightly, spitting down on his tip and rubbing it on him through every stroke. His stomach starts to heave, already desperate for more.

I poke my tongue out, licking over his slit and tasting what he’s been leaking for minutes now. I continue to spit on his dick, making a mess on him before taking him in my mouth. He rolls his lips into his mouth, trying his hardest not to make a sound.

I swirl my tongue around his tip through every motion, taking him deeper over time. The sight of him struggling above me is enough to make me wet.

“Alright we’re gonna take a little five minute break,” Nick’s voice echos. My eyes widen, and I find myself pulling Chris out of my mouth at the sound. “We’ll be back so just sit tight.”

Chris quickly turns off his camera, pressing the mute button on his headset and tosses it onto the bed behind him.

Then, his hands find my face, holding my cheeks as I take him into my mouth again. “Fuck, baby that’s so good.” His face contorts now that he can take advantage of the camera being off. “Oh my god, just like that.”

I continue to bob my head on him, his tip reaching the back of my throat each time. His stomach heaves harder now, his hand raking through my hair before thrusting himself deeper.

My eyes widen before gaining a comfortable rhythm, drool beginning to drip down my chin as my mouth hangs open, getting sloppily fucked by my needy boyfriend.

“I’m gonna cum,” he whines. “Fuck– Please don’t stop. Please, baby.”

I nod, not wanting to take my mouth off of him and risk us losing time before the stream starts again. I lower a hand to his balls, rubbing and squeezing them until I can feel them tighten in my hold. His moans become strained, trying not to let his brothers hear us. Any other time he really wouldn’t care, but I know he’s worried about getting teased in front of fans, and the last thing we want is attention being brought to what we’re clearly doing.

His thrusts become erratic, my eyes watering as he fucks my throat. I have to mentally encourage myself to keep going.

“Ohhhhh, shit,” he groans. His eyes are screwed shut, opening when he feels my lips close around his cock as he releases his cum into my mouth. He watches me take it, his jaw slack.

I pull his underwear up delicately, knowing he’s overly sensitive at the moment, before doing the same with his underwear.

I press a soft kiss to his lips, earning a pleased hum from him in response.

“You look so pretty in my set,” he compliments me, his voice low as he presses a kiss to my shoulder.

“Compliments to the CEO,” I grin.

He smiles back at me, hugging me tightly as we bask in the last few moments of silence before he jumps back on the game.

#christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader

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plutolovesyou · 2 months

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10:15 Saturday Night

READ THIS FIRST! 🇵🇸

☆: this one-shot is based on this little imagine/idea thing y'all really liked! ellie coming into your bedroom after throwing rocks at your window, that famed rom-com trope. i love making titles from songs so here’s this one. linking it because i despise the way the audio embed thing looks, that shit’s so ugly- have nothing else to say except this was meant to be only fluffy, but i got a little carried away at the end (and sub!ellie turns me into a rabid raccoon so) 😇 smut is embarrassing af to write i better get over that lmao but anyway, hope you enjoy!

♧: 5k word count

◇: SMUT!! porn w/ plot, but it's sweet. lotsa fluff too, modern au, established relationship, reader feels gloomy in the beginning, mentions of unspecified argument, dorky ellie saves the day, mentions of being irritated at family, mututal teasing back n forth, ellie’s lowk annoying LMAO. kinda mean reader (but in a hot way), lazy/rushed intro bc i’m impatient. cuddling → starts out as top!ellie but oops! a dash of nipple play, a little fighting for dominance ending in sub!ellie & dom!reader, fingering (e! and r! receiving), oral (e! receiving), risky sex. she's a whimperer folks- lawd i needa ruin her….this is very self indulgent, in case you couldn’t tell. lmk if i forgot anything!)

Waiting for the telephone to ring, and I’m wondering where she's been. And I'm crying for yesterday, and the tap drips. Drip, drip, drip, drip….

Robert Smith’s vocals rang through the room as you spun around in your chair, round and round and round until you got dizzy, your brain being jostled around in your skull as if you were on a rollercoaster. Gaming chairs, powerful things they were. You were lost in thought, pondering the state of the world and your life, because you had nothing better to do other than wallow in your miseries.

Everything was going downhill, or that’s certainly what it felt like currently. You hated every single one of your responsibilities and life was generally not being kind to you. But most of all, you hated disagreeing with your girlfriend. Ellie could get a little feisty when things didn't go exactly her way, and you loved that fighter quality about her, but maybe not when it was used in your disagreements with her. This particular day her spunky attitude was getting on your nerves, and both of you had gotten a little irritated with each other.

You knew that neither one of you meant anything you said in the heat of the moment, you just had occasional squabbles like everyone else. However this time, today’s words hit you a little harder. Not to mention it was spring break and so for the time being you’d gone back home to spend time with your family. Ellie had done the same. You were very grateful the two of you grew up close to each other, only started your relationship years after initially meeting. You enjoyed reminiscing about the budding moments, adored looking back on the good ole days.

The source of today’s irritation could have been a myriad of things. Maybe you’d had another little fight with your family members, had a lot of assignments due after the break was over, and the weather was generally horribly ugly. Gray, cloudy skies, pouring rain, wind and chilly temperatures, everything was just going swimmingly. When all of that added up it was only natural for people to be a little on edge, and briefly forget the good moments life had to offer, wasn't it?

Picking up your phone, you stared at the sent message to Ellie, just a plain text asking what she’s up to. Even in moments of disagreements where you needed space to get yourself back on track, you would send her little messages as a way to show her, and reassure yourself, that it was only temporary and the two of you would talk it out amazingly and come out even stronger on the other side.

But now you’ve been left on delivered for hours, was she really that busy? Knowing her, it was likely. Her and Joel were probably out fishing or hiking or doing some other fun outdoorsy activity, while you were just left to rot within the confines of your childhood bedroom. Had she not ticked you off earlier you would have asked to come with. Waiting on an answer from her of any kind would only serve to frustrate you even more, so you put your phone away and collapsed into your warm, inviting bed, despite it being way too early to go to sleep. But you didn’t feel like doing much of anything else, so a little shut-eye wouldn’t hurt.

Within moments you were out like a light. Blissfully relaxing in dreamland, where you were frolicking amongst colorful flower fields and riding on the back of a unicorn into the sunset, dancing with fairies and twirling to your heart's content. Your family dog’s deafening barking was drowned out by you playing the harp with elves and floating endlessly into an abyss of turquoise waters. You were so deep in this wonderful dream, it was healing you in all the right ways you needed right now. Restoring every ounce of energy you lost, fighting against your inner saboteurs so efficiently. You’d simply stay there forever if you could. Until-

Plink, plink, plink. A small, repetitive sound persisted through your slumber, eventually waking you up. Startling awake and switching on your lamp, you stepped out of bed with a groan, stumbling over your steps and rubbing your eyes to get to the window to see what in the world could possibly be happening.

It was raining heavily, and seemed to be hours after you had initially fallen asleep. You squinted through the raindrops coating the pane of glass and down into your yard as an attempt to scout out the noise. Looking down through the blur, you were met with your loving, apologetic girlfriend, her form scurrying around your yard in the dark of night, scavenging your yard for something. Were those pebbles she was throwing at your window? How cliche.

It appeared as if she had found some, standing upright and rearing her arm back in preparation to fling it at the glass, until she saw you and waved. You didn't open the window just yet, and signaled to tell her to scram. What was she doing here at this hour, in this weather? You flapped your arms frantically in every direction, out towards every axis, resulting only in her pouting and shaking her head. You weren't going to get rid of her that easily.

Twisting and turning the knob to open the window with a creak, you lean outside in the drizzle and stage whisper down at her. “Ellie? It's like, I don't even know the time, but it's late. What the fuck are you doing?” The phrases thrown at each other during your earlier squabble flickered through your mind again, but you pushed them aside because the sight of your love always made your heart melt. And she was clearly up to something, so you were going to see it through to the end.

She shouts up at you, “Hey, I wanna say I'm sorry for earlier. I wanna make it up to you so-” She cuts herself off by bending into a kneel, setting down her bag on the wet grass and rummaging through it, pulling out her navy blue ukulele and clearing her throat. You feel yourself blush from the actions, might be from second hand embarrassment, might be because you're touched by the gesture. She begins.

“So, uh, I tried getting my guitar but it was too big to carry all the way here and I don't want it to get wet so, this'll do.” She strums it, gently swaying from side to side, and sings a scuffed rendition of A-ha's Take on Me, her voice shaking slightly and the cheap instrument being significantly out of tune. The rain and distant thunder was drowning her out, but watching patiently was more than fine. You stay at your window, listening to her serenade until the last few lyrics.

Not even realizing it, but once she finishes the performance, your heart is warmed and you're beaming at her. You truly loved her so much, and as much as you wished to, couldn't stay mad at her for any longer. And regardless, standing out in the rain getting soaked to the bone like that was her punishment, in a sense. The moonlight is dancing on her face in a way that makes her eyes twinkle as if they were plucked straight from the cosmos, and she's grinning widely at you. Enchanting as ever.

“Did it work? I love you!” She blows you a kiss, wipes her slicked down hair from her face and shudders violently. “It's really cold down here, can I come up? Please lemme in.” The slight nasally tone in her voice could make you do anything for her, damn, this girl didnt even know how much of a hold she had on you sometimes.

“Fine. Just one sec.” You closed the window on her to take a quick, silent stroll through the halls of your house to make sure every one of your family members was situated in their respective rooms, and unlikely to be disturbed by any ruckus. By the time you made your way back to your own room, Ellie had already perched herself in the big oak tree next to your house. She was crouched at the top of it, gripping onto a branch and peering inside your room, calmly waiting for you to return and so you could give her the “okay” to come in.

She startled you momentarily, looking like a bit of a creep staring into your house like that, but you laughed it off and opened the window fully for her. “Okay, here goes.” Ellie mumbles under her breath and inches forward closer to the edge of your roof. It wasn't a big gap, but there was a sure possibility of injury and it was a risk you didn't want her to take, but Ellie being Ellie, she was going to be reckless and do it anyway.

What if her foot slipped on the wet shingles and she went splat on the ground? Or broke every bone in her body with a crunch…? That wouldn't be pretty. Your stomach flipped with nerves and you grimaced, turning away. “Please don't die.” She didn't respond and instead only focused on completing the jump to your roof with a “hmf”. One step was done, you breathed a sigh of relief and opened one eye.

She was slowly making her way there with both arms outstretched, and as she had almost completed the journey, she tripped. You screeched quietly and turned away again, that was definitely helpful, but bracing yourself for the worst inevitably proved unnecessary when you heard her familiar raspy giggle. She caught herself just in time and was at the windowsill now, appearing winded from the effort and adrenaline.

“Heh, told you I'd be fine.” “Ellie don't scare me like that, just hurry up.” You helped her crawl inside your candle lit room by the arm, and once she was inside only then did you notice how drenched she was from the rain. Just sopping wet, dripping water all over your, thankfully, hardwood floors. The severity of the conditions outside only became even more apparent to you now, poor girl was about to turn into an icicle. It would be mean of you to leave her like this and let her catch a cold, she hasn’t wronged you quite that much. But a part of you was feeling a little playful, a little mischievous perhaps.

