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abibliophobiaa · 2 years

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Love You to Death

vampire!eddie munson x f!reader. 18+ only, because it’s 3.5k words and 95% smut. little bit of praise; blood; mutual blood drinking; blood kink. basically vampire eddie has sex with you in the bathroom at the harrington’s house on halloween - that’s it, that’s the plot. thank you @myosotisa for the beta read and your lovely, delicious suggestions, and @blue-mossbird and @fracturedarkness for the brainstorm sessions to tap into those sultry/ sexy vampire feels.

He’d been visibly hungry all night. Veins like little lightning bolts crawled down onto his cheekbones, shadows striking against pale skin. Those dark eyes of his scanned around the room, focused on the throb of the vein in a human’s neck he knew he could draw from to satisfy that animalistic craving…and yet he never would.

That was reserved for you—only you.

You, however, had a certain craving for something else. The two of you already showed up late after he wrecked you earlier that night before the party, fingers pumping hot and dirty into your center as he held your back flush against his chest, your shared bedroom filled with the sounds of your slick and the slow drag of your blood from your neck.

It wasn’t enough. The heady high of your blood letting had barely started to settle in, your neck only punctured just enough for your costume, a mere sampling of what he’d wanted to savor later. He’d promised as much; promised that once you got home he’d take his time with positively wrecking you. Images of your bodies twining conjured in your mind, thoughts of his teeth sinking into your flesh and your thoughts and minds becoming one. Intimate in a way you’d never be with anyone else but him.

But you were growing impatient with him.

And maybe you’d purposefully stared at him from across the room all night, your mind faraway even as the other guests at the party commented on how realistic Eddie’s and your costumes were, both of you dressed as creatures of the night. Him, wearing your blood on his lips and chin and you with his teeth marks in your flesh, dried droplets of blood clinging to skin. Him in his leather jacket and leather pants, chains flush against a dark tee shirt, those sharp fangs of his a mirror to the fake ones you’d worn in your own mouth, and you in your black shirt tucked within a bloodied plaid skirt, tights sliding against your thighs, hidden beneath the leather of your boots.

Maybe you’d pouted when he’d given Steve and Robin the attention you’d been craving from him for the duration of the party. Maybe you leaned into him near the snack table and, hidden from the eyes of your friends, slid a palm along the flesh of his abdomen, looking up at him with a delighted smirk on your lips that showed your false fangs when he jolted at your touch.

And maybe, just maybe, he wanted exactly the same as you did.

You confirmed as much when his eyes had met yours as you passed that darkened hallway in the Harrington home, finger raising and curling in your direction. A ‘come hither’ you could only obey, body nearly melting into his as you tossed your fake teeth across the room and sunk into the shadows.

“Fuck. Couldn’t wait till we got home, could you, huh?” He lets out a delighted chuckle at your scowl. “You look so fuckin’ hot, baby.”

His voice is rough and gravelly, eyes impossibly wicked as they clash with yours in the dimly lit bathroom. The door slams behind you. Eddie’s barely able to lock the door before you’re on him once more, clutching at the leather of his jacket, lips claiming his own. It’s a wet slide of lips, teeth and skin. His broad arms come to wind around your hips as he walks you backward, hips bumping against the corner of the countertop.

“So fuckin’ pretty walking around with my bite marks on your neck,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you softly. A peck against skin as those dark eyes meet yours. “Knowing I put them there. Thinkin’ about how sweet you taste.”

Shaky fingers move to grip at his belt, the sound of tinkling metal greeting your ears. You fumble in your rush of desire, frustration building in the spaces between you as he hastily replaces your fingers with his own. It’s a swift shuffle of leather down his hips, material pooling messily at his ankles. He’s grabbing at the soft of your hips once again a moment later, and whirling you around to face the mirror behind you.

Your hands slap against the cool countertop, gasp breaking off into a moan as Eddie’s hips press flush against your ass, the heat of his need for you burning into warm flesh. You can feel the thick, hard outline of him through his boxers, shuddering breath breaking off into a pitiful mewl as he rocks into you and chuckles darkly.

His face curls over your shoulder to rest near your ear, voice practically a purr as he whispers, “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“Want you to fuck me, Eddie. Been wanting you all night.”

And it’s true.

With his heightened senses he’s more attuned to you. At first, when he’d told you of his vampirism, it had understandably nerved you. But now there’s only the thrill in knowing he’s always eager to satisfy when your carnal hunger arises. Even now, even in the confines of this bathroom, he wastes no time in doing so.

Those dexterous hands you’ve seen strum away at countless Corroded Coffin concerts now clutch at your plaid skirt covered in fake blood, hiking it high up over your back. Your torso hinges forward when a warm hand comes to slide along the trail of your spine, and then lower still to cup the curve of your backside lovingly.

That hand drags downward, the bite of his ringed fingers warm as they grip tight around the flesh of your thigh, tugging you closer to him before tearing straight through the crotch of your tights. The whine you let out is pitiful, a softly broken thing, as his other hand comes to push aside your underwear to slide against the slick pooling between your thighs. You instinctively arch against him, head bowing low when a finger slides in to up the knuckle, drawing a slow circle into your center.

“So wet already, baby,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your thigh tighter where it presently rests. “So needy for me all night. I could smell it on you. Wanted to get my mouth on you.”

“Don’t be—cruel.” Your words catch in your throat at the stretch of his second finger, heart hammering within your chest as you involuntarily clench around him. “You started this.”

“I guess I did.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice as those fingers slide free from you. “Gonna have to be quiet for me. Don’t want Harrington to come knocking on the door. Think you can do that?”

You nod your head frantically. “Ed, please.”

He’s grinning to himself over your shoulder in the reflective surface of the mirror, a little smug, fingers reaching up to tie his hair into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “Always so noisy for me, but you’ll be a good girl, won’t you?” The light catches on the dangling earrings in his ears, little skulls bobbing as he shifts closer to your form. Your thighs clench tighter, your head nodding rapidly, knowing his sole intent is now on making sure your toes crawl within your boots until you’re spent and the both of you sated.

You watch in the reflection as Eddie reaches down to free himself from his boxers, cock slapping up against his stomach. The fullness of your bottom lip pinches between your teeth, your chest heaving as his form shadows your own and he lines himself with your entrance, kissing your spine once, twice, wasting no time sliding in.

You both swear out on your joint exhale, the stretch of him even after all this time delicious. Those first few pumps of his hips against yours always snatch your breath free from your lungs, thighs quivering beneath the weight of the intensity of him inside you, full to the brim like it’s where he’s always meant to be.

Your head drops forward, mouth pressing against the sleeve of your sweater to muffle your sounds as he obliges your soft pleas of ‘faster, Eddie’ and roughly plunges into you from behind, the sound of your wetness soaking his cock and the lewd sounds of skin hitting skin filling the room. The booming bass downstairs does little to quiet those little moans that spill from your lips, plucked from you with each hard snap of his hips.

It’s almost cruel, really, when he stills suddenly. His mouth brushes your earlobe, his cock still pulsing inside of you, your impatience driving your ass back against him to seek that delicious drag of him within your inner walls. He tuts and curls his arm around your hips, freezing you in place, robbing you of the friction you so desperately crave. “Shh. Someone’s coming down the hall.”

His arm releases from around you, fingers trailing up along your abdomen, higher still across your breast, giving your flesh a soft squeeze, before those calloused fingers settle over your mouth. Your breath fans out, hot and frantic against his palm.

There’s suddenly a knock on the other side of the door, body rigid within the cage of Eddie’s arms as Nancy’s frustrated huff calls out, “Is anyone in there?”

Your cunt flutters around him, drawing a stuttered breath from the man behind you. Nervousness and a darker thrill of excitement pools in your belly at the prospect of being caught in such a compromising position, knowing exactly what they’d see if the door hadn’t already been locked. You, eyes blown out, cheeks flushed, skirt up indecently about your hips, and Eddie buried to the hilt within you, flush against your form.

Suddenly, and so very unexpectedly, Eddie’s hips start to move again, a slow roll up into you—into that elusive spot he’s become a master at finding, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your skull. He finally shouts, “Gonna need a bit, Nancy Drew. Harrington’s shitty food. You know the deal.”

“Eddie! I didn’t want to know!” She slaps her palm against the door. Your eyes pinch shut as Eddie’s free hand slides between your thighs, fingers rubbing slow circles into the sensitive bead of your clit. “Have you seen Y/n, by the way? Robin wanted her as a partner for beer pong. She asked me to ask you.”

The slow, torturous pace of his cock impossibly deep within you, paired with the brushing of his fingers against your clit has you biting into his hand hard—hard enough to puncture flesh. A dark, satisfied growl builds in his throat, palm pulling back enough to take you in, eyes blown out, his blood like rubies glistening on your lips. That growl only deepens as your eyes meet, hot and heavy, his eyes nearly black now. Your tongue slides hesitant across your bottom lip, mixing his blood with your spit; rich, viscous and earthy. Unusual, unfamiliar—and yet the forbiddenness of it, the utter sinfulness of him filling your mouth has heat traveling to your core, not unnoticed by your boyfriend. The corner of his lip curls into a devastating smirk at the sight, a flash of white teeth catching your gaze as he lowers his face toward yours, lips merely centimeters apart. Your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss that never comes. Instead, that often skillful tongue of his swipes a long line across your mouth, head tipping back to take in his work. Satisfied, he drags his thumb along the remnants of his blood on your bottom lip in a crude line down your chin.

Wild. You both look utterly wild, but it only heightens your arousal, drives your need for him to burn hotter.

There’s another knock at the door just as your hand reaches behind you to curl in his hair and tugs at his ponytail until his nose nudges at the corner of your ear. You can practically feel his grin unfurling against your skin, eyes pricking as his lips skirt lower, closer to your pulse point. He laves his tongue over your throat, knowing exactly what you want—what you need from him…what you’ve been aiming for from the moment you left your apartment earlier that evening.

He manages out, “Nance, a minute please?” against that place in your neck that pounds frantically against the surface, straining so violently you’re certain it might burst. He waits a moment before those elongated canines graze against your warmth.

“Fine! But if you see her, let her know she’s needed.” She’s silent for a moment, huffing out, “I thought you said you didn’t eat eat anymore!” He doesn’t, not always because it tastes like ash on his tongue, but he needs the excuse now.

You vaguely recognize the sound of footsteps trailing back from where she came down the hall. Once she’s gone, Eddie’s practically humming with need. A low sound builds in the back of his throat, a sinful purr that has your back arching against his chest, heart pounding as his pace shifts into something frantic. Nearly animalistic. Hips harsh and unyielding against your own, the fingers once circling your clit now moving to grapple your hip with an uncharacteristic disregard that you’re certain he’ll leave bruises for you to discover in the morning. The other palm moves back over your mouth, muffling your cries as he bullies your cunt.

“You liked that. My messy girl,” he murmurs, nudging one thigh to open you further to him, rutting mercilessly against that part of you that has you already seeing flashes of white behind your eyes. “Liked tasting my blood.”

It’s not a question. You did. You really did.

“Liked the thought of being caught by Nancy. I could feel you. Could practically taste it. Wanting our friends to know what we got up to—wanting them to know I fucked you over this counter while they’re only feet away from us.”

“I do,” you gasp out, desperately chasing that peak, wanting more, always more. “I do, Ed.”

“Wanted me to mark you right there while she was on the other side of the door.” His mouth trails lower down the side of your throat, nosing along the curve of your heated skin, your head moving to the side just enough to bare yourself to him fully. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

It’s no more than a breathy gasp that falls from you.

“Please, mark me.”

You whimper at the delightful drag of needle-point teeth dancing along flesh.

“Make me yours.”

It’s all you can muster as his teeth sink down, mouth closing over your pulse, and your head tips back against his chest.

Bloodletting, which had started as a way for him to feed while he was on tour and blood bags were limited, turned into something you both relished. The combination of his mind and essence lashing against your own, mingling in the spaces between each of your heartbeats was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before.

Even now, the groan he lets out on that first pull of your blood hits his tongue has your head spinning, his hand around your hip gripping you tighter if only to keep you tethered to the earth. Like this, with his mouth pulling your essence into him, and the sounds he makes deep within his chest as he drinks from you, your mind empties. There’s only you and him and the delicious warmth that oozes like honey into your blood system as you spill against his open mouth, your heart pounding in every inch of your body. It drives him to fuck into you harder; frenetic, fleshy smacks of his skin against yours, the feral rumbling from somewhere deep within him vibrating against your back, your pussy stuffed full of him, your wetness soaking his cock, those moist swallows of your liquid life fueling him.

It’s too much. Always too much, and still somehow never enough.

“Oh shit, Ed I’m—” You manage to gasp out, his hips moving in tandem with the slow tugs of your blood into his mouth, heat coiling in your belly, burning bright behind your eyes. “So close—fuckfuckfuck—”

His mouth pops free from your neck with an amused chuckle, teeth and chin stained dark red and full of you. His hand slides from your mouth and curls around your chin, dragging his nose down the line of yours, eyes locked on your own, lips nearly brushing yours and staining them red as he whispers, “Let go for me, sweetheart. Wanna watch you fall apart around my cock.”