“Don't move, I'll find you something warm.” Before you can disappear inside your closet to find her some dry clothes she attacks you in a clumsy embrace, resulting in you being soaked now too. You try to pry her away and feel goosebumps come on as her cold lips connect with your neck, moist smacks as she smooches you all over.

“Let go, Els, c'mon you're gonna get me all wet too.” You lament to her, then regret your choice of words instantly as she pulls away to look at you, wiggle her eyebrows and smirk, to which she comments. “Damn right I am, that's m'goal.”

Whenever she pulls dirty jokes on you your immediate instinct is to burst into laughter, but you clap your hand over your mouth and hiss back at her. “Shhhh we gotta be really quiet, everyone's asleep. I don't feel like getting a talking-to at breakfast in the morning, y'know because ‘their house, their rules’.” You whisper the explanation to her as you roll your eyes and mock your family's words, adding air quotes as well.

Ellie gives you double thumbs up in response, solemnly swearing to not produce a peep. After rummaging through your drawers, you find a warm pajama set which matches yours and make her put it on while you sneak around to grab her a towel to dry off with too.

Moments later the two of you are cuddled up in your bed together, entangled in each other's arms, enjoying the quiet company. Just listening to the other’s steady intakes and exhales of oxygen, warm hands caressing over clothes stroking each other's hair, wanting to absorb into the other and assimilate into one being. What a shame that wasn't possible, you thought.

There wasn't too much of a need to discuss the disagreement in depth, because of the mutual understanding it wasn't anything serious, and ultimately the product of annoying circumstances, which was definitely a huge relief. Shit happens, and you were as glad ever to be entangled in her arms again, although it was worth mentioning in short anyway. You break the silence by whispering into her ear.

“You didn't have to come here Els.” You hear her let out a throaty chuckle, then squeeze your waist tighter. “I felt bad, I know you've been kinda under the weather recently. And wanna say sorry for being annoying earlier.” She murmured into the side of your neck, sending tingles on a path spreading throughout your whole body.

While the the two of you were cuddling in your room keeping conversation faint as can be, she had absent-mindedly began to roam her hands around your body, from the sides of your ribcage, to clutching your waist, to settling on your hips to play with the waistband of your fleece pajama pants. She was placing feather-light kisses on your neck simultaneously, and you found it hard to believe she didn't know what she was doing, but it was definitely working on you, and you frankly found it funny. She really did have a habit of being handsy. Your logical side was screaming how bad of an idea this was, but your horny side…

It was like the angel and devil sitting atop your shoulders, debating the pros and cons. You wondered who was going to win.

Teasingly whispering back to her, “Els, what do you think you’re doing?” Even through her hushed tone, you could hear the smirk dancing upon her pretty pink lips. “Nothin’ much, just feelin’ up my girl.” She finishes the statement with a firm squeeze to your boobs. Subtle. And just like that, the little devil was winning, you could hear their maniacal cackles metaphorically in your mind.

“Ellie, my fuckin’ parents are asleep in the next room over, do you know how thin these stupid walls are?” “So?” “So??? Do you want me to die knowing they were woken up by their adult, straight-A, accomplished, child sneaking in her girlfriend in the middle of the night, like we’re teenage hooligans in a movie or something?”

You'd put Pinocchio to shame by lying like this, knowing full well having her cuddled up close to you, feeling her strong hands sensually explore every curve and valley on your body, and her wearing some of your favorite pajamas was slowly but surely getting you all worked up. All that in tandem with the risk factor was turning you on much more than you'd care to admit. Unpack that another day. Your face was burning and your heart rate was increasing whether you liked it or not, and your girlfriend was right there…a little messing around wasn't going to hurt anyone, was it?

Hesitantly giving in, you turn around in bed to face her and wordlessly press a kiss to her lips, shoving down the lingering embarrassment. It surprises her and she doesn't kiss you back right away, instead laughs in your face and cracks more stupid dad jokes, only making you roll your eyes and punch her in the arm. She snickers, “Ha, not so good after all, are ya?”

When you don't throw a snarky remark back at her she takes your face in her bracelet-clad hand, thumb gliding across your bottom lip smoothly. The dim light in your room casts shadows on her face that make her look mystical, and hot as hell. “Wanna make you feel good.” She murmurs, mostly to herself, while scanning your features shamelessly.

You abruptly sit up and she follows, watching you quizzically. You look her up and down a few more times, just for the sake of it, before roughly yanking her towards you by the shirt and slamming your lips onto hers. She responds properly this time, slipping her tongue into your mouth with ease just how you like it, her grabby hands running all over your body, not knowing where to settle.

The kiss is hot and greedy, pure need coursing through your veins. You'd only been apart for a week at most, and it was definitely a week too long. Your own hands find their way up to her auburnette locks as you grab a fistful and pull, coaxing a scarcely audible groan rumble from her throat. You nip and bite down on her neck, stopping when you get to her pulse point where you could feel just how hard her heart was racing, reveling in the tiny pants leaving her lips as she tried so hard to stay as quiet as possible per your request, screwing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth.

She pulls you back up to meet her in a sloppy kiss, maneuvering the two of you so she was on top of you and you were on your back, gripping the soft flesh of your thighs as she places herself between your legs. Her fingers playing with your nipple while the front of her pelvis rammed against your heat was making you desperate for more of her, and quickly.

Her hands slid under your shirt and caressed your skin all over your entire torso, then you stopped her to take your shirt off and throw it to a corner of your room. Ellie wasted no time to place her mouth on your chest, peppering sweet kisses wherever her lips could reach, licking and sucking on your nipples until they hardened, pausing to stare up at you when the sensation made you squirm into her and sigh. “So much for being quiet, huh?” She taunts oh so smugly, thinking she's got to you.

But her voice fluctuates in pitch as her mind becomes more clouded with arousal, resulting in you getting wetter and wetter. She was going to kill you. Bucking your hips into her in pursuit of some friction, she takes the hint and briskly undoes the bow on your pj pants, and slides her hand in. Her fingers land on the wet spot soaking through your underwear and she prods at it, just to annoy you further.

She really was being purposely insufferable today. You jeer at her, “can you just-” She shuts you up by kissing you again, messily and open-mouthed, swallowing every little sound you made. You pull her closer against you by the waist, and she whimpers. That turned you on even more, if that was even possible, your whole being thrumming with lust, new ideas materializing in your mind. What if you got back at her for being annoying, and in the best way?

The risk factor of having to stay impossibly quiet only added more fuel to the fire, and now you wanted to challenge it as much as you could. You snake your hand down her body and palm her pussy over her clothes and you swore you could feel her clench as soon as you made contact.

She lowers her head to your shoulder and her hand in your pants stops moving, you've officially broken this girl with one lazy touch. “Hmm?” You hum, feigning foolishness as if nothing was deliberate. “Seems you're the needy one here, Els.” Cooing at her in a low voice, her uneven breathing fills your ear. The way she'd planted herself on top of you made the task difficult but not impossible, and you shimmied your hand to her boxers, feeling up the wet spot that was surely triple the size of yours. Not cracking jokes now, is she?

And voila, you knew what your next moves were going to be. Your only goal was to have some fun with her now, just because you could. You began to rub your fingers up and down her slit, the thin fabric catching her clit perfectly making her breath hitch as she tries to suppress whines. “Hey, that's not…fair.” Ellie attempts to regain composure over herself and talks back through gasps, but you don't cease what you're doing. Breaking her was too good.

She fights back by copying your motions, her shaky hand rubbing your pussy at a messy rhythm, up and down, side to side, really not accomplishing much because eventually you win, and she removes her hand from you and presses her body against yours, clutching your waist for dear life and shoving her head in the crook of your neck to stabilize herself.

Her whimpers and tiny moans were music to your ears, egging you on to do more. Moving the fabric aside, you slide a finger inside her needy, drenched hole, slick dripping down your knuckles as you find her spongy spot and curl your fingers against it. She hisses on top of you, clearly you were doing something right.

Inserting another one, you could feel her walls clench and gush around your digits, as you ruthlessly pressed against her g-spot, the heel of your palm bumping against her sensitive clit, eliciting harsher whines from her, muffled by your shoulder.

After a short few moments, you could tell she was about to cum by the way her pussy walls fluttered, and whimpers increased in desperation, sugary, dulcet “ah- haah"s escaping from her lips.

“Gettin close, Els?” Your voice was supple as honey, you were enjoying this too much. She gulps and nods her head, “yeah..hn..please.”

Not so fast. “Hm, okay.” Replying in a cheery tone, as cheery as you can be while whispering that is, you stop all you're doing and tap her on the back. She puffs and sniffles, her voice small and trembling. “What'd you do that for?”

She was too cute like this, you chuckled at her pathetic attempts to rut against you to get that release, and grunt in annoyance.

“Patience.” “Whatever.” She grumbled. “Lay down.” You order her gently, and stroke her hair. Of course she obeys, she needed this too much.

With shaky arms Ellie lifts herself off of you, pouting down at you then plopping herself down beside you in the bed.

Switching places, you stare down at her fondly, wanting to make her feel good properly now. She deserved it after all that. You bend to kiss her forehead, which makes her blush go from rosy to crimson to maroon, her freckles blending in with her cheeks, and she bites her bottom lip while avoiding your gaze. Her expression was simply adorable, all flushed and fucked out already, all for you.

You grope at her chest, making her whine and scrunch her face up. “Need you, please.” She asks, so nicely, her normally confident voice breaking. Of course you'll give her what she wants.

You decide she's waited plenty enough, and tug her boxers and pajama bottoms off in one swift motion, discard them in the same corner of your room your shirt is currently residing, and get to work.

Wasting not a second more, you rapidly shove your face in her pussy, latching onto her clit and sucking with fervor. Taking her in your mouth, grazing with the tips of your teeth ever so gently. She squirms beneath you, her knuckles turning white from how hard she's gripping the sheets on either side of her.

Losing yourself in her, nipping and sucking and licking to your heart's content, humming at her taste and purring praises into her, “pretty, pretty pussy” the vibrations from your low voice reverberating through her only making everything more intense. One particularly forceful knock of the tip of your nose to her clit makes her squeal and close her thighs around your head, unfortunately that was much louder than preferable.

Both of you freeze, chests heaving up and down, staring dazed and wide-eyed at the other, and listen through the walls to see if it caused any disturbance, and you shoot a glare at her once confirming it was unnoticed by anyone in your otherwise silent house. Not a rustle was heard, thank goodness. You exhale through a whistle, then warn through your teeth, “One more sound and I'm pushing you right out that window, got it?”

It came out meaner than you'd meant it to, but she accepts and nods meekly, responding in a wobbly voice, “M'sorry, can't help it.” You relax and press kisses on the soft flesh of her inner thighs, before resuming just as before.