You cum harder than you ever have with a loud cry that he fails to muffle. Stinging tears flood your eyes. Electricity dances to life along every nerve ending. And he’s falling out of rhythm as his own release races up to slam into him, mouth biting down at the juncture of your shoulder, canines piercing your skin, groans of ecstasy hot and heavy against your skin as he spills into you.

Your legs quiver from blood loss and remnants of your orgasm, body humming as he leans down to brush his lips softly against your shoulder, chest heaving hard against your back. He slides out of you gently, letting your skirt drop back down around your thighs, those solid arms of his turning you in a slow circle to help you settle down on the edge of the shower. He quickly tucks himself back into his boxers and tugs on his pants, his form dropping down in front of you once his belt is buckled. You smile softly at the palm that moves to slide up and along your thigh. This part, the drop that comes after, has you resting your forehead against his, smiling up at him through your hazy, unfocused gaze.

“There’s my girl,” he coos, thumb brushing at the corner of your lips. He parts from you briefly to grab a cup from the medicine cabinet, pouring tap water into the plastic container, before dropping down in front of you. Your fingers reach out to grasp, lips curling over the edge and sipping slowly. “Deep breaths. I didn’t take too much, did I?”

You shouldn’t want it. You know you shouldn’t. Shouldn’t want to know what you taste like against his lips. Shouldn’t want the messy, dirty slide of your blood mixing with his. Yet your hand curls around his neck all the same, dragging his mouth roughly against yours, tongues swirling together in a filthy tangle. While Eddie is rich and earthy, smokey and utterly decadent, you’re bitter and acrid, metallic and human. Yet he licks it up, licks into you like he could never get enough, well past when you both should be pushing your way out of the bathroom.

“I love you,” he purrs against your lips, giving them one last brush just as another knock sounds from the wooden door.

“Eddie, my dude, are you almost done? Gotta pee something fierce.” It’s Argyle this time.

Eddie helps you up onto wobbly feet. “Yeah, man. Be right out,” he says, unlocking the door. It swings open to reveal your newest friend in the group, his eyes widening at the sight of the two of you. “She came to check on me. Harrington’s food, am I right?”

Argyle’s hand raises to the general area of his face, palm circling around in front of him. “That blood looks real real, my dudes.”

You smirk, and Eddie catches it, that rumble in his chest vibrating against your shoulder where it brushes his. Eddie grins. “We wanted to make sure it looked as realistic as possible.” He pauses, looping an arm around your shoulders. “The porcelain throne is all yours, buddy.”

Argyle chuckles nervously and shifts past the two of you, your feet carrying you down into the main room where the party is still raging on. Steve and Robin catch your gaze as you appear at the bottom of the stairs, Steve commenting on your enhanced costumes as Robin sadly pouts when Eddie pats his stomach and says he wants to get home as soon as possible.

“Didn’t know you could… get sick,” Robin mutters under her breath, hugging him goodbye before coming to loop her arms around your neck and wish you well.

You bid the rest of your friends goodnight, passing curious onlookers trying to catch sight of the two oddly realistic vampire costumes as you make your way to the front door and into the fall air. Once buckled up inside Eddie’s van, his mouth dips back down to yours over the center console, fingers coming to curl around your thigh. “Can’t wait to get you home.”

You hum pleasantly, thumb dragging along his chin, along the dark, wine-colored droplets that are starting to dry against his skin. “And why might that be?”

“Because as soon as we walk in that door I want to make you fall apart against my mouth. Want to devour you.”

And oh does he. You didn’t think he could get more desperate to taste you, but something about having your blood mixed with your slick turns him into something else entirely. A something you’re all too happy to goad further—until you’re both panting, bloody, and utterly spent.

(my line of defense against readmore)

#eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagines #vampire!eddie munson x you #vampire!eddie munson x reader #vampire!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff

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pennyellee · 10 months

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CHAPTER VI - súton

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,1K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VII

súton (n.) twilight; the approach of death or the end of something

Images flashed through her mind like fragments of a dream, mixing reality with a disorienting haze. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for what was to come. She was still in her temporary private quarters. Was it all just a dream? Confusion ran through Y/N like the hot blood inside her veins.

The engine of the roaring car pierced her ears and her vision was still blurry. “Where am I?” she whispered, her voice slowly progressing to realise the situation. She grabbed the letter seat, trying to pull herself up.

“Chan-yeol?” she asked, pressured.

“Little bird, are you ready to fly away?” he laughed. Y/N looked at him with terror in her pupils.

“Are you out of your mind? You just signed your own death certificate Chan-yeol!” This is bad. Her thoughts spoke to her in distress, each and one of them telling her to do something.

“What, a sudden change of heart? Did you not want me to ship you off to the new land?” said the man, accelerating the car.

“He’s going to slaughter everyone!” she screamed.

“You did not think of that when you ran the last time or the time before, why now Y/N?” He spitted his words out, looking at her through the mirror. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to collect herself before she would lose her mind for good.

“He has the whole family on a silver platter there Chan-yeol! Turn the car right now!”

“We’re almost there.” He declared.

“Yoongi?!” was the first name that came to her mind. Voice full of fear. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed around her, crescendoing with the abrupt swing of the door. However, the one she sought, the man whose name she called, was not in her sight.

“Namjoon?” she called out, the surprise evident in her voice, interwoven with a thread of relief.

“How do you feel?” He asked, slowly approaching her petite form.

“What— I don’t understand,” she struggled to articulate her bewildered thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.”

Chan-yeol’s words cut through the frosty air. He steered the car to the side of the road. Snow was everywhere she could see, each surface draped in ethereal white. Without waiting for the vehicle to come to a complete halt, Y/N flung the car door open, her steps bold as she ventured out into the wilderness.

The direction from which they arrived became a backdrop as she briskly distanced herself from Chan-yeol’s presence.

“This might be your last chance to flee this wicked world, girl.” His voice, heightened in intensity, reached her ears. Y/N stopped in tracks — the ultimatum clear.

Her family on one side, her newfound reality on the other – a choice lay before her.

“You have no idea what you just did!” she screamed defiantly, she refused to spare him a glance. “You’ve ruined everything!”

“Y/N?” a different voice echoed and her eyes widened at the unexpected interruption.

“I did not, Namjoon. I did not try to run away. You have to believe me!” Her words tumbled out in a frantic attempt to convey her innocence. Namjoon, his touch gentle, enveloped her small hands in his.

“Shhh… I know, it’s alright.” Namjoon cooed at the bride. And that’s when every single picture came back to her mind.

“How—how did you get here, for the love of God?” Y/N pivoted towards the speaking man, memories of their shared past flooding back as if the study hall of Shenyang’s University was just yesterday.

“I came for you,” he declared.

“For me?” She asked, disbelief in her voice.

“For me?!” she repeated, a frustrated laugh bubbling up. “Now you’re coming for me.” Y/N recalled the day he declared that she was in this battle alone, a stark contrast to their current proximity. They were never that close, he was too afraid to even hold her hand or maintain prolonged eye contact. But she considered him to be a friend, nonetheless.

“I love you,” he confessed, staring directly into her eyes.

“You love me?” She asked, mocking him, a bitter edge to her tone.

“Where was this love when I needed to run the hell out of the continent, huh?” She closed the distance between them, pushing him with aggressive force.

“You're a coward, Han Chen,” she spat, the venom in her voice cutting through the tension.

“I have a plan, Y/N,” he replied, brushing off her words even as they stung.

“Hmm… you have a plan. And what is this plan exactly?”

“He won’t want you if you’re ruined, Y/N.”

His words hit her like a cold gust of wind, and she gasped at the implications.

The haunting melody of that familiar song resonated in her mind once again.

“He—he attempted to rape me.” Y/N looked through her teary eyes directly at Namjoon's, whose mimics told her, she is right.

“He paid for that with his life.”

“You’re going to kill us all!” Her words became the truth once the first bullet was fired, finding its mark in Chen’s head. Y/N witnessed his eyes blackening, a vacancy replacing the spark of life.

He was gone. Blood dripped down his neck, staining her chest, her breath hitching as her vision blurred. Chan-yeol swore and fumbled with his gun, leaving Y/N to crumple to the ground, as he was tightly holding her down for the devil’s messenger to do the unforgivable.

Her eyes narrowed at the white sky. Chen’s lifeless body collapsing onto her smaller frame. Y/N’s hands trembled as she mustered the strength to slowly push his corpse away.

“Are you alright?” she heard him before she saw him above her.

“What about the wedding?” she asked, curiosity mingling with the shock that gripped her.

“We’ll proceed—” he answered, addressing yet another of her fears.

Speech and vision eluded her. “Y/N?” he asked again, gently throwing Chen’s lifeless body off her. “Darling, please say something.” His concern was palpable.

“Let me go, you fuckers!” Chan-yeol’s enraged screams echoed nearby. He hadn’t made a clean escape after all.

Hoseok helped her sit. Y/N’s eyes mirrored the emptiness that had claimed Chen’s.

“Darling?” Hoseok urged, attempting to coax her back to the present.

“—and hold a trial tomorrow.”

“Trail?” she asked, her voice fragile.

“Chan-yeol was a part of our clan. He is a traitor, and we’ll treat him as such.”

“And what about—”

She cast one more glance at Chen’s lifeless form before shifting her attention to Chan-yeol, struggling on the ground, surrounded by Min soldiers from whom she only recognised Jungkook.

“I want to go back, Hoseok-ssi. Please take me back.” Her voice wavered. Hoseok breathed out, relieved, helping her stand. As she turned to look at Chan-yeol, his screams pierced the air.

“Don’t look that way, sweetie,” Hoseok intervened, guiding her away from the chaotic scene. Only when they reached the parked cars, a good half a mile away from the unfolding drama, did she exhale and allow herself to close her eyes.

“Yoongi is beyond pissed. We could have avoided this if you would tell him about that foolish boy.”

“I swear, Namjoon, we were not... we did not—” she stammered.

“—I did not know he would come look for me nor do that….”

“Do not tell that to me, princess,” he sighed.

“I need you to get dressed. We have already postponed it, and we cannot do it any longer.”

“Sure,” were her only words to him.

“She called for you, brother,” the right-hand man spoke as he entered the boss’s office, where Yoongi was finally getting ready for the wedding.

“Explain,” the young groom responded while fixing his tux in front of the mirror.

“She called your name when she woke up.”

“Did she?” Yoongi felt a spark of hope that he would indeed become her person, her lover, her everything, just as she was to him.

The right-hand man chuckled at his questioning response, knowing it warmed Yoongi’s heart.

“Damn this one tradition; you should go and see her.”

“I would, but that would ruin the thrill, wouldn’t it, hmm,” he hummed.

“You’re getting married, brother.”

“Yes, today I’m getting married, and tomorrow I have to deal with a man who kidnapped my woman and let the other fucker almost rape her,” Yoongi spat, hitting the wall next to the mirror. He never felt greater anxiety than when Xiaoli said she was taken away from him. How ironic that he is to be the one who feels anxious.

Her mother crying, father screaming at everyone, younger sister praying. Yoongi had a feeling that she would not be that stupid to run away when he had her family inside the hotel.

“Nothing else will go wrong.”

“Did you greet the Yamamotos?” The Yakuza clan was invited to the wedding, a bold move, and what was even bolder—they accepted and arrived.

“I surely did, brother,” said Namjoon.

“Good,” Yoongi smirked, not expecting what is yet to come.

“Everything is as it should be.”

“I don’t want Y/N’s father near her until the wedding, Jungkook-ah,” requested Yoongi from the passive listener, seated just a few meters away on the sofa, sipping on his glass of white liquor.

“As you wish, Hyung,” he put the glass down and stood up, fixing his tux and putting on his white hat.

“And for fuck’s sake, patch those knuckles, aight?” Yoongi screamed playfully after him.

The temple, a sanctuary of weary souls, stood solemnly bearing witness to the union unfolding within its hallowed walls.

The bride, adorned in a crimson hanfu dress, with beautiful shining golden details on her long sleeves, walked the creaking wooden path towards the temple’s entrance, her steps heavy with the knowledge of what is awaiting her. The rich fabric of her dress billowed like a blood-red sea, a stark contrast to the pallor of her face that concealed emotions that dared not surface.

The courtyard was adorned with bright red and white paper lanterns when she passed it. She did not dare to look around at all the noble underground hats who had gathered to witness the union of two syndicates.

The flickering candles cast eerie, dancing shadows upon the ancient murals depicting forgotten legends. The distant sounds of the city, with its bustling streets and restless souls, provided a haunting contrast to the stillness of this timeless ceremony. The soft strains of the gayageum and the rhythmic beats of the janggu filled the air.

At the temple’s altar, the groom, equally somber in attire, awaited the bride. His eyes, like deep pools, hinted at the secrets he carried, secrets buried beneath, he wished to share with her.

The chants of the officiating monk resonated through the temple; a haunting reminder of the spiritual solace sought amidst the chaos of the outside world. Their union was a flicker of defiance against the oppressive forces that sought to extinguish the spirit of a nation. She was not initially meant to be his, fate seemed to have favoured him, and Yoongi thanked the almighty for bringing her to him.

Y/N dared not look at him, her breath unsteady, visible puffs in the cold air. The gal held her head high nonetheless, she was desperately trying not to give in to her intrusive thoughts and turn around, flee for her life, try one last time.

The gun pressed to Daiyu’s back served as a grim reminder, preventing her from succumbing to intrusive thoughts. She could see the tears that were in her eyes as she held tightly her little son. Chan-yeol, held captive and beaten for sins he performed.

The eyes of the guests felt heavy, especially her father’s, still unamused by the young leader’s audacity, keeping his hand tightly on his neck. Forbidden from seeing his own daughter before the ceremony, he seethed with anger, his frustration directed at the young Kkangpae.

Y/N’s heartbeat echoed loudly as she climbed the stairs to stand face-to-face with Yoongi, trying to find the courage to look at him. His eyes were full of expectations, he was waiting for this moment.

The exchange of bows signified respect and commitment. If this would be a traditional wedding, not minding their social status in the syndicates, they would continue with drinking rice wine sikhye, symbolizing the blending of their lives.

But this was not a common wedding. This ceremony was different. Altered by the traditions of the Min Clan. The moment arrived when Y/N extended her palm to take the knife from Yoongi’s hands. A cup of rice wine awaited underneath, capturing every drop of her blood. Their union, a pledge of loyalty through soul, blood, and mind.

Y/N met Yoongi’s eyes as she applied pressure to the hand holding the knife, slicing through his skin. A sadistic flicker seemed to pass through his eyes, as if he was enjoying the pain she was inflicting on him.

The rice wine now mixed with their blood and the heavy silence was driving Y/N mad.

The young Kkangpae lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes locked with Yoongi’s. Observing his actions closely, she followed suit, and he took a far bigger sip than her, almost devouring it all.

Setting the cup down they both extended their wounded hands. The golden wedding band that Yoongi slipped onto her finger, seemed to match her engagement ring that sat before it, closer to her knuckle. Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her hand. This was an explicit symbol of her being a taken woman now. No one else to touch, to have, and in their world — to own.

“Darling,” Yoongi whispered quietly, but still managed to keep the demand in his tone visible. Y/N shook her head to get herself to think straight again, realising she had lingered too long on the rings, delaying the public ceremony’s final step.

Huffing out collected air, she slipped the wedding band onto Yoongi’s finger, uniting them.

The monk placed a thick crimson ribbon over their hands, proclaiming them man and wife. No vows echoed like in the far west, no intimate encounters within the public ceremony, despite Yoongi’s yearning to press his lips against hers.

Y/N knew very well that her father scoffed and cursed at the young leader yet again for choosing to follow his wedding traditions and not theirs. And ultimately, there was no paying respect to the elders.

Kkangpae does not bow down to anyone. Nor will his new bride.

Y/N was especially glad she does not have to do that nor the tea ceremony she always found dull. Not that she particularly enjoyed being controlled and swept by the demands of Yoongi’s clan.

The monk’s chants grew louder again, filling the temple with an eerie resonance. Y/N and Yoongi turned to face the gathered members of their syndicates, their families, and the underworld elite who had come to witness this union.

The banquet that followed was a lavish affair as is fit for the Min clan. The tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous dishes, and the air filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs. Nonetheless, Y/N could sense the atmosphere that was charged with tension. As if everyone was prepared to cast guns and kill each other.

Y/N felt the weight of her father’s glare before she could see him eye to eye. Her mimicry has shown nothing more but pure disgust when Wang Zemo shook the scarred leader’s hand congratulating them on their marriage. Y/N did not trust her father. His judgment was always clouded by power.

“You do not seem pleased, father,” Y/N remarked, exposing him. Her mother nervously laughed, hoping to prevent a disturbance between the two clans. She eyed him, expecting an answer from him.

“I’m not pleased that your husband allowed you to be kidnapped,” he retorted, making Yoongi squeeze Y/N’s hip, a possessive gesture.

“But he aided a rescue team in no time, daddy. Meanwhile, you could not even keep me at home,” Y/N fired back, laughing in her father’s face, not believing her own words defended the young Kkangpae that was now amusingly smirking next to her. She could see how her father’s brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, fuming at his daughter. Y/N can do that now, she does not owe her father loyalty anymore.

Her mother stopped him before he could raise his hand causing commotion within the two clans, instead he lifted his free arm pointing a warning finger at her. Y/N smiled sweetly and watched her mother pull his arm until he walked with her. Only when he was far away did she ask her new husband.

“Did he give you trouble when you asked for Xiaoli’s hand in marriage on behalf of Taehyung?” The young leader only hummed in response, his eyes were focused on something different from her now, and Y/N could not help but turn her head in the same direction as he was looking.

What unsettled her the most was the presence of Yamamotos. Yoongi nor anyone did not mention single tweet about these poisonous guests. Therefore, she felt her stomach rotate when they were approaching and for the first time in forever, Y/N pressed herself closer to Yoongi, intertwining their fingers together.

Of course, she feared them. She always viewed her father’s tactics and measures quite cruel. But if Wang Zemo was cruel than Yamamoto was brutal. And it was only natural to fear such a brutal syndicate as Yakuza.

“Congratulations, Min,” said the older male in Japanese. He did not bother to speak the tongue of his enemy’s territory, but he knew they would understand perfectly. The man had such a strong and intense aura around him. He ruled with fear, that thing was obvious.

He held his hand to Yoongi who accepted it for both your and his behalf, shaking it with firm grip, piercing his eyes alongside.

“You got yourself a fine woman, Min, —” he leered at Y/N, his gaze filled with hunger. A wave of disgust washed over her.

“She has caused you quite a bit of trouble, has she not?” he continued, finishing his remark. Y/N understood that their marriage was a calculated move that would redefine the power dynamics within the criminal underworld. Whether Yamamoto perceived the Mins as a threat remained an assumption on her part.

“Not as much trouble as you sending that foolish boy to his death,” Yoongi added, causing Y/N’s breath to hitch. Slowly, her eyes lifted to Yoongi, whose gaze now held an intensity that made the scar glow with anger. Y/N did not understand any bit of it. Had he not come willingly? No, that simply cannot be, there had to be an ulterior motive to commit such a sin.

“Certainly, we knew you would handle him and your bride just as you saw fit.”

“Surely, —” Yoongi replied with a dark undertone and a sinister smile. A wave of nausea rolled through Y/N. If they lingered in the presence of the Japanese Yakuza any longer, she might empty her stomach right there. Thankfully, they bid a seemingly cordial farewell, leaving to take their seats behind the tables and Y/N could at least breathe out.

“Yoongi—” she began once they were out of earshot. He cast her a brief glance before pivoting to examine her, noting her even paler face.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she stumbled the words out of her system fast. Y/N released Yoongi’s hand to cover her mouth.

“Oh God,” her sister’s whisper reached her ears, a reminder of their public setting, alerting her that she is still in public, and the eyes will pry.

Y/N swiftly walked — not ran, to avoid drawing attention — towards the nearest door leading outside to the cold. Once in the cold air again, she emptied her stomach.

“It’s okay,” Y/N heard her sister’s voice yet again, just before her hands were soothingly rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe the cold air in. She was grateful it was her sister offering comfort, not the groom. At least Xiaoli realized that Y/N wouldn’t want Yoongi to see her now. Nor any other prying eyes.

“It’s not okay, Xiaoli,” said Y/N through tears, feeling a profound, heart-wrenching anxiety and fear settling in her core.

“They fucking sent him to rape me, and God knows what else.”

“And he did not manage to do that. Hoseok took care of that. Jungkook took care of that, —”

Y/N recalled, her mind flashing to Jungkook storming into her room, his concern evident as he bombarded her with questions about her well-being. Guilt weighed on him for getting entangled with Chan-yeol instead of going straight to her. As her new brother, he felt an obligation to protect her, just like Hoseok, who would go to any lengths for her.

And that leaves Y/N to wonder. She pondered the sincerity behind their sympathy. Was it because of her supposed relationship with their brother, or was there a genuine connection forming? For a fleeting moment, she wondered if her aunt sensed the potential for them to become family, to be her home.

“—Leader Min will see to it that he is brought to justice,” Xiaoli continued, always sure to express her love for Yoongi.

Y/N looked down at her stained dress with a sense of pity, both for herself and the situation. A deep sense of sadness remained.

“I just wish it did not have to be this way,” she confessed, her voice filled with sorrow. “I wish I could have chosen this path for myself, rather than having it forced upon me.”

“But this is not the world or lifetime where you could do that,” her sister replied, and for a brief moment, Y/N felt a glimmer of understanding.

“I know,” she whispered quietly. “He used to be my friend; you know. Despite what he did, I never thought he would die in front of my eyes, —” her words held honesty, tinged with something else.

“And I never thought that I would be relieved they came in time and shot him dead, Xiaoli,” Y/N admitted, finally getting it off her chest.

“Taehyung-oppa said they paid him to do it.” Xiaoli disclosed. Y/N dreaded this scenario; she suspected that Chen did not act out of love for her. No one who loved someone would commit such a horrendous act.

Y/N scoffed, a desperate laugh escaping her. “Do you know what will happen to Chan-yeol?” She hadn’t had the chance to discuss this with Yoongi, leaving her in the dark and feeling consumed by it.

“He is held captive. That is all I know,” Xiaoli replied while helping Y/N stand. She needed to change her dress; there was no way she could return in this state.

“Y/N?” Xiaoli asked. Her older sister only hummed in response.

“If you attempt to run ever again, Daiyu is going to die—” Y/N paused for a moment.

“—He won’t hurt me, I’ll be betrothed to Taehyung-oppa. But Daiyu is still in the open.”

“Did you talk to her?” She asked.

“No,” Xiaoli replied, “but I talked to Kkangpae Min. He confirmed his intentions.”

“And it did not move you one bit?” Said Y/N surprised with what degree of calmness her sister is speaking of this.

Yoongi wanted to make it abundantly clear that he would take drastic measures if she attempted to escape again. He wanted her to fear the consequences, to be consumed by the dread of what might happen if she defied him; deliberately informing Xiaoli, knowing the bond between the sisters was a weak point for Y/N.

“I would not dare to go against his word.” Y/N only smiled sadly at her sister’s words. She does not understand. How could she?

The way to her chamber felt endless. Y/N was acutely aware of her disheveled state and the need for privacy. Another set of footsteps behind her and Xiaoli quickened her heart with anxiety.

“Y/N?” The soothing voice of the doctor, Seokjin, reached her ears, and she could not have been more relieved. Without turning around, she responded.

“I just need to change. I’m fine, Seokjin.”

Y/N wasted no time in stepping inside her room once they finally reached it. Seokjin followed, his demeanour calm and professional, yet she sensed a hint of concern in his eyes.

As she began changing out of the crimson robe from the wedding ceremony, Y/N couldn’t deny the unease that lingered within her.

“You can tell him I will be back in a little while, Seokjin.” Y/N turned to Seokjin, offering a weak smile.

“Are you sure you are feeling well?” Seokjin nodded; his expression was gentle.

“It’s just the anxiety.” Said Y/N. Her face still bore the traces of tears and turmoil, but she resolved to face the celebration with as much grace as she could muster. She knew that in the world she inhabited, appearances were everything.

Seokjin stood by the door, waiting patiently. “I’ll change and come right away,” she promised to the older male.

“Very well,” he answered simply and closed the door behind him leaving her and Xiaoli alone.

The intricate layers of fabric and silk were carefully removed, revealing a simpler, yet equally elegant, hanfu beneath — this one was a shade of soft lavender.

“Do you want to wear the hanbok instead?” Xiaoli asked. Does she? Just this morning, she insisted that her wedding dress will be a representation of the culture she is coming from. Looking over at the beautiful crimson and royal blue hanbok that she was supposed to wear as her wedding dress, Y/N hesitated.

“I don’t feel like wearing a wedding dress anymore, Xiaoli.” Her sister nodded in understanding, but beneath her supportive gaze, there lingered a hint of disappointment. Xiaoli had hoped that Y/N would fully embrace the culture of the Min clan, a desire likely shared by the clan’s leader. However, Y/N’s desire was to stay true to her Chinese roots for a little bit longer. If this is the only way she can remain herself, she is willing to rebel against him as long as she can.

She heard her sister sigh as she handed her the crimson flowery qipao. “You could at least meet him in the middle.” Xiaoli muttered, her disappointment evident.

“Xiaoli, if you did not notice I’m having a really bad day today.” Y/N’s patience was wearing thin. She had endured enough turmoil for one day, and the idea of appeasing Yoongi’s wishes no longer held much appeal.

“I understand—” Xiaoli wanted to say before Y/N interrupted her with the welling tears in her eyes and raised voice.

“No, you do not understand, Xiaoli!” Said Y/N, sliding down to a lower cushion chair, hugging her head with her small hands.

“But you are not even trying, Y/N,” Xiaoli retorted.

“Because I’m gasping for air every single time! I’m drowning, and yet I cannot learn to swim—” she cried out, clutching the fabric of her hanfu to the point she feared it would tear.

“All of you are blindly trying to convince me that this is the best that could ever happen to me—” she continued.

“—like you’re some kind of Gods that shall decide one’s fate.”

Xiaoli sighed, her frustration and discomfort evident. “All we do is care for you, truly, madly, deeply.”

Y/N looked up, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and defiance.