You continue devouring her, her toned abs flexing and caving in beautifully, the light slurping and squelching sounds filling the room, all while holding her hips in place, fingers pressing into the shape of her muscles while she arches her back above you and her fist flies to grab onto your hair, with deathly strength. A symphony of choked “guh- uh” left her throat while you lapped up her slippery fluids, sensing her body twitch as her orgasm began to build. She didn't even have to tell you, you knew her body like you knew your own at this point.

Curling your fingers in her once more, tongue never halting its circles around her pulsing bud and a final thrust to her g-spot was enough to push her off the edge, finally.

The rush ripples through her as her whole body seizes and tenses up, she's creaming around your hard-at-work fingers, and you help her ride out the high by licking gently and weakening the pressure until she pushes your head away because it was getting too much. All that with no sound louder than a mere squeak and string of whispers resembling your name and a colorful array of profanities, she had bitten down on her hand so hard her canines had left dents, but otherwise looked so content and at peace. Gasps lessening and breathing steadying to the pace before, a faint smile on her pretty face, and her eyes lazily closed.

Seeing her all satisfied and happy in turn made you happy, and you cuddled on top of her, laying your head on her chest. Her heartbeat was going at such a fast and frantic pace, you loved hearing it slow back to normal.

Adjusting yourself made her wince, still so sensitive from all you did. “Sorry Els. Did so good.” You mumble and lean up to peck the side of her neck as she drapes her arms around your back and rubs in circles, calming the both of you.

She hums contentedly. “Love you.” “Love you too Els.”

You didn't even care about cleaning up or moving or anything of the sort, because being close to her was all that mattered. The last thing she said before falling asleep and kissing you on the top of the head was, “To the moon and back.” And you fell asleep immediately after her, feeling loved and comforted just like whenever you spent time with her, your girlfriend's ideas always turned out well after all.

Now as for the morning, that was a problem for future you to deal with. Were your parents going to barge in your room and throw her out, or was it going to be an awkward conversation? Who cares? Now it was only time to drift off to dreamland together, hand in hand.

And that you did. You disappeared from this reality and into an ethereal dream world just like earlier, only she was there with you. It was eternally euphoric, the two lovers delightfully singing duets with the fairies, skipping into the horizon and climbing up the arcs of glittery rainbows, it was more than you ever hoped for. As if there never was any disagreement to begin with, all issues were solved when you were together with her, your other half.

Now this dream you really wanted to stay in forever, but since that wasn't possible, you vowed to savor and appreciate it, and her, to the fullest.

lol someone sedate meeeeeee. idk how to end these. pikmin :3 IKKK THE ENDING IS RUSHED TOO AAAA whateva.

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 4 months

Text

Practice On Me — Bonus Part — Fin x Reader.

Summary: A reimagining of how things would have gone if Reader had decided she wanted Fin — despite him being her friend’s father.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Heavy on the smut. 18+, minors dni. Some jealous and possessiveness. Mentions of forbidden relationships/affairs. If the choices Reader makes in this are something you’re against, I urge you not to read! 🫶🏻

Rita’s is like no other place you’ve been — or seen — before.

Is this what you’ve missed out on, trapped within the frozen maw of Windhaven? There is no place like this there, of such vibrancy and euphoria. The music, the coloured faelights, the energy — it all makes you feel…on top of the world.

Like there’s life outside the misery you’ve known.

Mor knocks a shot back, grimacing as she slams the empty glass onto the bar. A sudden burst of giggles leaves her as she says, “My father would have my head if he could see me right now. Literally.”

You don’t doubt that for a second, because Mor looks resplendent, not just in her natural beauty, but her joy. She has danced and drank and kissed and danced some more. And seeing her like this…it makes you glad that she convinced you to come out with her tonight.

“My father would have my head, too,” you tell her over the music. “I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

At that, she rolls her eyes, and she reaches for two more shots. “Here’s to saying fuck the males,” she knocks her glass against yours. “May they all perish.”

You’ll happily drink to that. With the alcohol that has you in its grip, you’re buzzed on thoughts of storming back to Windhaven and confronting all your demons. Confronting anyone and everyone who has ever hurt you and made you feel less than you are. Your father. Lord Devlon. Azriel—

You banish that thought as the liquid slides down your throat with a satisfying burn. You are in Velaris, not Windhaven. A new place with new people, where anything feels possible. The thought is heady and dizzying.

Someone calls Mor’s name, and she glances over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes lighting up again. You truly don’t know how often she’s able to escape the Hewn City and get away to Velaris, but judging by the amount of friends she’s introduced you to tonight, she’s certainly made her mark here.

“Let’s go dance with them!” Mor yells over the music, grabbing your hand.

You think that dancing might be the answer to everything you’ve never known, and so you gladly follow; gladly throw yourself into the thrall of the busy floor.

But that’s when you see him.

Something…some deep power…compels you to look up. Coaxes your eyes to that area a level above, where the city’s VIP guests spend copious amounts of money on copious amounts of alcohol and drink it from their cushy velvet booths. They’re reserved for associates of the High Lord, a not-so-formal place to meet to discuss not-so-casual things.

But none of that matters. There could be an entire circus up there right now, and still all you would notice is — him.

He notices you, too.

The High Lord’s eyes zero in on you from up above. You watch, rooted to the spot, as he takes in the sight of you, from your braided back hair, to your painted face, your dress and the legs exposed by them. He looks like…like he’s finally setting his sights upon an image that was merely fantasy up until now.

He braces his arms on the balustrade. And he just stares.

You want to know what he’s doing here. Whether he’s at Rita’s for business or…or for pleasure. You’ve heard that there are rooms upstairs for people willing to pay the price. Perhaps there’s a lover up there with him somewhere, waiting to explore every last inch of that glorious, sculpted body—

The bleating jealousy that makes your heart twist is…unexpected. And not ideal; not one bit.

He is Rhysand’s father. Things may have been fucked up royally with Azriel, and you may have been burned by the experience — but Fin is Rhysand’s father.

Your friend’s father.

Your friend’s father who has just so happened to help keep you feeling alive these past weeks. With his layers-deep allure, the sweet, sweet words that roll off his tongue. His hospitality, his generosity. His kindness. All of it, you’d attributed to him being a natural charmer, a High Lord who knows precisely what to say, what to do.

It strikes you in that moment — just how much it’s all sunk its way into your bones and made you feel…dangerous.

He watches you like a cat with a mouse. Watches as somebody grabs your hand and yanks you into the tightly knit dancing bodies. The music pulses through you from head to toe, a frenzied tune of strings and keys that somehow come together to create the feeling of being borne aloft. Being on top of the world.

As you become lost to the sensation of dance, you’re glad to forget all your thoughts about Fin. You don’t want to wonder what he’s doing here. You don’t want to imagine what those strong, rough hands might get up to, where they might venture.

You become sandwiched between two males who dance with you in a way that makes you forget your wings were ever stolen. They touch you and touch each other, and you welcome it all, happy to be someone, somewhere, else. At least for a while.

But there’s suddenly a foreign touch to your shoulder. That of a cold, meaty hand that stills your movements and draws your attention. The two males happily slink away and begin grinding on each other, and you spin on the spot to find a tall, stocky male who looks like he punches people in the face for the hell of it.

“Y/N?” He checks, and you nod. “The High Lord wishes to speak with you. Upstairs.”

You glance over your shoulder, eyes searching for Mor and finding her just as she’s following a male and female to a cloaked-off area at the back. That’ll be her occupied for the remainder of the night. You’re officially going solo.

But not for long. Not as the bouncer juts his chin in the direction of the staircase and begins to lead you there. Perhaps it makes you a fool, but you follow without a word.

He pulls back a rope and gestures for you to go on up, and then he’s refastening it behind you and turning back to train a keen eye on the dance floor. It’s purely the alcohol that hits you with enough of an ego to climb those stairs like you belong amongst the chandeliers and velvet booths.

But you look good — amazing, even. You know you do. And looking like this, things like scars and other insecurities seem so trivial. You’ve taken back the right to feel as beautiful as you are. You wear your Illyrian features proudly, and you’re pretty and lithe and graceful—

And your heel catches on the top step of the staircase, almost sending you sprawling to the floor — if not for the warm hand that catches your elbow.

“Easy.” Fin rasps into your ear, setting you steady on your feet.

Your numbed, inebriated senses are not immune to the effect of his voice, it would seem. The deep baritone, rough as jagged rock, pushes its way into your skin, your veins, and spreads far faster than any alcohol could.

“Pardon me, my Lord,” you answer, and you’re unable to shove down the hysterical giggle that claws up your throat. “Fuck, you’re the High Lord.”

He cocks a dark eyebrow. “And you are drunk.”

“The whiskey they serve here is immense.”

“I’ll be sure to extend your compliments to Rita herself.”

Is that, you wonder, who he’s up here meeting? Perhaps the elusive Rita is a close associate of his. Perhaps they do deals in both business and pleasure.

And taking in your fill of the High Lord right now, in a dark button-up shirt and fitted breeches of a slate grey, you would not blame Rita one little bit.

Gods, he’s exquisite. Rhysand may resemble Roza more than he does Fin, but…with two parents of such stunning beauty, it’s no wonder your friend is as handsome as he is.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you make no secret of the way your eyes linger on him. Tonight is dangerous, and you’re enjoying it.

“Nor I, you,” he narrows his gaze down at you. “Imagine my surprise, considering that when I left the palace earlier this evening, you were curled up in the library with a book. And yet, here you are. Wearing…” mahogany eyes take in the short cut of your dress, “…that.”

“Mor surprised me with a visit.”

“My niece ought to be more careful not to press her father’s buttons too much,” a muscle in his chiselled jaw ticks. “And I think you ought to be more careful not to push mine.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Bold. So foolishly bold of you. You’ll regret it once sober, you’re sure. “Was there a particular reason you summoned me up here, my Lord? I was rather enjoying dancing.”

“I noticed. And I’m taking you home.”

“What—”

Before you can even finish the word, Fin’s gripping your elbow again, and darkness sweeps you away.

Being winnowed while drunk is not a fun experience.

You feel the cosmic, air-light step from one place to another. Your stomach lurches, your head spinning. You can barely get a hold of yourself as you cling to Fin and prepare your feet to touch solid ground.

And then the darkness is gone, and you’re back in the toasty, warm glow of the palace’s library. Your knees buckle, trying to drag you to the floor, but Fin keeps you upright.

“What the…” you gawp up at him. “Why did you bring me home?”

He ensures you’re able to stand on your feet before pushing away from you. Doesn’t even look at you as he commands, “Get to bed.”

“I was enjoying myself.”

“Just as those males were enjoying you, too. You’re drunk and you need to sleep it off. Get to bed.”

He strides towards the door, his knuckles white from how hard he grips the hilt of the sword sheathed at his side. But sword or no, you refuse to give up so easily.

“No,” you say simply. “I will not.”

Fin stops. Goes still. And then he turns back to you.