“Are you listening to yourself, sister?!” Y/N did not even give her a chance to answer.

“—We are family, by blood, Xiaoli, I thought you cared about me to be more than just a pawn—” this time Xiaoli interrupted her older sister.

“And because we are family, I am trying to protect what matters to all of us.” Xiaoli knelt beside her, trying to console Y/N.

“What about what matters to me?” Y/N retorted; her voice shaky. “What about my dreams, my choices? He took that from me.”

Xiaoli hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We all have to make sacrifices. And I know that you will make the best out of this.”

Y/N looked at her sister, a mix of disbelief and sadness in her eyes. “Is this the price of my freedom?”

“If this was another life, you could have what you truly desire.” Said Xiaoli. Y/N wiped away her tears before she spoke.

“I won’t let—” Y/N inquired.

“The consequences will be severe.” Said Xiaoli before Y/N could utter her thought as if she knew what she wanted to say.

“Remember that before you will do anything.”

The distant strains of music and laughter reached their ears when Xiaoli opened the door, walking through it in the direction of the celebration. Y/N put on a mask of composure, her posture regal, and her expression neutral. She couldn’t let anyone see the turmoil within her. Tonight, she would play the role expected of her, all while strategizing her next moves in this complex and dangerous game.

“Min Buin?!” a voice called out, unfamiliar and tinged with a strange mixture of reverence and unease — it sent a shiver down her spine.

A man stood right in the middle of the hall behind her. He was dressed in a dark, tailored suit that exuded authority, a stark departure from the opulence of the occasion.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder who this enigmatic figure was and why he had singled her out with that title,

“Min Buin?!” He repeated again. Y/N turned her head slightly to Xiaoli, now a few steps closer to the banquet, her expression wary.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, a hint of protectiveness in her voice. The man did not seem to be perturbed by Y/N’s defensive stance. Instead, he offered a faint, cryptic smile.

“Do you not know?” His tone took a different direction. He stepped closer to them.

“Y/N,” Xiaoli gulped down, her voice trembling. “That is Yamamoto Itsuki.” By how her sister spoke Y/N understood that this is the very man she was supposed to marry.

“Go.” She whispered to her sister who did not hesitate to run down the corridor and alert anyone. Only once Y/N was sure that her sister was far away did she speak.

“What is your business with me?” Y/N asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. The man’s smile widened slightly, revealing teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light.

“Business?” He laughed. Y/N’s mind raced as she absorbed his words. She had been thrust into this world, initially a pawn in a dangerous game, but now it seemed that her role was evolving.

“I have unfinished business with you, yes.” He said after a few silent moments. Only her heavy breathing could be heard.

“I’m very much sure that a business between us never started in the first place; therefore, it seems to me we have nothing to talk about,” said Y/N, swiftly turning her body back to its original position, ready to flee to the banquet and seek help.

As she predicted, this day could only get worse as she found herself pinned to the nearest wall. Y/N could feel his breath on her face, a strong large hand enveloped her throat, pressing her to the wall harder and making it hard to breathe. Y/N’s breathing skipped intervals.

“You are one greedy ungrateful little bitch, are you not?” He spat the words into her face, squeezing her neck even tighter. Her hands automatically rose to his arm, trying to push him away. Her head started to spin, and she could feel the redness that rushed to her cheeks as she gasped for air that would fill her lungs.

“You were supposed to be mine!” His scream echoed in the empty corridor. Out of all the endings of her life, she truly did not foresee this one. There was a strike of a quick moment where she thought that death would be her redemption and eternal freedom she wished for. However, Y/N still had the will to fight for her life. She dug her nails into his arm, trying to push his hand away one more time, but he was too strong.

A click of a reloading gun seemed too muffled for her ears to notice, but when the sudden absence of pressure on her throat disappeared, and she could finally welcome the air in, she thanked God for being still in his favour.

Her knees have denounced their service, and she found herself on the ground. She went to touch her sore throat when a familiar hand did it before her. Y/N’s breath was still rocky, and she heard an annoying ringing in her ears. She barely could hear what Yoongi was screaming at the man who was recently near killing her.

“Y/N?” She heard Jimin’s voice, but she could not figure out where it was coming from. Her head was spinning like a carousel, and her vision was still a bit blurry. She wanted to speak up but she found it hard to do so.

“Can you breathe for me, darling?” She tried to stabilize her breathing but couldn’t stop panting for air.

“You have to try and calm down.” Seokjin was speaking to her, and by her blurry vision she saw another four figures around her. Two holding the younger Yamamoto for Yoongi, the other two attending to her.

Y/N went to try to speak again, even though she was fully aware that only high-pitched tones would come out that would make her words unrecognisable.

“I—” she tried, “I want—” she finally gulped down the little amount of saliva she had in her mouth.

“Bring her water right now.” Seokjin understood quickly. Her hearing was coming back to life and same for her vision. She could now see Jungkook and Hoseok dragging the man away from them, and Yoongi swiftly turning to examine the damage the man had done to his beloved.

By the time he fell down to his knees, cupping her cheeks, trying to read from her eyes, Jimin had returned with the water she needed. Yoongi helped her to hold the glass in both of her hands and drink it whole in one go.

“I do not want to stay here tonight,” she said with a raspy voice, feeling every muscle in her throat. Yoongi looked at her with worry in his eyes. He promised she would be safe with him, and within less than twelve hours, she was abducted, almost raped, and nearly choked to death.

“I am so sorry, baby,” said the young leader with remorse. “I am going to make it better, I promise.” Y/N’s ‘better’ however, contained something else than his ‘better’.

“We cannot leave right away—” tears escaped her eyes, falling heavy and hot on her dress. Yoongi was the Kkangpae and the enemy’s clan member just assaulted his wife. This cannot slip out without consequences.

“How dare you disrespect me and my wife this way,” said Yoongi to the older male from Yamamoto’s clan who had barely sat down in Yoongi’s office.

The younger offender, who had laid his hand on Y/N, was still firmly held by Hoseok and Jungkook. She sat in Yoongi’s office chair, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the purple bruises on her neck stark against her skin, certainly not flattering jewelry.

“How dare you disrespect our clan, Kkangpae Min.” The older male retorted, testing the younger leader’s patience. Yoongi clenched his hand into a fist, struggling to maintain control.

“This is far too unforgivable against what you assume I did,” he spat out quickly. Y/N wished she could just hide away and never come back, but as the Kkangpae’s wife, a Buin, she had to be present.

Yamamoto scoffed. “You are playing the game dirty, so are we—”

“Take this as a payback for meddling in our affairs, Kkangpae Min—” the older male started.

“And as far as traditions goes, she is yet to be your woman by our law and God’s will,” alluding to the inevitable — they had to consummate the marriage. Y/N knew this and had been making peace with the fact throughout the day.

“You won’t have to worry about that, Mr. Yamamoto,” Yoongi was always known for his cockiness whilst dealing with enemies, but he was also the most cautious man alive, however today was a misstep he did not wish to ever make. All this only proved he could not leave her alone — not because she might flee, but because someone could take her away from him. And he would never let her go.

“Watch me fucking continue meddling—” Yoongi retorted. “I see that you know the goddamn rules; I shall have his hand.” Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. She did not expect him to go unpunished for what he did to her, which would make Yoongi look unfit to rule. Itsuki started to squirm in their hold, attempting to break free.

“You want a war?” Yamamoto asked with venom in his voice.

“You apparently desire to have it when you assaulted my wife twice in one day.” Yoongi spat and signaled to Hoseok to bring Itsuki forward. Jungkook grabbed the hand that had been on Y/N’s neck less than an hour ago.

“Father!” Itsuki screamed with madness in his voice.

“Here you have it, you impatient imbecile!” his father screamed back at him, frustrated with both himself and his son. The plan had been to warn the Mins, not infuriate them.

Y/N watched Yoongi wordlessly as he took a short katana from Namjoon who appeared out of nowhere. The blade was sharp as a viper’s fang, and it gleamed in the dim light sourcing from the fireplace. The hilt, wrapped in silk, the colour of dried blood, felt cool and ominous in Yoongi’s hand.

She knew he’d have to swing it more than once to actually cut off Itsuki’s hand. Y/N gulped down her fear, pressing both hands to her mouth to stifle the scream that escaped when he first wielded the blade, piercing through Itsuki’s skin and colliding with bone, breaking it open. Burgundy blood streamed down to the wooden floor. Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the painful scream that followed and bounced slightly on the chair at the loud thump of the hand hitting the ground.

“You have one hour to leave our land,” Yoongi declared, aiming the katana at the leading Yamamoto. The son dropped to the ground, cradling his arm, staring at the severed hand and screaming in pain, muttering threats to the Min clan.

“You chose.” The older male looked over to Y/N who was still very much speechless and in utter shock from what occurred before her eyes. Yoongi’s gaze, momentarily lingering on his wife with furrowed brows, but quickly returned to Yamamoto. Their eyes locked, and the older man extended his hand to retrieve his injured son from the floor, leading him out of the room.

Yoongi dropped the katana onto the ground, tilting his head backwards in a brief prayer to the Lord. The room remained cloaked in heavy silence — not a peaceful silence, but one pregnant with the weight of a grim decision. A choice had been made, and its consequences were bound to unfold in darkness. This was a proclamation of war.

Y/N’s eyes remained fixed on the spot where Yamamoto’s hand was laying limp in a pool of fresh blood. As Yoongi straightened and turned his gaze toward her, his eyes were a tempest of conflicting emotions.

“You chose.”

Yoongi echoed Yamamoto’s words more as a question, his voice carrying a low, sombre resignation. He did not demand an answer; he knew what Yamamoto was talking about. Glancing down at his black shoes, now soaked with the blood of his enemy, Yoongi let out a soft laugh at the irony of her choosing him.

He understood the possibility that her choice might stem from self-preservation, realizing he could annihilate her entire family the moment she disappeared. Yet, his own selfishness shielded him from that harsh reality. Yoongi desperately wanted to believe that she returned to him and him alone.

Her eyes grew too heavy to stay open during the car ride back to the sanctuary. She allowed them a brief respite, letting the weight of exhaustion pull her into a momentary rest. The events of this day had been like a tempest, tearing through the delicate fabric of her reality and leaving chaos in its wake.

Y/N’s strength was something Yoongi admired, yet even he recognized the toll this day had taken on her. The hypocrite in him thinking that kind of evil will lead her to seek solace in him, perhaps finding that this was where she truly belonged — by his side.

She could have turned and run when the chance presented itself, disappearing into the wild. But she did not, and that is what mattered to Yoongi. For the first time, Y/N found herself yearning to return to the sanctuary, back to her golden cage.

Y/N knew that this night would be a reflection of the complexities of their relationship, a dance between desire and the darkness that surrounded them. Y/N understood that despite the arduous day, this had to be done. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the car and into the dark.

She walked slightly behind her now husband, letting him lead the way to the house she did not quite recognise. Before she mustered the courage to ask questions, he spoke first.

“I grew up in this house—” he whispered into the cold air, “a hot spring is right behind it.”

Y/N observed the house built into the massive stone walls of the valley, surrounded by tall pine trees. It was too dark for her to see just how tall they actually are, but the little flickering lights visible through the windows granted her a little peak.

“I want to spend tonight with you here,” he turned to face her. Yoongi could not tear his gaze away from her, adoring every detail—her eyes, cheeks, nose, hair, mouth. But if you would ask him, how did he come to be so obsessed with her, he would not give a cohesive answer. The inexplicable obsession he felt seemed right, like two puzzle pieces fitting together. He believed that even if she did not feel it now, she would eventually.

“Just the two of us.”

He took a little step to be closer to her. If Y/N understood correctly, this is the only place where they can be truly alone without prying eyes and ears. Yoongi wanted to talk and what’s more, he intended to do more than just talk tonight.

“Aight,” she replied slowly with her still sore throat. He had never seen her this calm, and he wanted to enjoy every minute she is not fighting against him — despite the disturbing circumstances that led to her current state of mind.

“Can we have some tea first?” she asked with little hope that he would agree to slow down a little bit. He chuckled at her sudden innocence and extended his arm to caress her cheek.

“Course we can, my love,” he smiled softly.

And so, they found themselves once again by the comforting embrace of a fireplace, patiently waiting for the tea to brew in the teapot’s gentle whistle.

There was something about this scenery that Yoongi could not help but love. Y/N, seated on the fur rug next to the warmth of the crackling flames, found solace in these quiet moments. After the tumultuous events of the day, it was a sanctuary they both needed. At least, she felt at peace in moments like these.

“I am sorry.” he suddenly confessed, his eyes revealing the genuine sorrow within. Today had left Yoongi conflicted, riding the highs of marrying the woman he desired while being weighed down by guilt for the day’s events.

Y/N met his gaze, her voice devoid of emotion as she calmly asked, “About what exact part?”

“All of it,” he shook his head. Y/N chuckled, and confusion flickered in Yoongi’s eyes.

“Are you not going to punish me, Kkangpae?” Here she goes.

“I do desire to know your relation to the boy, I won’t lie, but no.”

“There is no relation.”

“Are you sure? We talked about this already — no lies.”

“I’m not lying, he did fancy me, yes—” Yoongi’s grip on his hands tightened.