His temper is clear on his face, but he doesn’t storm back over like you’re half expecting him to. Instead, his eyes shutter, and he seems to take a deep, soothing breath. When he’s looking at you once more, he flicks his wrist in your direction.

And immediately, gone is the haze of the alcohol.

Immediately, you’re completely lucid, completely steady on your feet. Not a lick of inebriation remains, as if you had, indeed, slept it off.

“Did you just sober me up?” you’re outraged by the mere idea.

“Yes.” Fin admits shamelessly. “Now you won’t fall victim to a hangover in the morning — a favour from me, to you, and I ask you in return to get to bed. And don’t even think about trying to venture back out. I’ll know.”

Your blood boils. And the anger isn’t simply because of your ruined fun, but because…because it stings, the way Fin is treating you with such contempt. Scolding you like you’re little more than a petulant child. He’s been nothing but wonderful since you came to Velaris, and yet now, he speaks to you like…like most of the males back in Windhaven do.

It makes you see red.

“What right have you to dictate how I spend my evening?” you snap. “I was under the impression that my free time is my own, and if I wish to go and get drunk and dance like a fool, that is up to me.”

Cold, beautiful anger hardens Fin’s face. He stalks closer, squeezing the hilt of that sword so, so tightly. “What right have I? This is my home. My city. My court. I am your High Lord, and you choose to behave in such a way when I’ve opened my home to you and offered you refuge? When I’ve given you a place to run to and left my resources at your disposal?”

You rock back on the heels of your feet, staring at him. Every word lands a hit — as good as if he’d nocked them in a bow and fired them right at your heart. It stings. Gods, it stings. You want the careless oblivion of the alcohol back.

Because you grapple daily with the pain, the anxiety, of feeling unwanted. And you…you had begun to think that Fin actually cared for you. Actually enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his.

You’d begun to care about his thoughts and feelings where you were concerned. And begun to believe that it wasn’t just the hospitality and courtesy that he would dole out to any runt on the street.

His eyes seem to track the way your expression changes, your shoulders slump. You swallow. The anger is replaced, simply, by hurt.

“If I am a burden, my Lord, I apologise,” you rasp. “I don’t intend to be one. I appreciate your generosity, and I…I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

You hope you can keep your tears at bay long enough to escape to your room. You’re pelted with shame, embarrassment, hurt. You step forward and hurry past the High Lord, desperate to book it out of there, to get to bed.

But his hand encloses around your wrist, tugging you to a stop. And he says, quietly, “wait.”

That hand on your wrist holds the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

You pin your gaze to the ground, unable to look at Fin. You hear him swallow.

“That isn’t—” his voice is gravelly. “I didn’t mean that.”

You don’t think you can speak. You remain a statue beneath his touch.

But so gently — such a contrast to the whirlwind of his actions before — he’s walking you backwards. Slow and careful. You feel your back hit the wall, and he lets go of your wrist and seems to curl his fists at his sides. There’s a desperation to the action that only then coaxes you to look up at him.

His expression is…pleading. For what, you’re not sure.

“You are the furthest thing from a burden,” he says, quietly, on an exhale. “Your presence here is very much welcomed, I assure you.”

You don’t dare breathe a word. Every last bit of your very sober courage is being thrown into maintaining eye contact. There’s none to spare for speaking.

But your lack of response seems to trouble Fin. His eyes rake over your face, searching for something. He swallows again.

And then his eyes shutter, and he whispers, “Mother above, what are you doing to me?”

You don’t know how to answer him — whether he’s even talking to you at all. He takes in a very slow, very deep breath, as though it’s the only thing that’s stopping him from…doing something. What, you’re not sure.

But you can feel it, sense it — the ferocity with which he’s swallowing down words and holding himself back. Like he wants so badly to say something, but can’t.

His eyes open, clearer than they were seconds before, and he says in a far gentler tone, “Get to bed, Y/N,” he inclines his head. “Sleep well.”

With tense, squared shoulders, he turns — and it’s you, this time, that stops him. You halt him with a hand on his arm, and you could swear you feel the muscles flex under his touch.

“Wait,” you say, not ready to let him go, not prepared to leave things between you like this. “Stay and talk with me for a while.”

His jaw clenches like he’s gritting his teeth. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why? We talk all the time, you and I. And there are clearly things you’re holding back from saying—”

Your words are cut short as he suddenly meets your gaze with the intensity of a blazing fire. You think it might burn you. You hope it will.

“It’s a bad idea,” he grounds out, gutturally, “not because of what I want to say. But because of what I want to do.”

“What—”

“You are my son’s close friend. You are Roza’s guest,” he tugs his arm out from under your hand. “You are far younger than I am. I am trying my hardest — I have been trying my hardest — to be a good male. And right now, a good male would take his leave and go to bed, so I bid you goodnight, Y/N.”

“Fin—”

“I hope you sleep well.”

“Fin,” you grab for him again. “What if I don’t want you to be a good male?”

Beneath your touch, he stops. Goes preternaturally still.

Words punch out of you with terrifying gall — and truth. “What if I want you to do those things—”

Quick as a flash, he’s pivoting, and he has the upper hand. Has you pressed so tightly up against the wall, his body boxing you in.

And gods, the feel of it might set you on fire. A brush of your hands, a kiss on the backs of your fingers — they’re nothing compared to the weight and press of his muscles against your body. You want your clothes to melt away, and his, too. You want your hands on his bare, hot skin.

“I don’t think you realise what you’re saying,” he growls.

“I do,” you breathe. “I am completely sober. Completely clear of mind. And I am telling you, Fin, I want you—”

A strangled noise is the only warning you get before the High Lord’s mouth is on yours.

The kiss is pure power. It passes from him, into you, roils through your veins and makes you feel like somebody remarkable. It’s the cloak of darkness and the kiss of sin. Of somebody capable of very, very bad things.

And it’s immediately addicting. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to get enough.

You claw at his shirt, tugging him closer, closer, and his broad hands cup your face as his mouth devours yours.

This kiss…it’s been building. The need for it has been working its way beneath your skin for a while. All the heated glances, the late-night conversations. All the thoughts, in the dead of night, of what Fin might be doing in his own bed. Wondering whether he was thinking of you.

It’s so, so forbidden. So wrong. But it feels so godsdamn right.

And the way Fin’s tongue slides between your lips and strokes into your mouth — it tells you that he feels it, too.

Your hands glide from his waist, round to his back, and you yank him harder against you. So desperate are you to feel him. Feel what you think you do to him.

He makes another low noise. And then he’s tearing his mouth from yours. But he lingers close, your foreheads touching.

“Better than I’ve been imagining,” he pants, his hands still clutching your face. “Much better.”

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” You know he has.

“I have imagined,” his thumbs sweep your cheeks, “doing all sorts of things with you, Y/N. Things that would make even the most salacious of a person blush.”

Such a relief — to know that it’s not all just some wild fantasy you’ve cooked up in your mind. That you’re not just some wayward, longing young female who craves the affections of an older male to patch her deep wounds.

No, it’s not that. It’s desire. It’s need. And it burns inside your veins until you think you might erupt into flames.

“I’ve imagined them, too,” you say, without a lick of shame.

Once again, his eyes are shuttering. Once again, he takes that slow, steadying breath. And as you watch him do so, you can’t bear the thought of him still grappling with right and wrong. You can’t bear the thought of him squaring his shoulders and walking out of here, leaving your lips bruised, your body aching, your heart hurting. You can’t bear it—

“I want you to do those things,” you lift your chin, gaze unflinching. “I want you to touch me.”

Fin’s eyes reopen.

He stares at you.

His throat bobs.

You have never seen somebody look so wild, so ravenous. There is heat everywhere, in his stare and in his taut body. His eyes flick down to your lips.

That mere glance at them is the deciding factor, it would seem.

He growls, the sound not at all one you’ve ever heard from a person, and he yanks you up into his arms and kisses you again.

So naturally, your arms twine around his neck, your legs locking around his waist. You can feel the strength of him against you, in the way he holds you. You can taste his crackling power.

He doesn’t falter in the kiss nor his steps as he carries you away from the wall, and you’re suddenly being placed down on the library’s desk, sending books and parchment and pens and ink pots flying. They all clatter loudly to the floor, and neither of you care.

But Fin does pull away to look at you, and there’s wicked, boyish charm in his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitch up. He merely says, “Oops.”

You surge up and kiss him again.

He sighs into it, like your mouth is the answer to all his questions. And when heated hands land on your thighs, you part them, allow him to slot his body in between. The mere feel of it has you pushing up against him, finding him hard—

But again, he pulls away. He scans your face and rasps, “Tell me you’re sure.”

You do not balk from his intensity. From the fact that this is the fucking High Lord of your court, who was changing this world and building a reputation long before you were a mere thought in your parents’ minds. You do not balk from the fact that there are a million different reasons that this is wrong.

You think only about the fact that it feels right.

And that translates into your voice as you say, firmly, “I’m sure.”

You think you see the words course through his body. They change something — forever.

“This isn’t about Roza,” he breathes — breathes heavily, like it’s taking everything to tamp down on the desire to devour you then and there. To say what needs to be said.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Nor is it about Rhysand.”

“No.”

“It’s about me and you.” He destroys what little gap exists between your bodies, his hardness pushing through his breeches, right up against your centre. His hands brace on the desk, either side of you. “And gods, I want you, Y/N. I want you so much, I can scarcely bear it.”

“Have me,” is all you manage — before he strikes.

You think, hope, that his mouth might find yours again — but he’s barely brushing it before his lips settle on your jaw. His hands travel up your legs, fingers biting into the flesh. They find your hips, thumbs delivering explorative sweeps. They tug your dress up as they climb, exposing more of you to the warmth of the room. Exposing more skin that you know he wants to lay claim to.

And when the hem of your dress is ruched around your waist, you smile — at your little wildcard exposed. That he finds no underwear hiding what sits between your legs.

Your choice to forgo a pair seems almost foretelling, now — like some part of you knew the night would end like this, and you wanted to be ready.

Fin’s eyes dip to your slick, exposed cunt. The hunger in them is almost intimidating. You open your legs just a little wider—

But his rough hand is gripping your chin, almost hard enough to hurt. And he snarls deeply, “It drove me to madness — seeing those two males dancing with you. Touching you.”

Pleasure bolts down your spine, and from the way his nostrils flare, you know the scent of your arousal is consuming him.

“Did it?” you stare back at him, welcoming the discomfort of his brutal grip.

“I wanted them dead. I wanted to draw my sword and gut them for even looking your way. For touching what I want to be mine.”

That pleasure again — skittering over your skin. His words do something to you. You bite down on a moan.

“It is yours,” you tilt your chin up to him, smiling when he immediately glances to your lips. “Take it.”

“I warn you,” he lowers his face to yours, “I don’t like to share.”

“And I warn you, High Lord,” you watch as your words land, drawing a deep, raw scent from him. “Neither do I.”

With a growl, he snaps. The kiss he gives you is not slow or sweet. His hand continues to grip your face, and his mouth attacks yours, his tongue sliding between your lips. You can’t help your moan, this time, as his taste overpowers you — a taste that you can only describe as pure thunder.

But it ends too soon, as he begins to leave a trail of heated kisses and bites and sucks along your jaw, down your neck, your collarbones. Your head falls back, and the touches are like little zips of lightning — lightning cleaving through the night sky.

“Pretty dress,” he hums against your skin — and that’s all the warning you get before that dress is ripped apart. Torn to ribbons.

No part of you is left to Fin’s imagination.

He tears his mouth from you and steps back to drink you in.

Instinct roars at you to curl in on yourself and hide. To remember that you are scarred, and flawed, and not to the liking of many — including yourself, a lot of the time.

But something about Fin’s weighty, scorching stare stops you from moving a muscle.

You lift your chin and hide nothing as he takes his fill. His eyes travel a journey from the top of your head and down — down your face, your neck, your breasts. Down your stomach, your waist, your hips. Down to that fine dusting of hair on your pelvis that tracks a thin path to—

Fin drops to his knees with a low noise. His hands wrap around your legs and prise them further apart.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he levels his face with the very centre of you, and your breath hitches in your throat at the sight.

The sight of the High Lord on his knees before you — on his knees for you.

As though he senses the direction of your thoughts, his eyes flick up, and he smiles.

And then he dives in.

His tongue wastes no time in sinking between your folds, licking a broad stripe right up the centre of you. At the first stroke, your head falls back, your arms wobbling where they’re braced on the desk.

“Look at me,” Fin growls. “Only me.”

His voice of pure High Lord power drags your eyes back to him. And thank the fucking Mother it does.

You see everything in the way he feasts on you. His tongue laps at your wetness, and it coats his lips, his chin, coats him in you. The damp heat of his tongue is liquid fire. It promises to scorch you, end you, and rise you anew like a phoenix from the ashes.

Your fingers sink into the strands of Fin’s hair and tug. Judging by the noise he makes, the way his pace picks up, you think he likes it.

He utterly fucking devours you, like he’s fought a centuries-long wait to do so. And whatever magic commands his mouth — you know you cannot possibly last against it.

“Oh, gods,” your moan breaks from you, hips bucking up. You think your voice might be loud, but you don’t care. “Fuck—Fin.”

It all happens at once — his name falling from your lips, the growl rumbling in his throat, the flicking of his tongue against your clit and the finger he plunges into you, curls inside you. Every part of it is lightning strikes to your veins, and you come apart, utterly break.

Your climax slams into you and steals your breath. You’re nothing but a gasping, panting, trembling shell. Your mind is somewhere else entirely.

With your head falling back, eyes pinned to the ceiling, chest heaving, you don’t catch the swiftness with which Fin stands, licking your wetness from his lips. With which his clothes are gone in a blink of an eye.

But then he commands, “Look at me.”

It’s the second time he’s said it. Your head lolls forward once more.

You swallow the breaths you’re still trying to get down. Try to stop your body fucking shaking.

But it’s no wonder it does, as you look at him.

Your High Lord is nothing short of exquisite. He is art. Your fantasies have done him no justice.

That golden skin of his seems to attract the glowing light of the room. It bathes him, but it does not steal the attention. It outlines every fine plane of his body, the sculpted muscles on show, the nicks of injuries that have scarred and silvered over time.

There is not a single part of him that isn’t pure, refined power. And when your gaze drops to below his waist…a shudder wracks through you.

His cock stands hard and leaking at the head. You watch, your mouth watering, as he wraps a hand around its length and gives a long stroke.

“Fin—”

“When you look at me like that,” he prowls closer, “there is no way I can consider this forbidden.”

He’s within reach. Your fingers inch towards him. You want to touch him, taste him—

But he curls a hand around yours and stops you in your tracks.

“Not tonight,” he says. Pure promise is laced within the words. “No playing tonight.”

As if he hadn’t just played with you. You want to protest, to get your fucking mouth around that considerable length, but his hand tightens around yours.

And then he’s flipping you over, so fast that you don’t have time to even register it. You land on your front, your belly and breasts pressed against the desk. Fin lays his palm against your back and drags it slowly down. And in the wake of his touch, he leaves kisses. Kisses to your shoulder, your back. They’re…soft. Tender.

“Have I disappointed you?” he murmurs against your shoulder, folding his body over yours. You don’t think it’s an accident that the head of his cock nudges that sweet area between your legs.

It’s all you can do to breathe, “I wanted to taste you.”

“And you will,” he drops the brush of a kiss to your skin. “But now is not time for that.”

You don’t need him to tell you what now is the time for. Not as his hands find the flesh of your hips, and he yanks you to the very edge of the desk, moving with you. The feel of him so close to where you want him is downright cruel.

“Have you thought about me fucking you?” he asks, those hands travelling to rove your ass.

Your nails bite into the desk as you answer, “Yes.”

“Did I make you scream?”

You bite down on your lip at the feeling of him spreading you apart, opening you up to him. “Yes.”

You feel it — his cock sliding between your folds. Not pushing in, but dragging torturously against your sex. From your entrance, up to your clit. The head of his cock pushes against it.

And the moan that rips from you is downright filth, as he rolls his hips and allows your wetness to slicken his length. It feels so fucking good. To you, and to him.

A breath shudders out of him, and he purrs, “Are you going to scream for me now?”

“Fuck yes,” the words tumble from your lips. “I want you, Fin.”

Just like that, his restraint snaps. The High Lord strikes.

He drags his length through your folds and enters you with a single, powerful thrust.

A shout leaves you, and you’re clawing at the desk, trying to keep your grip against the pleasure that courses through you. Fin fills you and stretches you. He pulls out and slams back in to the hilt.

“Fuck me, you’re tight,” he growls, his hands sinking back into your hips. He begins a steady thrusting, sliding in and out of you with a drag that makes you feel every glorious inch of him. “Gods.”

“So good,” you pant. “Want you harder.”

The plea seems to make him groan, and he wastes no time in picking up the pace. His hands bite into your skin as he fucks you faster, harder, your moans and pleas and curses falling from your lips without any nudging from you. The pleasure is all-consuming. In seconds, it’s buried within your veins.

“You like that?” The grit in his voice has you clenching around him. He’s so fucking filthy, so fucking sultry, as he snarls, “you going to be a good girl and come for me?”

Gods, yes, you are. Already, release is coiling tightly within you, and it’s a force entirely of its own right, inching closer and cresting the hill, ready to sink its claws into you. Fin’s cock hits deep, and out of nowhere, his palm is flying through the air and making contact with your ass cheek. That is all it takes.

The pleasure of it all is too much — the sting of the slap, the depth and thrall of his thrusts, the way he growls and grunts as he lays claim to your body, your pleasure.

You cry out, your orgasm blasting through you with unstoppable force. The long strokes of Fin’s cock fuck you through it, through earth-shattering pleasure, through what feels like a mind-altering experience.

“My filthy girl,” he pulls out of you suddenly, and though your cunt still clenches and twitches, desperate for more, more, more, he flips your trembling body onto its back once more and tugs you up, slipping back between your legs. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how relentlessly I’ve thought about making you scream for me like that.”

Past words, you can only reach up and pull his head down to yours to capture him in a kiss. Your taste still coats the tongue that he slides between your lips. It spurs you on to deepen it, luxuriate in the feel of it. And you become so lost in it that you tug hard at the strands of his hair when he enters you again in one great, sweeping thrust.

His arm folds around your back, hand grasping at your shoulder, and it seems to afford him perfect purchase to pound into you. Sounds fill the air of his skin slapping against yours, of the breaths and moans you huff into each other’s mouths. You think the two of you, together, might be loud enough, forceful enough, to bring the City of Starlight to rubble around you.

Fin’s lips tear away from yours, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts are growing quicker, sloppier, reaching a feverous pinnacle that will surely break.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me come, Y/N,” his sweat-slick brow presses against your neck. “Taking me so well like this. Squeezing me like this. You’re going to make me fucking blow.”

You want that — more than anything. To feel the power of him spilling into you.

You squeeze your thighs against his, dragging your free hand — the one not sunken in his hair — down the muscles of his shoulders, his back, his waist — to his ass, where you dig your nails into the tight, toned flesh and encourage him to pump into you harder, faster. The feel of it makes Fin shout.

“Come for me,” you choke around your pleasure. “Please, Fin…want you to come.”

An animalistic growl rips from him, and he slams into you one, two, three more times, and then stills, throwing his head back with a roar that shakes the library. Hot, thick ropes of his seed seem endless as they’re unleashed inside you.

The force of it shatters you both, you think. With his trembling as thorough as yours, your nails are still raking over his skin as his brow presses to the crook of your neck. Strands of hair stick to the back of his. Your fingertips smooth over them tenderly.

It feels like eons that you stay there like that, holding each other up from collapsing under the weight of your mutual release. You want to hold him like this, always. You don’t care what others may have to say about it, what they may deem to be wrong about it. You want him.

He pulls back, as though sensing the thought. Meets your eyes. For a beat or two, he simply studies your face, something like clarity on his own.

And then he dips down and drops a kiss to your brow. Such a tender act, in the wake of such passion.

No words are needed. Not as he scoops you up into his arms, leaving behind the mess the two of you have created. There’s a flash, and he’s winnowed you to your bedroom. A fire roars to life immediately. Fin places you down on the bed.

You watch through hooded eyes as he makes his way into the bathroom. Moments later, he’s returning with a warm, damp washcloth, and he perches beside you.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, and you do.

The High Lord of the Night Court is gentle as air as he takes care of you, wiping between your thighs and delivering soft, soothing strokes to your skin. A pleasant soreness sits in your lower belly. He leans down and presses a kiss there like he knows just that.

And then he’s sitting up, and it frightens you — the thought of him walking away, of this ending here and now.

So you lay a hand on his arm, breathing, “Stay with me.”

He pauses, eyes roaming your face like he’s assuring himself you mean it. And then he dips his chin.

“I would be honoured,” he rasps.

And thus, the affair begins.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The need you and Fin have for each other is…insatiable.

Every moment he’s away, you’re thinking of him, longing for the moment he’ll appear in your room and rip your clothes off. If anyone else in the palace — staff, servants, associates — are aware of what’s going on, they don’t give it away. And that suits you just fine.

You can’t get enough. You’re giddy with it. Giddy from the multiple, interesting circumstances you’ve landed yourself in.

Like when you lured him out of a meeting and dropped to your knees in a fucking broom closet, taking his cock into your mouth until he was canting his hips forward and spilling down your throat. Or when he fucked you on the balcony of his personal quarters, your body pressed up against the balustrade, the two of you open to the elements and your moans loud enough to reach the stars above you and the city below you. Or when he took you to watch the ballet, and up in the cushy surrounds of your private viewing box, you watched the performance with him deep inside you, his fingers indolently playing with your clit, his low voice in your ear reminding you to keep quiet.

It’s…exciting. Enthralling. It changes everything.