“—I thought we were friends, but he was not keen to flee away with me when I needed to,” she admitted.

“Do you mourn him?” Yoongi’s voice held a serious tone.

“I mourn the boy he was, not what he apparently became after we parted—” she began, carefully, collecting her thoughts.

“—they paid him to go and attempt rape me, Yoongi. I pray for his soul to find its peace after what sins he committed,” a tear escaped her eye, a sob followed. Yoongi leaned in, holding her small hands in an attempt to provide comfort.

“It was horrible,” she cried out and finally, she opened up to him.

“Amidst all the bad today, I’m so proud of you—” Y/N raised her blurry eyesight to meet him, awaiting an explanation.

“—You could have run, and you did not. You chose to come back to me.”

“I promise, I swear to you — I will never ever let that happen again—” he assured, moving closer to her.

She took a deep breath, summoning the courage to address the yet unspoken. “Can I get the letter, please?” Y/N whispered.

“In the morning.” He answered, intending to prolong it to ensure her continued good behaviour and obedience.

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited.

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

The hanok, with its wooden beams and paper windows, seemed to breathe with the rhythm of their footsteps. The aroma of tea still lingered within the walls, all the way back in the house.

“Pray with me?” a soft plea that resonated with the hallowed surroundings. They settled on top of the low cushion bed; he held both her hands in his. The subtle sounds of the valley outside, muffled by the hanji-covered windows, crackling fire nearby — the low hum of their shared prayer filled the room, blending with the whispers of the winter wind outside.

As they concluded their prayers, the world outside the hanok continued its silent ballet with nature. Yoongi slowly let her hands fall into her lap. Y/N kept looking at her hands, biting her lower lip.

He extended his hands pulling out the golden pins from her hair, releasing them.

“You are magnificent,” he whispered into her lips that were anticipating his. She looked into his eyes one last time before she slowly closed them, awaiting him to take the first step. Y/N could feel both his hands on the swell of her bottom, slightly squeezing it and thus making her pant into his mouth. He pulled her into his lap, not distancing their close proximity. Not now. Not ever.

A deep groan released from his throat when she fully sat down in his lap. Y/N was straddling him, feeling his stiff manhood tightly pressed against her core making her breath hitch. He moved his hand from its place on her butt cheek to the swell of her clothed breast.

“Let me make love to you.” He kissed her lips very gently, waiting for her response. She knew he would do so even if she would not give him her consent. And once she shyly nodded her head, he dove right in and kissed her very deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth. He was hungry and only she could sate him.

He continued to press himself against her core, creating at least some friction in between, aiming to hit the right spot and make her sing for him.

Yoongi was trying to trace down the opening of her qipao, feeling the delicately made buttons on her chest. Not for a moment he stopped kissing her, unbuttoning her dress and hiking it up from its hem on her thighs, showing her undergarments and pulling it all the way up her head —throwing the peace of clothing that provided her warmth, perhaps even a security blanket, away.

Her neck was his next target. He bent his head making hers to lean back to allow him access. Yoongi layered down butterfly kisses all over her, now, naked, bruised neckline. “You are such a good girl.” He muttered into her skin, caressing her bottom while he placed his hand back to her right breast.

Y/N could feel her nipples stiffen under the change of temperature, or perhaps the excitement her body was going through, which she did not want to admit. He took one of her hands who were inactive till now and placed it on his chest near the small buttons of his shirt. Trying to send a mental message for her to touch him too — undress him too.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to come to her senses. Out of this ectasis. But she could not. His work on her neck was becoming troublesome, not mentioning his roaming hands. She was never touched by man lovingly, but she could not deny that he is making her heart skip just by teasing her.

Her small shaky fingers finally reached to the buttons whilst he was abusing her chest with hot kisses. She unbuttoned the first one, then the second until she reached the last. “That’s it baby.” He encouraged her to continue slipping his shirt down from his body.

He straightened himself and looked deeply into her eyes, his voice filled with desire and longing. “I love you.” Said Yoongi when he slowly slid his hand in between them cupping her clothed heat. Millions of little butterflies erupted in her lower belly, her breath hitched, silent moan coming out of her swollen lips when he started to rub circles, moving her clitoris through the fabric. She could feel herself leaning into him, her body responding to his touch.

The room was filled with an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. He caressed her back until he reached the opening of her western style cone bra that she wore under the dress. Popping it open her eyes snapped open too. But the pleasure was overshadowing her sound judgment, and he knew she would at some point try to resent him a little, that’s why he did not hesitate to throw it the same direction as her qipao, not wasting time and taking her already hard nipple into his mouth. Her eyes widened; pupils dilated.

He was taking his sweet time loving her every inch before he laid her down on the bed, hovering above her. Dominating her. Yoongi’s hands moved with a gentle urgency, his kisses becoming more fervent as their passion ignited. He hooked his fingers into her undergarments, not giving her a chance to protest when he quickly pulled them down her legs, tepid air hitting her centre.

It’s when he went to spread her legs touching her knees she took his wrist into her small hand, looking deep down into his eyes, tears swelling in, realisation hitting her. Yoongi did not seem to be angry or displeased. He understood why this action triggered her and therefore he led her hands to his belt, giving her a chance to yet again give him her consent to proceed. He wanted her to fall in love with him, not to fear him. He dreaded the day when he will have to use different measures to convince, she is his woman and no one else can touch her.

The little rat was a big mistake. Yoongi did not expect him to go as far as to attempt to rape her. But he knew that the boy was coming. He knew it’s Yakuza’s move, and he knew when they would strike,and he was ready. What he wasn’t ready for was Chan-yeol’s betrayal. Nobody is betraying Kkangpae Min, nor no one will dare to touch his wife after what he will do to the traitor.

“You’re alright, baby.” He attempted to assure her, putting her small hands on his belt. Y/N’s fingers were yet again shaking when she was undoing his belt. She was now fully aware of her laying naked body. She could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin.

As Yoongi’s belt came undone, he couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and resilience that radiated from her. She had endured so much in such a short span of time, yet here she was, willingly surrendering herself to him.

He pulled down the pants, together with his undergarments. A loud thud followed once they fell down to the floor. He bent down to her belly and placed a small kiss just below her belly button and one slightly lower to her yet uninhabited womb.

“I need to help you relax your muscles a little.” Said he. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs, shaking in his hold. He slid his hand down to her core yet again, touching her without any barrier for the first time. Y/N took a deep breath and another one when he slid his finger down her folds and up, making her pussy produce wet juices. His lips were on her collarbone when he unexpectedly slid his index finger inside her making her moan loudly, yelp even.

“Shhh…” He cooked at her, kissing her lips passionately, while thrusting his finger slowly in and out of her heat. She could feel a prick of pain in the area Yoongi’s finger occupied. Y/N’s moans became a mix of moderate pain and pleasure altogether.

She could feel his other hand move away from caressing her hip to his member which he started to slowly stroke. Y/N could see that he was more than ready — his cock big, stiff and red, pre-cum leaking from its tip. He wanted to dive into her heat badly. But he needed to stretch her out a little more, so she won’t suffer that much pain. Yoongi smiled when he spotted her eyeing his body through half-lidded eyes, panting, yet being focused specifically on his manhood.

He towered above her, pulling his finger out of her heat. Sudden emptiness surrounded her walls that were finally adjusting to the intruder. She gasped when she felt his hands pulling her closer to him. Her legs were on each side of his hips. Y/N observed his body, his toned skin, slight muscles, his well-built torso — all the way down his V line, adorned with soft hair.

She snapped out of her thought train once he climbed on top of her and pressed his manhood in between her folds, sliding it up and down, covering it in her juices. Moan escaped her mouth once he put a little bit of pressure, stimulating her clitoris. He moved his hips slowly, trying to hold himself to not to thrust it in just yet.

He raised his left hand and intertwined his fingers with hers pinning it above her head while attacking her lips again. Y/N’s hand instinctively slapped his chest trying to push him away just a little, but his little smirk into her lips assured her that he wanted that kind of reaction from her.

And when she awaited it the least, he thrust himself into her, making her bite down his lower lip. He groaned at the sensation. His lip was bleeding, but he could not care less. “No—” She let go of his lip and an incoherent sound came out of her throat, eyes welling up with tears.

“Yoongi, it hurts too much.” She stated the obvious, crying whilst trying to breath. Enormous heat wave just hit her, and she was desperately wanting to make her head stop spinning.

“I know, baby. I know.” He whispered into her lips, trying to take his own breathing under control. She feels like heaven to him. His everlasting home. His love. This is where he was supposed to be all his life.

He tried to move very slowly, making her cry even more, but he couldn't stop. “It will stop I promise.” He kissed her tears away, stretching her walls to the fullest with his manhood. Silently moaning into her lips.

It took quite a while for her to adjust to the stretch and tension, fullness inside of her. Yoongi explored every inch of her naked body, his hands caressing her with a gentleness that belied his previous actions. In this moment, she was not defined by the traumas of her past or the expectations of their marriage. Their bodies moved in perfect sync once the pain yielded a little.

The room was filled with the sounds of their mingled loud moans and the crackling of the fire. The warmth of the fireplace mirrored the growing heat between them, intensifying the pleasure that coursed through their veins.

Yoongi’s movements became a little faster, more deliberate to draw as much pleasure from her as he could. He wanted to show her that their union was not solely physical but a one of love. With each whisper of reassurance and each gentle caress, he aimed to erase any lingering fears and insecurities that she held.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy after a while, he could feel her shaking against him. But not from fear but from pleasure. He mustered what he could to take her over the edge for the very first time in her life. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach tying somewhat knot that she wanted them to release badly. Her hand slipped into his hair, tucking it tightly whilst he was thrusting into her heat, making her moan loudly into his mouth. He was very close, but he wanted her to come with her. And as they were reaching the peak of passion, their bodies trembling with pleasure, Yoongi held Y/N close, their hearts beating in sync.

Their moans became louder and louder every second they were nearing the summit. “Yoongi—!” she screamed his name out when she was sure the knot was about to burst. “Baby—” he could not even finish a sentence he meant to say once she came undone under him, trembling from the pleasure, her mouth agape, eyes tightly closed — her walls still vibrating around him. Not even a second later his loud cry followed as he spilled thick ropes of cum inside of her. His eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at him, her mouth still slightly open as she was panting. Her eyes seemed glossy but so were his. He caressed the side of her thigh whilst gently kissing her swollen lips, whispering how much he loves her.

Slowly pulling out of her heat, substituting with his fingers plunging his cum mixed with hints for crimson blood, back into her heat he lowered his body yet again to her belly. Kissing where he assumed her womb was, he whispered a prayer.

“May the Lord bless us with a miracle.”

I N T E R L O G U E

The father’s rage reverberated in the confined space of the car. “You could not have just fucking waited, you little prick!” his frustration boiling over.

Still grappling with the pain of his missing arm, the one-handed son shot back defiantly, blood seeping through the bandages “You said everything would work out in our favour!”

The car they were sitting in was slowing down until it stopped altogether. The older male looked around in confusion. They were nowhere near the docks for their escape to Fukuoka.

“It would if you’d just shut your damn cock instincts, you stupid boy!” the Yakuza leader hissed, attempting to keep his anger in check.

Blinded by fury, he failed to notice the car taking a series of wrong turns, leading them into a desolate no man’s land. When the driver turned to face them, blood reached his ears.

“Kkangpae Min sends you good wishes on your journey to hell.”

to be continued

©pennyellee. please do not repost

author's note: f finally yall!!!!! as I already said this chapter was a lot, ain't gonna lie about that, but everything is going according to the plan so don't worry. This was my first smut in english and I'm so scared of yall's reaction... Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, it was an emotional roller-coaster to write, especially the implied non-con and smut after all the reader had to endure, poor gal. I love to see your comments that basically express that you understand the story's essence and for that I love you all so much ♥ We'll see what will happen in next chapter :))

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter! Love you bae!!!!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts

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blakeswritingimagines · 12 days

Text

Like A Gift From The Heavens

Summary: Having a normal day until you come back home to your puppy like soft partner Hanzo.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: PWP, No protection, Soft Yandere Hanzo X Fem reader, Begging, Fingering, Kissing, Possessive sex.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Mortal Kombat character/s nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

The room was cold and dark, lit only by a single flickering candle. Hanzo Hasashi sat in the corner, his face hidden in shadow. He was waiting, patiently, for you to return. The door to the room creaked open and you finally stepped through, your eyes widening as you saw Hanzo sitting in the corner. He rose slowly to his feet, his muscles taut and coiled, like a panther ready to pounce. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding against your chest. "I see you've been expecting me," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through your veins. You glanced around the dimly lit room, your gaze landing on the flickering candle before returning to Hanzo. Your lips curled into a small smile, but there was an underlying tension in your posture that belied your calm exterior. Hanzo watched you intently, his eyes piercing through the darkness. "Yes, I have been waiting for you," he replied, his voice low and resonant. His hands hung loosely at his sides, but there was an undeniable power emanating from him. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming yet somehow comforting. "I hope you're prepared for what comes next," he added, his tone hinting at both a warning and a promise.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Hanzo's words settle heavily in your stomach. "As much as anyone can be," you admitted, taking another step toward him. Despite the fear creeping up your spine, you found yourself drawn to Hanzo's strength and the raw, untamed energy he exuded. You stopped just short of touching him, the air between you charged with unspoken desires and the thrill of the unknown. Hanzo's gaze locked onto yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek in a gentle caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Then let us begin," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. With that, he pulled you close, his body molding against yours as he claimed your lips in a searing kiss that left no doubt about the passion simmering beneath his surface. You melted into the kiss, your own desire flaring to life at the touch of Hanzo's lips. His hand slid down to grip your waist, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. The heat radiating off his body was intoxicating, fueling the fire within you. You moaned softly, pressing yourself more firmly against him, eager for the sensations he promised to unleash. Hanzo's other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as he deepened the kiss. His tongue delved into your mouth, claiming every inch of you with a hunger that left you breathless. He walked you backwards until your back hit the wall, pinning you there with his body. His knee pressed between your legs, providing delicious friction that had you arching into him. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along your jawline and down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Tell me what you want," he growled against your throat, his voice rough with need.

Your breath hitched in your throat as Hanzo's teeth grazed over your skin, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the whimper building in your chest. "I want you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you inside me." Hearing your admission, Hanzo's hands roamed over your body with renewed vigor. He tore away your clothes with impatient movements, revealing your bare flesh to his hungry gaze. He bent down, his lips finding the hardened peaks of your breasts, lavishing attention on them with his mouth while his hands explored lower. His fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing at your entrance before pushing inside. You gasped, your hips bucking into his touch, desperate for more. "Please," you begged, your voice trembling with need. "Don't tease me. I need you now." You arched into his touch, your body trembling under the onslaught of pleasure. Hanzo's fingers were magic, working wonders on your already throbbing clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself amidst the storm of ecstasy threatening to consume you. "Please," you begged, your voice strained with need. "I need you now." The sensation of his fingers filling you was overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You threaded your fingers through his hair, urging him closer as you rocked against his hand. "More," you pleaded, your voice laced with lust. "Please, I need more."

Hanzo's fingers pumped in and out of you, curling to stroke that sweet spot inside that made your vision blur. He added a third finger, stretching you further as he picked up the pace. Your walls clenched around him, drawing him deeper, and he groaned in approval. "So tight," he rasped, his voice thick with desire. "You feel incredible." He leaned in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire being. Breaking the kiss, he looked at you with burning intensity. "Are you ready for me?" he asked, his breath hot against your face. "Because once I'm inside, there's no going back." Quickly nodding your head. "Yes," you breathed, your voice ragged with need. "God, yes. I'm ready." You couldn't wait any longer, couldn't bear another second without feeling him inside you. Your hands fumbled with his pants, yanking them down to free his impressive length. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking his hard shaft as you guided him to your entrance. "Please," you whispered, looking up at him with hooded eyes. "Fuck me. Make me yours."

With a guttural growl, Hanzo positioned himself at your entrance, his tip pressing against you. He looked down at where their bodies met, watching with intense focus as he pushed inside. Inch by agonizing inch, he filled you, stretching you beautifully until he was fully sheathed within your clenching walls. He paused, allowing you time to adjust to his size, before starting to move. Slowly at first, then picking up speed as he thrust into you with powerful strokes. Each movement sent ripples of pleasure through your body, driving you closer to the edge. You cried out, your back arching off the wall as Hanzo's thick cock stretched and filled you so perfectly. The sensation of him moving inside you, his hardness rubbing against your sensitive spots, was almost too much to bear. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together to pull him in deeper with each thrust. "Oh god, yes!" you moaned, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "Harder! Fuck me harder!" The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, punctuated by your whimpers and gasps of pleasure. You could feel the pressure building, your climax approaching with lightning speed. "I'm… I'm gonna come," you warned, your voice high and breathy. "Don't stop, please don't stop!" Hearing your plea, Hanzo redoubled his efforts, his thrusts becoming relentless and unforgiving. He pounded into you with a ferocity that bordered on savage, each stroke hitting that sweet spot inside you that had stars bursting behind your eyelids. "Come for me," he commanded, his voice a deep rumble of satisfaction. "Let go and come all over my cock." His hand snaked down between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed it in tight circles, ensuring that you would reach your peak alongside him.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping and shaking in its aftermath. Your inner muscles clenched around Hanzo's cock, milking him for everything he was worth as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. "Oh fuck!" you cried out, your voice echoing throughout the room. "Hanzo, I'm coming!" You rode out the rest of your climax, riding Hanzo's cock until you were spent and completely satisfied. Feeling your walls clenching around him, Hanzo let out a roar of pure animalistic pleasure. His control snapped, and he buried himself deep inside you as he came undone. His seed spilled into you in hot spurts, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. He collapsed against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he caught his breath. "That was…" he panted, searching for the right word. "Incredible." He lifted his head to look at you, his expression softening. "You're amazing," he murmured, kissing you gently on the lips. You smiled up at him, still basking in the afterglow of your shared release. "Thank you," you said, your voice warm and content. "You're not so bad yourself." You ran your fingers through his hair, enjoying the closeness and intimacy of the moment. As your breathing slowed and your heart rate returned to normal, you realized just how deeply connected you felt to this man. It scared you a little, but also filled you with a sense of peace.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through your chest. Though he made no move to pull away from you just yet. There was something about the way you fit against him as if you were meant to be there, that kept him rooted to the spot. His eyes glinted dangerously, a hint of his darker side peeking through once more. "You know," he began, his voice low and dangerous. "This isn't just sex for me. It's more than that. I want you. All of you. And I won't share you with anyone else." His grip tightened on your hip, a possessive gesture that spoke volumes about his feelings. "You're mine now. And nobody is taking you away from me." A shiver ran down your spine at his words, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through your veins. You knew that Hanzo was different, that there was a darkness lurking beneath the surface. But you also couldn't deny the intense attraction you felt towards him, the way your body responded to his every touch. "I'm yours," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Only yours." You pressed closer to him, your body molding against his as if trying to merge with him entirely. "Just don't hurt me," you added, a note of vulnerability creeping into your tone. "I can't handle pain."

His expression softened slightly at your words, though the fire in his eyes never dimmed. "I wouldn't dream of hurting you," he lied smoothly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin. "But I will protect what's mine with my life." His possessiveness was palpable, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. "And you're mine. Whether you realize it or not." He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a tender, yet claiming kiss. You melted into the kiss, your body yielding to his as always. His words both thrilled and terrified you, but you found yourself powerless to resist him. "Then take me," you breathed against his lips. "Make me forget everything except you." You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as you deepened the kiss. Your tongue slid against his, engaging in a sensual dance that left you breathless. A growl rumbled in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as he took control of the kiss. His tongue explored your mouth with an insatiable hunger, staking his claim on you in the most intimate way possible. One hand moved from your hip to cup your breast, squeezing it firmly as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. "I plan to," he murmured against your skin. "Over and over again." Your back arched instinctively, pushing your breast further into his palm. The sensation of his calloused hand on your sensitive flesh was enough to make you whimper with desire. "More," you pleaded, your voice laced with lust. "I need more." You shifted your hips, grinding against him in search of friction. The thought of being taken repeatedly by this dominant man was both terrifying and exhilarating.

He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased by your needy response. "As you wish," he purred, his hand releasing your breast to slide down your stomach. His fingers found your slick folds, dipping into your heat to gather your shared leaking arousal. "So wet already so soon," he noted approvingly, circling your clit with a finger. "You're going to make such a pretty mess for me." Withdrawing his hand, he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking your essence off them with a low moan. "Delicious," he praised, before capturing your lips once more. The sight of him tasting you, of him enjoying your arousal so openly, only fueled your desire even further. You kissed him back fiercely, your tongue tangling with his as you sought to consume him whole. Your hands roamed over his body, exploring the hard planes of muscle and the contours of his skin. Every touch, every brush of your fingertips, was a promise of things to come. He groaned into the kiss, his body responding eagerly to your wandering hands. "Insatiable minx," he teased, nipping playfully at your lower lip. His own hands were far from idle, mapping out every inch of your curves with reverent touches. He wanted to memorize you, to commit every detail of your body to memory. When he finally entered you again, it would be with the knowledge that you belonged to him, mind, body, and soul.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together as you pulled him impossibly closer. The feeling of his hardness pressing against your core was exquisite torture, making you ache for more. "Please," you begged, your voice high and desperate. "Fill me. Make me yours completely." You rocked your hips against him, seeking that perfect alignment that would allow him to sheathe himself fully within you. His control snapped at your pleading, and with a swift, powerful motion, he thrust into you to the hilt. A guttural moan tore from his throat as he savored the feel of your tight heat enveloping him. "Mine," he declared, his voice rough with possession. He began to move, setting a relentless pace that drove you both towards oblivion. Each stroke was deliberate, calculated to push you to the brink and keep you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Your nails dug into his back as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts jolting you with each impact. Pleasure coiled tightly in your belly, building with every stroke until you could hardly bear it. "Yes, yes, YES!" you chanted, your voice rising to a scream as the pressure reached a fever pitch. Suddenly, you were plummeting over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you like a tsunami as you squirt all over him. Your inner walls clamped down on Hanzo's cock, milking him for all he was worth as waves of bliss washed over you. The sensation of your climax triggered his own, and with a final, brutal thrust, he emptied himself deep inside you. His seed pumped into you in long, pulsing spurts, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. As the aftershocks subsided, he collapsed onto you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he struggled to catch his breath. "Unbelievable," he gasped, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "You're incredible, my incredible pet." His words were slurred with satisfaction, his body still twitching with the remnants of his own release.

#hanzo hasashi #hanzo hasashi x reader #mortal kombat hanzo hasashi #hanzo hasashi x you #hanzo hasashi x yn #hanzo hasashi smut #mortal kombat smut #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagine #yandere hanzo hasashi #yandere hanzo hasashi x reader #yandere hanzo hasashi smut

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kckt88 · 6 months

Text

The Lost Dragon V - Butterfly.

Summary:

Assassins enter the Red Keep and a new Targaryen enters the world.

Warning(s): Angst, Fluff, Threats, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Assassins, Death, Pregnancy, Child Birth.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 3951

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated

Vaelys hurried down the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, her steps quickened by a mix of anticipation.

She had just spent a delightful afternoon with Helaena. The warmth of their conversation had been a welcome distraction from the weight of their own thoughts regarding the war.

As she approached the entrance to her chambers, a flicker of unease pricked at her senses. The door stood slightly ajar, a sight that sent a shiver down her spine. Heart pounding in her chest, she pushed it open cautiously.

What she saw froze her in her tracks.

Two shadowy figures stood before her, holding Aemond at knifepoint. Panic surged within her as she took in the scene, her mind racing to comprehend the danger that now threatened her husband.

"We've come for the princess," one of the men declared with a steely edge to his voice, his grip tightening on the blade pressed against Aemond's throat.

Vaelys felt a surge of desperation welling up inside her. She couldn't lose Aemond—not like this.

Her voice trembled as she pleaded with the assailants, her eyes darting between them and her beloved husband. "Please, I beg of you, spare his life. I'll go with you willingly if you promise to let him go unharmed."

Aemond's eye widened in disbelief, hurt flashing across his features at the prospect of Vaelys leaving him.

The men exchanged a glance, considering her offer. For a moment, the tension hung heavy in the air, the outcome hanging precariously in the balance.

Then, with a grim nod, they agreed to her terms.

As they shoved Aemond to the ground and moved towards her, Vaelys' fear turned to fierce determination.

In a split-second decision fuelled by love and desperation, she lunged forward, seizing a candelabra from a nearby table.

With a swift, adrenaline-fueled motion, she swung it at one of the assailants, the metal striking true and sending him crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.

Before the other man could react, Aemond sprang into action, wresting the knife from his grasp and turning it against him with deadly precision.

The room seemed to spin with the intensity of their struggle, but when the chaos finally subsided, Vaelys found herself standing breathless and trembling, clutching the candelabra tightly in her hand as she gazed at Aemond, his chest heaving with exertion but his eyes alight with gratitude and love.

With the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Aemond moved swiftly to wrap his arms around Vaelys, pulling her close to him in a tight embrace. His heart still raced with the fear of almost losing her, but in this moment, feeling her warmth against him, he couldn't help but feel a profound sense of relief.

Gently, he placed a hand over her small baby bump, his touch tender and protective. "I thought you were going to leave me," he admitted softly, his voice thick with emotion.

Vaelys leaned into his embrace, her own arms wrapping around him as she pressed her cheek against his chest. "Never again," she whispered, her voice steady and unwavering.

As Aemond and Vaelys held each other tightly, their moment of respite was shattered by the abrupt entrance of the guards. The door swung open with a resounding thud, revealing the scene of chaos within the chamber. One intruder lay lifeless on the floor, while the other was sprawled unconscious nearby.

Among the guards, Alicent, rushed forward, her eyes wide with shock and fury. Her gaze fell upon Vaelys, and in an instant, she pointed an accusatory finger at her.

"It's her fault! She's the one who brought this upon us," Alicent exclaimed, her voice laced with venom. "It was her father's doing, I have no doubt."

Aemond stepped forward, his protective instincts kicking in as he positioned himself between his mother and Vaelys. "No, Mother," he interjected firmly, his voice carrying a steely resolve. "Vaelys had nothing to do with this. If it weren't for her quick thinking, I might not be standing here at all."