And as he pulls out of you now, sweaty and panting, and collapses beside you in his bed, you’re not sure you could ever tire of this feeling.

He wants you. He wants you so ferociously, like nobody has ever wanted you before.

As you catch your breaths, he props his head up with his hand and stares at you through hooded eyes, glazed with lust. He leans down and grazes a kiss to your mouth.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” he ponders as he pulls back, moving a hand to brush his fingers over your breast. “All this need — wanting you constantly.”

You lean up on your elbows, tilting your head, “Do you want it to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Never.”

Never. Never is a very long time. It makes your stomach flip — the enormity of it.

Fin circles the tip of his forefinger around your pebbled nipple, watching with predatory fascination as he adds, “But this will, inevitably, blow up in our faces at some point. We haven’t exactly been secretive — not that I want to be. But people will talk.”

You lean up to brush your mouth over his. “Let them talk,” you say, and kiss him.

Immediately, he melts into the kiss. Your mouth seems to have an effect on him that you never thought yourself capable of. Always draws a long, pleasured sigh from him as he sinks into it, welcomes it.

He kisses you and kisses you, so greedily, so desperately. His hand snakes up to cup your cheek. He’s already hardening against your leg.

But he pulls away, dropping his forehead against yours. And he breathes, “Make a bargain with me.”

You trace a thumb over his bottom lip. You’ve never made a Night Court bargain before; never had reason to. “What bargain?”

“When this blows up in our faces,” he grips your hand, folding his own over it, “we face it together. You and I.”

“You and I?”

“You and I” he kisses your hand. “I don’t claim to be perfect. I don’t try to be. I can be brutal and callous, and I can lie and play games,” another kiss. “But not with you. Never with you. I will look after you. Take care of you. I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

Words that you’ve always longed for someone to say to you. Words that should not be taken lightly, should not be said without meaning.

But you know he means them. You can tell he does.

You watch closely as your fingers interlace with his. And you whisper, “Together?”

Fin’s thumb sweeps over yours. “Together. We’ll face it together.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

A flash of splintering pain zips around your midriff. You glance down to find the tattoo now inked there. The black line that draws a perfect circle around your waist, like a trail of night-kissed lightning.

You look up at Fin to find a roguish smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I like that,” he hums.

And then he’s leaning down and pressing kisses to that circlet signifying your promise to one another. Kisses the entirety of it, flipping you on your front in the process.

And kisses lower, until you’re screaming for him again.

pom tags: @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sirenpearldust @queercodedcharacter @azriels-shadowsinger @ruler-of-hades @demi03 @magicaldragonlady @abrielletargaryen @ralsieq @v3lv3tf0x @achase2002 @feyretopia @hayrunnwr @don’t-feed-the-hipsters @brekkershadowsinger @piceous21 @bloodicka @acourtofinkandpapyrus @riri-is-a-girlie @siriusement @4valyries @socmono @azriels-mate123 @acourtofbatboydreams @katherinearcheron @nesemi @lupinswolfsbanes @dreaming-unafraid @dxnniiix @cyrygher @liddyr03 @lmllsl @nightless @teenageeggscissorslawyer @brighterthanlonelythoughts @blitz-fall @maybefoxysouls @mschanand1erbong @juiceboxreads @bangtanbecks @florencemtrash @hyemishii @obixix @thenovarose @meshellexplosionmurder @angzlxna @lissy31xoxo-blog @supernatural99 @positivewitch @art3-m1ss @milfhunter-pdx @bbuckysbeardd @coralseacourt @towhateverend87 @sspookz @bird-on-the-wire33 @morrie-rose @megwan @catscanteleport @sevikas-whore @thickthighs-sadeyes @hihelloitsbooktimeppl

#practice on me #pom #daddy fin #acourtofwhatthefuck #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar au #azriel #acotar fic #rhysand’s father #high lord of the night court #high lord #acotar x reader #fin x reader

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lotusmi · 6 months

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A miracle is the easiest thing

From ''Lester and Me, My Unforgettable Conversations With American Master, Lester Levenson (Seretan, Stephen)'' "The irony is that as we release this want, or any desire totally, we obtain what we were wanting"

"Could I let go of Resisting _ (whatever it is)? Would I? When?" this too "What do I resist about doing ? Or getting __ done? Could I let go of resisting it? Would I? When? Repeat on the same item until you feel great!" Many people think that taking a lot of action on a goal will result in success… how many of you have discovered that this is not always true? Ramana Maharshi said, “Action is prescribed for purification of the mind only.” In other words, (...) if you don’t release it, you get bogged down. Lester said, “I only know what I can DO!” and he set about proving to himself his powers and testing out how free he had become. Lester told me to let go of resisting what IS, and release to make it the way I choose. He did not advise anyone to control people into doing it OUR way. Expressing our misery is not releasing. Trying to control things puts us out of control. Releasing our need to control (with the Sedona Method) puts us in control. So what can we learn from this to apply to our lives? Allow what IS to BE. Don't resist it. Karl Jung said, "What you resist, persists." Let go of the need to change everything you see and experience. It might be there to teach you a valuable lesson. Let go of wanting to be right and make others wrong.

Lester told me that a miracle is the easiest thing in the world to do. Why? Because it is the working of natural law. All Masters are able to totally control the physical world and produce at will whatever they choose.

#law of assumption #neville goddard #living in the end #manifesting #loa blog #non dualism #nonduality #lester levenson

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thecuriousquest · 5 months

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You’ll Learn, I Promise

Yandere!Yuji Itadori x Fem!Reader

@murderofravens made a post saying: Yuji x curse-user!reader... dubcon/noncon... curse user reader who is with Mahito.. Yuji beats Mahito then sets his eyes on her.. Yuji throwing her around and using her.. taking revenge for the way she helped Mahito.. please listen to me guys..

Soooo Imma do the thing

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs

Trigger Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, NONCON (non consensual sex), face slapping, violence, abuse, mentions of murder, rape used as a punishment, hair pulling, all characters are 18+

Note: Reader is half human/half curse. Reader’s cursed technique is Stagger. Stagger lets Reader build up energy, turn it into a wall, and send it at their opponent. When the wall hits the opponent, it disorients them and causes them to lose their equilibrium.

Master List

Request Rules

—————————————————————————

You don’t shed a single tear for Mahito when he falls, utterly obliterated with no soul remaining, to the railroad tracks. It’s not because you hate him, it’s not because you feel nothing for the curse you worked closely with for these past few months. It’s not even because he died in such a violent way which makes you thirst to see more blood.

It’s because you have something bigger to worry about than satiating your appetite or grieving for your partner in crime. No, you have to worry about the one who killed Mahito, turning the silver haired man-child into splattered bits of purple on the tracks. You have to worry about him because he’s looking at you with gut clenching fury, and for the first time in your eighteen years, you find yourself gulping at the sight in front of you.

He takes a step forward, and you take a step back, repeating these motions until you spin around and quicken your pace. There’s nobody to back you up now, and if he killed someone as powerful as Mahito…then you’re simply fucked.

But he doesn’t let you get far. He won’t let you get away. He can’t let you ruin more lives.

You must be punished.

Yuji outmatches your speed, carrying himself on legs made of pure strength. His shin makes contact with the side of your head. Disoriented, you hold out a hand as your knees buckle.

Everything is whirling and whooshing, and you feel oh so close to vomiting.

He’s above you in an instant, grabbing you by your locks, dragging you towards him. Nose to nose, his other hand snakes out and grabs the lapel of your kimono.

Your mouth parts in response, and you’re so close that you can smell the blood on his face.

Your curse technique, Stagger, hasn’t proven to be useful on him. However, being this close to him as well as having no way out, you’re tempted to send a wave of cursed energy at him, knocking him off kilter.

“What gives you the right?”

Biting your swollen lip, you hesitate to ask him what he means.

Yuji can see the question burning in your eyes. “What gives you the right to kill so many people? To torture them and play with their souls like they’re dolls?!”

And it’s a question you’ve never thought about before because why would you? You’re half curse. Isn’t it simply in your nature to feed off of the utter agony humans exude? You weren’t even raised human. Your mother, the demented curse painting who bore you, killed your father right in front of you and told you, “This is what we do to humans.” You were never led to believe anything else. It was simple. Curses kill humans.

But you’re also human. You never realized what that meant.

“I don’t…I don’t see you humans as dolls. It’s just how I was raised,” you try to explain, to defend, to justify your actions.

The human in you lives and self-preservation takes place over your desires to cause misery.

Now, it’s Yuji’s turn to look confused. “What do you mean it’s how you were raised? Curses aren’t raised.”

“I’m not entirely a curse. I’m half human.”

He mulls over the information you have just given him. You can see the gears winding in his head as he processes everything. It makes sense. Your beauty is unlike anything he has ever seen, odd and dark yet serene and enchanting. The way you walk, as if you’re gliding; the way you speak, as if you’re a siren luring him to the bottom of the sea. Yes, half human/half curse makes sense. He can see it now.

Yuji pulls you even closer to him. “So, you were raised to think it’s okay to kill people? That’s what you’re telling me? The human in you never thought to think otherwise?”

His grip on you has become a little more relaxed, and your scalp isn’t screaming as much for relief as it was in the beginning.

“Answer me!” Yuji demands as he yanks on your hair once more.

“I…I didn’t understand why my mother killed my father! I didn’t, I was four years old at the time. She told me it’s just what curses do, and I believed her.”

Should you not have believed her?

You’re human, but you’re also a curse that must be dealt with. Yuji can’t allow you to go unpunished even if your fucked up childhood led you to believe this nonsense.

“Are you going to kill me, Yuji Itadori?”

The peach haired sorcerer looks down at your blood soaked feet, crimson clinging to the hem of your kimono. “No, I won’t kill you, but I am gonna knock some sense into you.”

He drags you by your lapel towards a wall splattered with dripping blood and posters. He tugs on your clothes so hard that the top half rips open, exposing your breasts.

“How about I put some fear in you for a change, huh? See what it feels like to mess with other people, to make them wish they were dead?”

Shock fills you as he shoves your back against the covered wall with cracks and busted holes from the previous fight. You push against Yuji’s shoulders as he pulls his cock free from his uniform trousers. He spits on his palm, pumping his flaccid length until it’s hard. You’re intimidated by his size. Your eyes widen as you watch him nudge his veiny and upward curved erection further between your thighs.

You don’t know the feeling swirling around inside of your stomach, but you know that you don’t like it. Your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as you ball your fists up and lash out against him.

“No, don’t!”

You build up a wave of cursed energy, but Yuji sees through you. He backhands you, knuckles cracking across your cheekbone. A cherry hue blooming across the right side of your face. Now, you’re the dizzy one.

You try to clamp your thighs shut, but he only picks you up until he’s splitting your pussy in half.

With large paws curling under your knees, he fucks into you, youthful hips vigorously piston upwards, making you whine and throw your head back. You look to the side through bleary eyes to see if there’s any chance of escape.