Alicent's expression softened slightly as she regarded her son, her initial anger giving way to concern. She looked from Aemond to Vaelys, her features caught in a moment of indecision.

The tension in the room was palpable as the guards exchanged uneasy glances, uncertain of how to proceed in the wake of such a startling revelation. But amidst the uncertainty, Aemond stood unwavering in his defence of Vaelys, his conviction clear for all to see.

Alicent's initial shock and anger gradually gave way to a steely resolve as she surveyed the scene before her. With a stern expression, she turned to Aemond and Vaelys, her voice commanding and authoritative.

"You cannot stay here," she declared, her tone brooking no argument. "It's not safe for either of you”.

With a nod of resignation, Aemond turned back to his mother. "Where shall we go?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Alicent's gaze softened slightly as she regarded her son and his pregnant wife. "Maegor's Holdfast," she replied, her tone firm but compassionate. "It's the most secure location within the Red Keep. We'll have guards posted at every entrance, and I'll ensure that your things are packed and brought to your new chambers as soon as possible”

Reluctantly, Vaelys nodded her head in agreement, her hand finding Aemond's and squeezing it reassuringly. "We'll go," she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty that lay ahead.

As Aemond and Vaelys entered Maegor's Holdfast, they were immediately struck by the stark contrast to the warmth and familiarity of their previous chambers. The air felt heavier here, thick with the weight of centuries-old stone and the echoes of past struggles.

The corridors were narrow and dimly lit, the walls lined with heavy iron doors that seemed to loom ominously over them. Guards stood watch at every corner, their presence a constant reminder of the fortress-like nature of their new surroundings.

Vaelys couldn't help but feel a pang of unease as she glanced around, taking in the cold, unforgiving atmosphere of Maegor's Holdfast. It felt more like a prison than a place of refuge—a fact that sent a chill down her spine.

The only solace she found in this dreary place was the knowledge that Helaena and her children, were nearby. Of course, that also meant a closer proximity to Aegon, but Vaelys didn’t want to think about that.

As they settled into their new quarters, Vaelys couldn't shake the feeling of confinement that seemed to permeate every corner of Maegor's Holdfast. But amidst the gloom and uncertainty, she held onto the hope that with Aemond by her side—and with Helaena just a stone's throw away—they would find a way to make the best of their situation.

Vaelys crept into the bathing chamber, the flickering firelight dancing across the stone walls. The scent of lavender and steam filled the air, mingling with the soft sound of water gently lapping against the sides of the tub. She paused in the doorway, her eyes drawn to the sight before her.

There, reclined in the tub, was Aemond. His arms rested over the sides, his head tilted back, strands of his long silver hair cascading over the edge of the tub like liquid moonlight. The warmth of the fire cast a soft glow upon his skin, accentuating the sculpted planes of his face.

As Vaelys stepped closer, her gaze fell upon his striking features. One of his eyes was closed, lashes resting against his cheek in peaceful repose. But the other held her captive. In place of his eye, the sapphire glimmered in the firelight.

For a moment, Vaelys simply stood there, entranced by the ethereal sight before her. Aemond, lost in his moment of relaxation, was unaware of her presence. She couldn't help but admire him, the way the firelight played upon his features, highlighting the sharp contours of his face.

With a soft smile playing on her lips, Vaelys finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Aemond," she called softly, breaking the tranquil silence of the room.

Slowly, he opened his eye, as he turned his gaze towards her. A warm smile spread across his lips as he reached out a hand towards her, inviting her to join him in the serenity of the moment.

With a gentle smile adorning her lips, Vaelys quietly fetched a small wooden stool and placed it behind Aemond. She settled herself upon it, her nimble fingers already reaching for a vial of fragrant hair oils resting nearby.

As she uncorked the bottle, a soothing aroma of lavender and rosemary wafted into the air, mingling with the steam rising from the bath.

"May I?" she murmured softly, her voice a tender caress against the quiet of the chamber.

Aemond turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze with his one open eye. With a nod of assent, he leaned back, allowing her access to his silver tresses.

Gently, Vaelys poured a small amount of the oil into her palm, warming it between her hands before she began to massage it into his scalp. Her touch was light and sure, her fingers working in slow, circular motions as she spread the oil through his hair.

Aemond sighed contentedly, his muscles relaxing beneath her ministrations. The tension seemed to melt away with each stroke of her fingers, leaving only a profound sense of peace in its wake. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself entirely to the sensation.

Vaelys continued to work, her movements unhurried and deliberate. She ran her fingers through his hair with practiced care, untangling any knots and smoothing the strands. The scent of the oils filled the air, mingling with the warmth of the bath and the crackling of the flames.

And as she worked, she felt a quiet joy blossom within her heart. There was something profoundly intimate about this simple act of caring for her husband, of tending to his needs.

As she finished, Vaelys leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Aemond's head. She whispered words of love and devotion, her voice barely more than a breath against his skin.

And in response, Aemond smiled, a soft sound of satisfaction escaping his lips. For in that moment, as they sat together in the warmth of the bathing chamber, they were content in each other's presence, and content in the simple joy of being together.

After finishing with the hair oils, Vaelys rose from the stool, a soft towel in her hands.

Aemond stood from the bath, the water cascading off his glistening skin as he stepped onto the stone floor. Vaelys enveloped him in the towel, drying him off with gentle strokes, taking care to ensure every droplet was absorbed.

Once he was dry, Vaelys fetched a pair of soft linen breeches and a loose shirt, laying them out on a nearby bench. With practiced ease, she helped Aemond into the garments, guiding his arms through the sleeves and fastening the laces with delicate fingers.

As Aemond settled into his clothes, Vaelys moved behind him, retrieving a brush from the table. She ran the bristles through his silver locks, removing any lingering tangles with a gentle touch. Her movements were unhurried, a silent ritual of care and affection.

With each stroke of the brush, she felt the bond between them grow stronger, weaving itself into the very fabric of their lives. It was a moment of quiet intimacy, a shared communion between two souls bound together by love.

And as she began to braid his hair, weaving it into intricate patterns with practiced skill, Aemond closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. He leaned back against her, basking in the warmth of her presence, the softness of her touch.

Together, they sat in the quiet of their chambers, enveloped in a cocoon of love and tenderness.

As Vaelys carefully braided his hair, Aemond felt a sense of peace wash over him, a feeling he had never truly experienced before. Growing up in a world filled with duty and expectations, love had always been a distant concept, something he observed from afar but never truly felt.

But now, as he sat in the warm embrace of his wife's arms, he realized that love was not just a fleeting notion, but a tangible presence that enveloped him completely. It was in the way Vaelys' fingers caressed his scalp as she worked, in the softness of her voice as she whispered words of affection, in the warmth of her touch as she brushed his hair.

For the first time in his life, Aemond felt truly seen and valued, not for his dragon or his title but for who he was as a person. With Vaelys, he didn't need to put on a facade or pretend to be someone he wasn't. He could simply be himself, flaws and all, and know that he was loved unconditionally.

And as he basked in the warmth of her love, Aemond realized that this was what he had been searching for all along. Not power or prestige, but the simple joy of being loved and accepted for who he was. It was a revelation that filled him with a sense of gratitude and wonder, a newfound appreciation for the precious gift that was his wife's love.

With a contented sigh, Aemond leaned back against Vaelys, his heart overflowing with emotion. In that moment, surrounded by the gentle glow of the firelight and the soft murmur of their breaths, he knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be, in the arms of the woman who had shown him the true meaning of love.

“The little fiend in there has the audacity to kick their father in the face” laughed Aemond as he rested his head against Vaelys’ swollen stomach.

“Making their presence known” replied Vaelys softly.

“Issa byka zaldrīzes” whispered Aemond (My little dragon).

“A-Aemond” whispered Vaelys.

“What is it?” asked Aemond.

“You won’t let them cut me open, will you?”

“C-Cut you open” exclaimed Aemond.

“What grandsire did to my grandmother-he allowed her to be butchered for the sake of a babe that-“

“-No, I will not allow such a thing to happen. I promise, nothing will happen to you” replied Aemond firmly.

“But what if-“

“-No Vaelys. I won’t let anyone do that to you” said Aemond sternly.

Deciding not to press the issue further, Vaelys sunk back on the pillows and closed her eyes, just as she felt herself drifting to sleep, the sound of her husbands hushed rasping voice filtered through the air.

“Drakari pykiros, Tīkummo jemiros, Yn lantyz bartossa, Saelot vāedis” (Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing).

Vaelys closed her eyes at the sound of Aemond’s voice.

“Perzyro udrȳssi, Ezīmptos laehossi, Hārossa letagon, Aōt vāedan” (With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing).

Vaelys smiled as she felt Aemond press his lips to the round swell of her stomach.

“Hae mērot gierūli:, Se hāros bartossi, Prūmȳsa sōvīli, Gevī dāerī” (As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined, beautifully, freely).

Ever since Helaena had revealed that Vaelys was carrying his child. Aemond had devoted himself to pouring over countless books in the library to gain as much information as he possibly could about pregnancy and how to raise a child.

Apparently, he also found a book that said babes can hear sounds from the womb after the sixth moon of pregnancy. So, Aemond never missed a chance to spend time talking or singing to his wife’s stomach.

Vaelys of course didn’t think too much of the advice in those ‘books’ at first, but as her stomach began to swell, and the babe began to kick, she noticed that he or she would always move around more whenever Aemond spoke.

Aemond of course was delighted when Vaelys told him. She knew her husband was worried about becoming a father, given the fact his own wasn’t a very good one and it terrified Aemond most days, that he would turn out like Viserys.

But Vaelys knew that Aemond would be a fantastic father, he was utterly devoted to their unborn child.

And she knew that he couldn’t wait for the day when he could finally hold his child in his arms.

A day that actually arrived sooner than the Maester had anticipated.

It started with a dull ache in her lower back, a sensation that gradually intensified with each passing moment. At first, she brushed it off as the discomfort of carrying the babe, but as the pain grew more intense and rhythmic, she knew that something was terribly wrong.

Fear clenched at her heart as realization dawned upon her—she was going into labour.

With trembling hands, she reached out for Aemond, her voice quivering as she called out his name. Panic surged within her as she felt the first waves of contractions wash over her, each one more agonizing than the last.

Aemond rushed to her side, his expression a mixture of concern and fear. "Vaelys, what's happening?" he asked, his voice thick with worry.

Tears welled up in Vaelys' eyes as she struggled to catch her breath. "It's time," she managed to gasp out, her voice barely above a whisper. "The babe-it's coming."

“A-Aemond,” cried Vaelys.

Aemond had been ordered to remain outside as the midwives claimed the birthing room was no place for a man, let alone a Prince of the realm.

“I want AEMOND” screamed Vaelys.

Aemond couldn’t stand it anymore, so he took a deep breath and barged into his chambers.

“My prince. You should not be here. It is not proper” urged Maester Orwyle.

“I don’t give a shit what’s proper. My wife needs me. I’m staying” snapped Aemond.

“B-But my Prince”

“Do not attempt to remove me again maester, or I swear to the seven I will throw you out of that fucking window” shouted Aemond.

“P-Please. Aemond. I need you” sobbed Vaelys.

Aemond stood by her side, his face a mask of concern and determination, his hand tightly clasping hers in a gesture of unwavering support. But amidst the chaos and the pain, there was another presence that offered Vaelys comfort—Helaena.

Helaena had refused to leave Vaelys' side, her steadfast presence a source of strength and reassurance. With a calm demeanour born of her experience with the twins and Maelor, she hovered nearby, offering words of encouragement, and lending a steady hand whenever it was needed.

As the storm raged outside, its howling winds a distant echo of the turmoil within the chamber, Helaena stepped forward, her gaze meeting Vaelys' with a look of unwavering determination. "You're doing great, Vaelys," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Just keep breathing, and remember, I'm right here with you."

Vaelys nodded, her grip on Aemond's hand tightening as another wave of pain swept over her.

“A dragon across the sea, a bronze heart waiting to be free,” muttered Helaena.

“What?” asked Aemond.

“A butterfly, one of three” replied Helaena.

“It hurts so much Valzȳrys” (Husband).

“I know. But you can do this. I know you can” said Aemond, doing his best to reassure his wife.

“No, I can’t” wailed Vaelys, grimacing in pain as a contraction ripped across his stomach.

“Yes, you can Issa prūmia. Squeeze my hand as much as you want” (My Heart).

Maester Orwyle instructed Vaelys to take a deep breath and push.

“That’s it. Issa dōna, keep going” encouraged Aemond (My sweet).

Aemond had no idea how much time had passed since Vaelys was instructed to push, even as the labour tired her, she kept going. Her red face covered in sweat and tears.

“That’s it Princess. I can see the babes head”.

“You can do it my love. That’s it. Keep pushing” urged Aemond, grimacing slightly as Vaelys squeezed his hand tight.

“Keep going. Your doing so well-“ said Helaena.

“The head’s out. Now just wait until the next contraction and push”

Even though she was exhausted, Vaelys took a deep breath and gave one last push…Then an ear-piercing cry shattered the silence of the room.