His hot breath on your neck captures your attention. “You’re gonna look at me, and you’re gonna take your punishment. This is the least of what you deserve after all the harm you caused.”

You don’t exactly understand what he’s doing to you, but your instinct is to drive a distance between the two of you until he’s out of your life for good. All you know is that his piercing cock is hurting your insides. It feels so violating. That’s what your brain is telling you.

However, your body claims a different story. You can’t help but tremble on Yuji’s thick sword, pussy clamping down on his erection as a bulge forms in your tummy.

The sorcerer is looking at you like he’s an apex predator, and for the first time in your life, you feel like prey.

A hand circles around your throat, leaving your leg to dangle in the air as Yuji keeps you impaled on his cock.

“Yuji, let go of me…” You plead once more with nothing bitter or hateful consuming your tone. You’re simply defeated and begging for mercy.

“Causing harm to others doesn’t seem much fun now, yeah?” he patronizes, voice soft against the shell of your ear as he steadily thumps into you.

Harsh, sharp canines latch onto your neck, suckling the skin. You feel his tongue drag along your throat, and you can’t breathe. You can’t. It’s all too much, and this isn’t right!

Eyebrows drawn together, lip quivering, you break out into violent sobs as he punishes you in the most cruel way you could ever imagine. You’ve slaughtered so many in the past, not even bothering to keep count. You’ve taken heads and hearts, you’ve ripped open bodies from skull to stomach, yet you would never even think to terrorize someone like this, so intimate yet so vile.

Your head drops to Yuji’s shoulder as you wail, clutching his uniform as a way to hold onto something. As violent waves roll through you, your sopping wet slit finally relaxes against Yuji, finally letting him play with you how he desires.

You feel your pussy gush around him, come dripping down your thighs as he bottoms out against you. He lets go of you, letting you balance on two wobbly feet before you drop to your knees. You can feel a mixture of both your orgasms drip down your thighs, and you bury your head in your hands, shoulders rocking as you cry heavily.

Yuji takes in the beautiful sight before him. You: a true damsel in distress, disheveled, weeping, chest bare, kimono so askew that he can still see your weeping little cunt.

“It seems like you learned your lesson. I still have more to teach you, so come on. I’m going to turn you into a decent human being no matter how long it takes.”

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ficnation · 7 months

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Chapter 4: Bon Appétit

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, 18+, SMUT A/n: I'm really putting off the inevitable here sksksksk. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3 Btw this is my first time writing explicit smut (unedited)

This is also another late piece to @the-slumberparty Bingo Card event (prompt: proposal) - > Events Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

When Will comes home that night after promising you he’ll only be gone for a few hours, he’s doing anything in his power not to look you in the eyes. He kept his word, coming back exactly three hours and twenty-six minutes later. You stare at him, intrigued. You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, but your mind screams at you that it can’t be anything good—it’s right, like always.

“I resumed my therapy with Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he informs you after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He still doesn’t look at you, as he takes off his jacket and boots.

“You did what?” You blink at him in confusion—utterly dumbfounded. The meaning of his words doesn’t even register in your brain.

“I’m going to keep on seeing Hannibal,” Will repeats in the same monotonous voice.

It hits you like a train, and your stomach churns at the thought of them sitting across from each other, talking about emotions and Will’s life. Your expression turns to one of disapproval as the man expected.

“After everything he’s done, after everything he put you through, why would you do that?”

Will doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell he’s struggling with his words. “There are things I need to learn about myself,” he says finally. “About what it’s like to be me.”

You stare at him, burning invisible holes in his head, trying to decipher what is truly happening here. The guilt that emanates from his person, the fact that he still can’t meet your gaze—it’s more than suspicious. The realization hits you even harder than the fact he wants to be anywhere near Hannibal Lecter.

“Why are you lying to me?” you ask, voice on the verge of breaking. You hate yourself for ever thinking that he trusts you completely after all those years apart. The tears gathering in your eyes are more angry than sorrowful.

For a moment, Will goes silent. The silence is thick, full of tension as the two of you remain in your positions—you watching him, and him with his back turned to you.

Then, he closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against a headache. He finally speaks, but only after turning slowly to face you. You immediately notice the pained expression on his face, the guilt that drips from his very skin.

“I have to keep seeing him.”

You go to protest again, but the sound of your voice cracks, and no words emerge. Will doesn’t wish to ever hear this noise from you again. It feels criminal—being the one who caused it. His heart breaks in a way it never did before—it stings like someone delivered it one thousand cuts.

You both remain silent for what feels like an eternity. Will doesn’t look away from you, and your eyes are locked on him, on that misery and pain staring right at you. No one moves, no one blinks, no one probably even breathes. Everything is still, except for your heart which aches even worse than it did before. The silence gets so thick you can almost feel it—touch it. For the life of you, you don’t want to be the one to break it.

You want to speak, beg, convince him to stop these mind games, to give you an explanation you could understand. But you choose to keep your mouth shut, slumping further into the cushions of the armchair.

Will’s eyes don’t leave you. They remain fixed on you as if willing you to speak, to tell him something that would make all of this suddenly go away. Anything.

He wants you to read his mind, and understand his pleas, but you can’t— and even if you could, you wouldn’t. You don’t do anything, don’t even move a muscle and after a few moments of waiting, Will finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want him to do this to anyone else,” he says. His words are soft and quiet, but they carry a weight that you feel in your chest.

“Yet you didn’t start with that. You chose to lie.”

Will sighs. He looks exhausted as if you’ve been here asking him questions for hours, even though it’s been twenty minutes at most.

“I didn’t want you to stop me. There, I said it,” he says. “It was hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done. Can you just cut me some slack over here?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know what to think or what to say about this whole situation. It seems absurd, and you have to remind yourself that you might’ve paused your story with Will Graham, but for him time has passed, things have changed.

You’re not proud of the words that leave you next. God, you wish you could just catch them in the air before they have a chance to reach his ears and put them back in your mouth.

“Change your fucking tone, Will.”

You’re shocked with your own words, but Will doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, not like most people would. He’s still staring at you, but you notice the slightest hint of amusement in his expression as if this new side of you intrigued him rather than annoyed him.

“You don’t like me speaking to you like that, my dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes no attempts to sound serious—just enough to make you laugh, but his words carry weight. He’s genuinely curious.

Will Graham just called you “my dear” and your whole face warms up at this term of endearment as you observe him fall to one knee in front of your person.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, confused, butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest.

Will takes his time to reply, his eyes scanning you and your reactions. He seems to enjoy the sight of you flustered, barely keeping up with what’s happening right in front of your face. His heart skips a beat more than twice in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m proposing.”

The words seem so absurd that you half expect him to break the tension with a quick joke, but he doesn’t. His gaze is glued to you, his words as serious as they can be. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. Your mind is frozen.

“What the fuck, Will?”

Will grins at that and shakes his head as if he’d expected your reaction to be no different. He keeps his stance, one knee on the floor, as he stares at you affectionately—with so much love you’re surprised he doesn’t explode from it. The man is enjoying your confusion and the fact that he managed to pull it out of you. He’s not ashamed to admit it, either.

“That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for,” he says quietly and in a matter of time, his hand is on your thigh, tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “You were always going to say no for the first time.”

You blink at him, trying to coax out words from within you, but you don’t find any. That only makes you even more confused, and your expression turns to a frown. Is he really… asking you to marry him?

“I know, I’m quite the romantic.” He pauses, trying to stifle his chuckle. “Do you want me to ask you the usual way?”

“Will, are you serious?” you ask, your voice so gentle the words barely sound like they’re yours. Will only nods his head. “I don’t want you to ask at all. I want us to get married as soon as possible.”

He reaches down to grab your hands in his. “I never believed in marriage. I’m not sure if I do now either,” he admits awkwardly, playing with your fingers. “But I really want to hear people call you Mrs. Graham.”

Your heart jumps as he speaks as if you’d been waiting for him to admit those words for years. The words sink in slowly and your eyes become distant, as if you’d been taken back in time. A warm feeling spreads across your chest like you just swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one ginormous gulp.

“You know I can’t say no.” Your words are quiet and soft. He pulls you down onto his lap, his hands still around your fingers as he brings them to his chest. “Can I call you mine too?”

“Always,” Will replies, his voice low and quiet, but full of love and emotion. “It’s been you all along.”

A soft smile rests on your face as you look down at him. Your head is right above his, but you decide to close the tiny distance between you by leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. You feel your heart race as you do so.

“Did you come up with this to distract me?” Your voice is playful, but the air around you is thick and humid.

Will leans forward and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, hugging you tight. Your fingers play with his curls, his head back on your chest. The whole weight of him hangs onto you like all the sins in the world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, even though he seems serious.

You can feel his body shift, and suddenly Will presses you firmly against the growing hardness inside his jeans. The whimper that pushes past your lips as you feel it through the thin layer of your pajama pants is downright desperate. You both can’t hide the fact that your breaths are becoming more irregular, muscles tensing under each other’s hands.

“I like being distracted like this,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against his temple.

A low growl comes from the man’s chest. You’re close enough to the source of the sound to feel the vibration against your body. He presses his face to your neck, taking in the scent of your skin like he’s oxygen-deprived.

“Should I distract you too, Will?” you ask him quietly, tugging at his tousled hair.

“You’ve done enough, dear. I’m already distracted.” His voice is soft, and his words catch in his throat. Will doesn’t seem to have a single rational thought going through his head. It’s like all he can process is his need for you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was a spell cast on him. “I want you.” His hand moves to your hip, and he presses into you harder, your breath catching in your throat. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him of anything his soul could ever want or need? You don’t wait for more encouragement as your fingers start working on hastily unbuttoning his shirt. They trace the smooth lines of his chest, the scars that mark his skin, and every little detail of him—every part of his history that he once saw as a defect. It’s not. It’s who he is, who he’s always been—his past is a part of what made him the Will you know and love.

Your fingers slowly make their way down to his belt and unclasp it too in one go. You graze over his hardness on accident, already feeling its heat through the thin layer. You let out a whimper and your whole brain starts to short-circuit.

“Slowly.” Will’s voice is hoarse and raw, his fingers digging deeply into the skin of your hip. “I want to see you.”

The man doesn’t waste any time in waiting for your reaction as his hand moves up to your face. His touch is gentle as it pushes back your hair, his fingertips rubbing against the skin behind your ear before they start pursuing the shape of your neck—every muscle and tendon.

“Slowly,” he repeats, and you can’t help but groan.

Nevertheless, you obey, letting your hands explore every surface of his flesh again like he’s the perfect puzzle that you need to solve. His own mirror yours, sliding below the thin layer of your t-shirt, grazing over your navel, and pushing upwards.

Every move you make leaves its mark, causing his body to tremble even more. His breath becomes so uneven, you think he might fall apart at any moment. The mere sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes, like that,” he mumbles, and his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers these words. His hand moves again and starts to tug at your shirt.

You help him remove it in one go, left in only your plaid pajama bottoms. Will’s touch is familiar, one you could never forget—not like the dozen strangers through the past few years, you never even remembered their faces come tomorrow morning. But his touch sets you ablaze—burns and soothes at the same time, it’s unforgettable.

Will reaches up to pull your head against his so that you’re staring straight at one another. His touch is gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that you can’t mistake. His lips slowly approach yours with such an intense need that you can read it in his gaze. Even though he doesn’t say it, you feel that this kiss is more than just desire—it’s a need to be as close to you as possible, to never let you go again. His tongue delves inside your mouth, and you sigh into it.

The feeling of your skin pressed against his leaves Will desperate, his mind so overwhelmed and in a haze, he can’t even form the words to describe the sensation. His hand keeps moving as if your flesh were an addiction. The sound that leaves from his throat is something so close to a purr—he’s almost embarrassed.

You feel his body tensing, his muscles flexing against yours, and your skin feels hot and all too sensitive. He’s taking advantage of this moment to touch you anywhere he can reach. His fingers leave no inch of your skin unexplored as he slowly begins to lower your pajama bottoms.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The sound of your voice draws Will’s eyes closed as he inhales deeply.

Will’s fingers glide down toward your legs, and he looks as if all his dreams are coming true at once. You see his eyes flicker open, and he looks at you with such intensity, such concentration, that it’s hard to breathe as you’re pulled along by an invisible force. He finally lets go of your chin so that he can drag your pajamas down further until they’re thrown across the room.

You take his hands in yours, placing them over your breasts. And it’s only when his teeth drag across your neck, from just above your collarbone down to the crook of your shoulder, that he loses it completely.

There’s no being slow or gentle when he pushes you away, standing up and pulling you to your feet. You take hurried steps back as he nudges you toward the bed. Soon enough, your calves hit the mattress and you fall back onto the blue duvet. You don’t even have a chance to take a breath, Will is hovering over you, elbows on each side of your head.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, looking deep into your eyes—so deep you’re afraid he can see the broken soul behind them.

You help him push his jeans and boxers down the length of his legs. The second they’re no longer an obstacle, Will’s fingers delve between your thighs, circling your clit teasingly with the gentlest of touches. Your lips part in a gasp, hands falling onto the covers to clench them in your fists.

“Will, please,” you plead between whimpers. He was the only one who could ever bring you to the point of begging, and you hope he knows it somewhere deep within.

The man faces you with glassy eyes, swiping the tip of his tongue over his bottom lips. He doesn’t need you to say anything more, he just nods feverishly and lets your fingers guide him inside. The sensation of your heat gripping him tightly makes him groan, lips falling agape. You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back, and pull him even closer.

“Will,” you moan his name against his lips.

It spurs him on, makes him even more eager to please you. He draws back almost completely, then buries himself inside you again in one smooth motion. Your thighs tremble visibly, and it almost makes him smile. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, fingers tugging on his curls.

Will rocks into you deep and steady, one of his hands digging into the meat of your thigh with so much force it hurts—but goddamn, you love this kind of pain. And he makes it feel even more heavenly when his thumb begins to trace circles over your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to take you over the edge—hard and fast—turning you into a mindless, hot, whimpering mess. You mumble his name over and over again as your heat pulses around his length, making him come just a few moments after you. He claims your mouth with his, making you taste your name on his lips. God, does it taste heavenly.

Night came quicker than you realized, covering the sky with bright stars and a full moon. Despite it, it’s not pitch black outside. The shimmering snow reflects the shining lights, fighting off the darkness well enough. It doesn’t make you feel any less threatened, even though it should.

You’re wrapped only in the blue duvet that covered the bed, as you lie on your side, facing Will, who’s already asleep. His bare thigh is right against yours, and the heat of his skin is almost impossible to resist. You let your eyes wander across his body, his physique—he looks like a sculpture, a masterpiece of flesh and bone.

Your body still aches from his touch, and you feel like you’re a puddle of emotions with the sole mission of holding love, affection, and desire for him. You’re about as far away from being “fine” as possible. You didn’t even get a chance to tell him you’ll be working together from now on. He doesn’t know he’s allowed back in BAU, and you wonder if you should leave him unknowing for as long as possible. It’s not your greatest idea, but the idea of him breaking beyond repair terrifies you.

You try to calm your heart as it races and skips a beat every time his body shifts—the smallest movement seems like it could wake him up. But as you lie there in the darkness, his hand reaches out and finds its rightful place on your thigh again, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The sensation makes you almost jump out of your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you awake?” he asks with half-closed eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply softly, wanting to touch him back, but not sure if you should.

“I figured,” he murmurs. “You didn’t sleep much yesterday either.”

You sigh sadly, you didn’t think he’d noticed. His hand moves up your thigh, almost instinctively, until it touches you just below your hip. It stops there, and your eyelashes flutter at its warmth against your skin.

“You can touch me.” Will’s voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your fingers slip under the duvet, so the fabric doesn’t block your touch, and you begin to trace the outline of his leg with the tips of your fingers. Will’s eyes finally open, and he looks almost nervous at the intimate touch—until you find the spot where he’s ticklish. He lets out an adorable whimper, so naturally, you laugh and keep going.

“No, no, please stop,” Will moans, trying to fight back his chuckles, squirming as he tries to get away from your touch. The whole time he’s half-smiling, his fingers digging into the duvet for stability. He tries to grab your hands, but it only makes you laugh harder.

You find another ticklish spot on the side of his torso and continue to tease him. Eventually, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you watch Will scoot back, out of your reach. Your sour mood from before is gone in an instant.

Will moves up so that he’s sitting up against the wall, practically on the edge of the bed, and he looks almost offended by your reaction. Your gaze shifts, so you can get a fuller view of him.

“I’m not as ticklish as you think,” he says, his tone serious, though you can still hear a tremble in his voice. “If you wanted to see me squirm,” he adds, “you could’ve found a different method.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you immediately pull the sheets up to cover the bottom part of your face, trying to hide your flustered reaction from his eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he says, his voice just a whisper, almost as if he was afraid that anything above a murmur could wake the dogs sleeping by the fireplace. “So adorable.”

Will’s hand rests on your head, his fingers playing with the strands of hair that cover your ears. You can feel him studying you—how your nose twitches and your eyes almost close as you wait for his next words. Something about it feels intimate as if he’s taking in every detail of your expression one by one. It’s been a while since he’s done that, you didn’t even realize how much you missed it.

“You can pull it down, you know,” he says playfully, his hand still in your hair. “This must be suffocating.”

“I know,” you say quietly, as you pull the sheets down from your face.

Will’s fingers interlace with yours, and you can feel his thumb circling your wrist.

“And yes, it is a bit suffocating.” You pull the sheets down to your collarbones, and a chill runs through your body as the cold air touches your arms. “Maybe you can warm me up.”

Will smiles—a small, sweet smile, with a bit of mischief thrown in. “Maybe I can,” his tone is playful as he pulls you close, your cheek finding a home on his chest, right above his heart.

After a few long minutes of silence and listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, you turn to face him, resting your chin above his pec.

“We’re back on the team, you know?” you mumble almost mindlessly.

Will looks down at you, his expression gentle as he caresses your hair.

“I know.”

His gaze trails down your face and lingers on your lips for a brief moment before it shifts again. There are so many things Will wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it—he fears it would ruin these quiet, peaceful moments between you two.

You don’t question how he already knows that, choosing instead to voice your other thoughts—ones that’ve been on your mind almost the whole day. “What did Alana want from you?”

Will’s hand pauses against your face when you bring up her name, and for a moment he seems speechless, which is rare a thing for him.

“I…” He trails off but then speaks again as if he’s found the courage to say the words. “Alana wants me to stay away from Hannibal,” he says quietly, his fingers moving on your cheeks, your brows, your chin, as if his hand isn’t allowed to stay still for a second without touching the flesh it can. “She’s sleeping with him.”

“Why does she want you to stay away?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

You don’t even blink at his confession, there’s no fear in your gaze—no ounce of surprise. There was a time in your life when this revelation would’ve shocked you, broken you in half, but after your father’s death, when you’re faced with it, it’s… easy to handle. Will expected this kind of indifference, he knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t judge nor be afraid.

“How?”

Will lets your question hang in the air for a long minute before he speaks. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Not by my hand—not like that,” he starts. “Hannibal has a lot of… a lot of hold over me,” he pauses again, “he made me want to do it.” It’s probably the most vulnerable, the most genuine explanation Will has given anyone. He’s speaking to you from the heart and in pure honesty. “An opportunity fell on my lap to send someone after him, so I took it.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment—it makes sense to you. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

A hint of a smile appears on Will’s face. He moves his fingers to the nape of your neck and to caress the lines of your ear—it’s something he always used to do when he was thinking and you were nearby. “Alana’s very upset with me.”

Will’s other hand slides over your thigh, his fingers teasing the skin, almost as if he was trying to test it, like a cat with a piece of string. He’s still thinking when his hand starts to move upwards, closer to your hip.

“Don’t take it to heart,” you advise him, leaving a soothing peck on his jaw. It was the best you could do.

“I’m trying.” He laughs in a low rumble, his hand moving between your legs and your whole body tenses. “I’m trying,” he says again.

The touch is so soft and gentle—almost teasing, yet your body seems to be craving it. It makes him nervous, but also excited, and when he closes his eyes his head just falls back to rest against the wall, his teeth showing as he breathes in deeply.

“Would you have done this if I…” his words trail off into silence as the man doesn’t seem certain about how to finish his sentence. He looks at you, his face revealing all the questions that he doesn’t dare to ask.

You grasp his jaw between your hands, encouraging him to speak his mind, but being unconditionally patient at the same time. He tries to say something again, then changes his mind. It’s as if he’s playing a constant game with you, trying to reach into your mind without opening his mouth like most people do.

“If you…”

“If I was still the same,” he mumbles out finally.

“Will, you are still the same person. Perhaps a little more broken than before, but it’s still you.”

Will stays silent and still for a minute with his eyes closed, his hand still between your legs. The tips of his fingers keep barely touching you, almost a caress, although a bit harsher than before. His lids flutter open, so you can see his face as it’s lit by the moonlight.

“There’s something I’d like you to promise,” he says cautiously as if every word is carefully thought out before he speaks it aloud. “Promise me that you’ll keep trusting in me... even if you don’t understand.”

Will’s hand moves up from between your legs so that he can touch your waist and hold you in place. The fingers of his other hand stroke your face down to the side of your neck, and you can feel how your heart starts to beat faster and faster with each touch.

“I will always trust you, Will. Just never lie to me again, have a little faith in me too.”

Will lets his eyes fall down to your lips again, and he can’t help but bite his own in response. As if he was trying to hold himself together but the urge to kiss you was almost too strong, the way his gaze kept shifting.

When his lips touch yours—it’s a long, slow kiss, deep and gentle at the same time. He holds you in place, your hips pressed against his as if he doesn’t want you to move, even a centimeter. And you don’t dream of being anywhere else but here—by his side.

“I love you, Will.”

#eat your heart out #smut #mdni #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannigram #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #will graham

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