Aemond’s heart swooped at the sound, his lips parting in amazement as he watched Maester Orwyle, cut the umbilical cord and quickly wrapped the babe in clean cloth.

Vaelys whimpered next to him, her eyes shining with relieved tears.

The babe was a girl.

Their daughter was passed to Vaelys who held the babe against her bare chest. Her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Aemond. Look, our daughter” gasped Vaelys.

“She’s perfect” whispered Aemond in awe. His heart bursting with love at the sight of his newly born daughter in the arms of his wife.

“She looks like you” said Vaelys happily.

The babe had a full head of silver hair, never in his life had Aemond ever seen so much hair on a babe.

“A girl-a perfect little girl” said Helaena, her eyes shining with tears.

"I'm sorry, Aemond," murmured Vaelys, her tone heavy with regret. "I know how much you wanted a son, and I've failed you."

Aemond's hand reached out to gently lift her chin, guiding her gaze to meet his own. His eyes were filled with warmth and understanding, his expression tender as he spoke. "Vaelys, listen to me," he said softly. "You haven't failed me, not in the slightest. Our daughter is a blessing, a gift from the gods themselves. She's everything we could have hoped for and more."

Tears welled up in Vaelys' eyes as she took in Aemond's words, his unwavering love washing over her like a soothing balm. "But-“she trailed off, her voice faltering.

Aemond shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips "What matters most is that our daughter is healthy and loved”.

“What shall you call the little Princess?” asked Maester Orwyle.

As she gazed down at the tiny bundle of life cradled against her chest, a memory stirred within her—a memory of a day filled with unexpected joy.

It was a warm afternoon in the gardens of the Red Keep, the air alive with the gentle buzz of bees and the soft rustle of leaves. Vaelys had been lost in thought, and the uncertainty of the future, when suddenly, a delicate butterfly had alighted upon her outstretched hand.

In that moment, as she watched the delicate creature flit about her, its wings shimmering with iridescent hues, Vaelys had felt a sense of peace wash over her, a fleeting glimpse of something pure and beautiful amidst the chaos of her world.

And now, as she cradled her daughter in her arms, she felt that same sense of peace wash over her once more. The memory of that day filled her with a newfound sense of hope and purpose, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still beauty to be found.

With a smile playing at the corners of her lips, Vaelys leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her daughter's forehead.

"Sovia," whispered Vaelys, the name falling from her lips like a prayer. "It means 'butterfly' in High Valyrian—a symbol of beauty and transformation. Just like you, my sweet girl."

At the mention of the word butterfly, Aemond looked over at Helaena who smiled knowingly.

“Would you like to hold your daughter My Prince?” asked Maester Orwyle.

Aemond hesitated for a brief moment before he nodded his head.

Vaelys handed Sovia too Helaena who pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, before she carefully placed the tiny bundle in Aemond’s arms. “Sovia-“ muttered Aemond “Issa byka grēges” (My little bug).

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond x original female character #hotd fic #aemond one eye #aemond #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #hotd #aemond smut

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thewhumpcaretaker · 2 months

Note

vampire vincent who drinks blood from chidi when he can’t hunt for people hueheuehehehe (vincent just wants to feel chidi’s warmth)

I love this I love this I love this I love this I love this I -

-⚜- The Warmth of Life -⚜-

CW: blood, smut

Image sources: 1 2 3 4 (bottom divider)

The Marquis de Gramont stood gazing into the red-gold glow of flames beyond curling ironwork, not seeming to see them. The mantle soared far above his already considerable height, to the vaulted ceiling of the castle’s drawing room – one of many. No candles were lit. But cooler light spilled from an arched, gothic window, where overhead, the moon sailed above sparkling snow. Heavy white flecks fell thickly, burying the courtyard almost up to the windowsill. In another moment, that brilliant white circle disappeared behind a cloud and Vincent’s face fell even further into shadow.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Didn’t shiver. The cold in his bones had settled centuries ago, and like breathing, shivering was something he had no need for. But maybe a part of him wanted it. Maybe he missed it: being warm, or even striving for warmth. Would that be so wrong? He pulled the heavy, embroidered cape a little closer around his shoulders, feeling a bit pathetic. It was a very cold night in the south of France, and inside his long-dead heart as well. A night plagued with memories.

“Monsieur.” Chidi had been standing in the doorway for some time. Vincent knew he was there, of course. His thrall…though he had never once needed to compel him. He simply held Chidi’s mind within his own, a little puppet sitting in the lap of his corrupted soul all the time, strong yet soft, arrogant yet yielding. Anticipating his every need. No doubt that was what he had done now, in coming to him.

Vincent could smell him. The cologne did nothing to hide that rich, meaty scent like spiced chocolate, or the thrilling tap-tap-tap of his pulse. No, any further musk on top of Chidi’s blood was a mere garnish. Vincent listened, more to his veins than his words, and breathed. “La partie de chasse n'est pas revenue. [The hunting party has not come back],” he said carefully. “Je suppose qu'ils ont été retardés par la tempête. [I expect they have been delayed by the storm.]”

Vincent’s pupils flashed narrow but he didn’t turn. He was fighting back a groan of frustration. “Comme d’habitude, personne ne peut accomplir la tâche la plus simple. [As usual, no one can perform the simplest task.]” He needed that food. Needed blood, human blood. Fresh, warm, delectable – fuck, he couldn’t even think. He had been in worse situations, far worse. But he still felt so damned hungry, it made him weak and dizzy. His body couldn’t fully heal without it so he was aching all over. After a week of snowstorms, he’d had to resort to his bottled supplies. He wouldn’t die of course, but… “Quelle situation irritante. Je ne mangerai pas de sang de lapin rassis d’ici une autre nuit. [What an irritating situation. I will not eat stale rabbits’ blood for another night.]” It came out more petulant than he intended it, almost whining. He rounded on Chidi at last. “Rapproche toi. [Come closer.]”

He stepped into the room, fixed on Vincent, their eyes staying locked together even as he circled around the chaise lounge and end table. Vincent could feel Chidi’s pulse accelerate. He knew what was coming.

The Marquis took his wrist and pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply. His body trembled involuntarily at the nearness of drink. Not at the way Chidi’s fingers unfolded against his cheek, caressing him. No, certainly not.

For a moment, he just stood that way, letting desire build, the dull ache behind his fangs growing painful with want. But they could both tell tonight was not a night for wrists. At last, he let his thrall’s hand drop.

“Poser. [Lay down.]” Chidi allowed himself to fold backward onto the chaise lounge as instantly as if those puppet strings had been cut. How good. How obliging. For a second, something more than hunger flickered across Vincent’s dead eyes. Affection.

He lifted Chidi’s head and slid a pillow under it. For a better angle perhaps, or perhaps because his best thrall deserved only the best treatment…or perhaps he just…wanted to.

Vincent had just enough room to sit himself against the edge of the cushion, his back pressing into Chidi’s hip, looking down at him serenely. “Avez-vous bien mangé aujourd'hui? [Have you eaten well today?]”

“Oui Monsieur. Je pensais que cela pourrait arriver. [Yes, sir. I thought this might happen.]”

“Bien,” he praised. His hands were working Chidi’s cravat free, and then the buttons up to his neck. And then Vincent couldn’t speak anymore. Chidi’s jugular was too close, his skin breathing off heat… Vincent leaned right across him, pressing them together until Chidi’s heart sent shock waves into his own chest and god, Vincent felt almost alive again, even before his fangs pierced the familiar, secret spot that normally waited out of sight beneath starched collars. Two scars both seemed to vibrate with the overlapping edges of all those past bites from Vincent.

The pain behind his fangs, and all through his body, turned to thrill, to long trills of nerves singing in ecstatic relief. Chidi’s blood was rich, thick, hot against his tongue. And it was absolutely brimming with sugar. Suddenly he knew what Chidi had meant when he said he’d “eaten well.” Not hearty, iron-rich meats to sustain himself. No, sickly sweet things that Chidi hated and would never eat of his own accord, but that spiked his veins with as much sugar as possible. He had sweetened himself just for Vincent. And Vincent moaned into his neck, so touched, suddenly overwhelmed with adoration.

“Aimez-vous mon goût, monsieur? [Do you like how I taste, sir?]” Chidi asked breathlessly. He no doubt had a smug smile on his face, knowing he did well. It made his neck bob in the most delectable way and Vincent had to struggle to break free long enough to answer.

“Oui. Beaucoup. [Yes. Very much.]” He pulled him closer, tonguing at the wound he’d just made. And how could he help it if his leg threw itself between Chidi’s legs, if that hip that had been at his back was suddenly pressed to his cock, and his own hips were thrusting against it? All of the little blood he’d just drunk had shot straight to his pelvis.

He didn’t want to finish drinking until he could paint Chidi’s abs white, he decided. Panting, he bounced off of Chidi and threw his clothes aside in a heap of shimmering silk. A second such pile joined it as Chidi followed suit. The fire suddenly felt so much more vivid on his skin. And Chidi’s skin…that felt like fire itself.

He pounced on him again, fangs diving back into his neck with a surge of pleasure that struck low and deep, at the bottom of his stomach. Mouthful after mouthful of hot dessert poured over his tongue…what was it? Icing? Strawberry shortcake? Chocolate? It didn’t matter. Now it was Chidi. Vincent was getting full enough to blush at the gesture of kindness…and at the way Chidi was holding him, arms firmly around his back, pelvis rolling upward against his.

He let himself be lost in heat, in taste, in sensation, swirling his tongue over Chidi’s neck in red spirals, savoring him. This huge bulk of muscle was suddenly so soft, too bloodless to maintain erection and going slowly limp without protest, giving wordless little exhales of woozy overstimulation, taking all of Vincent’s emptiness into himself for every drop of fullness he offered up. Sacrificing his own orgasm to Vincent’s. And Vincent took from him, fucked him like a soft, plush puppet, like a toy, in that safe space where he didn’t have to think of anyone but himself, in profound relief and adoration.

He was trying to hurry, to finish before draining Chidi dry, and Chidi noticed. “Ne vous précipitez pas, monsieur. Tu peux me prendre autant que tu veux. Tout en moi… est à toi. [Don’t rush, sir. You can take as much as you want from me. Everything inside of me…is yours.]” But that simple expression of devotion vibrating right into his mouth was the final straw, and Vincent came hard with his fangs still deep in his jugular.

For the first time in months, the Marquis felt satiated. He curled on top of Chidi, licking up the last of the bloody mess and tracing soft circles over his pecs. “Bon Chidi... [Good Chidi…]” he whispered, babbling thoughtlessly in the afterglow. “Toujours aussi bon avec moi. Ma nourriture favorite. [Always so good to me. My favorite food.]”

Chidi rumbled up at him, a near-purr of exhausted but blissful affection. Despite how much he must feel like swooning, he managed to reach an arm out to grab Vincent’s cloak from the floor and pull it around his shoulders as a blanket for both of them. “Avez-vous chaud maintenant, monsieur? [Are you warm now, sir?]” he asked, as if he’d known all along that this was the real reason Vincent wanted so badly to be full of blood.

Vincent snuggled his nose against Chidi’s chest, and let his heart beat for the both of them, the snow and the sins of his past life both safely out of mind. “Oui.”

#How sensitive are fangs and in what way? You decide!#hopelesslydevoted #marquis de gramont fanfic #chidi jw #chidi x marquis de gramont #vampire au #vampquis #wickblr

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mykneeshurt · 1 year

Text

Field of Tulips - one

Synopsis - You’re Special Sargent Dunn, having been off on medical leave for quite some time Captain Price has someone he’d like you to meet. He wants you back in the field.

Master page - please read all content warnings on this page before proceeding.

- - - -

There it was again, that familiar sound that pulled you from your sleep. Night after night. The strangled cries of your teammates as the plane fell to the ground. The sheer terror on their faces as they knew this was it, the sweet embrace of death. Martinez clutched his family photo. Adam’s said a silent prayer. Smith let a tear fall from his umber eyes.

The pilot shot dead, the engines blown to shit, the orange glow of flames lit up the night sky.

But you? You accepted your fate. In fact your welcomed it. What did you have to live for? No family. No significant other. No friends. You sat with a disturbingly calm expression on your face. You pulled Adam’s into your chest as he sobbed.

You woke up at the same point in the dream.

Every fucking time.

Shooting upright in bed sweat adorned your skin, the bed sheets sodden with a mixture of tears and sweat. As you tried to catch your breath, a snore from next to you broke you from the dangerous hold the images in your head held you in.

Fuck.

That’s right. James. Your fuck buddy. Or was he a form of self-harm? Impulsive promiscuous sex to make you feel better Though you’re pretty sure he thought it was more. Shoving him awake he met your gaze. Confused. ‘Out’ you demanded. No warmth in your tone in the slightest. He rubbed his eyes ‘what?’

‘You fucking heard me. Out. Get your shit and go.’

‘It’s nearly 4 am?!’

‘Sounds like a you problem. Get the fuck out.’

Rolling over he muttered under his breath. Feeling rage burst within you, you clambered over the bed and pushed him. ‘What the fuck did you say?!’ You face was screwed tight with pure anger, resentment even. Grabbing your wrists he pinned you to the bed, ‘I said you’re a crazy fucking bitch. No wonder no one wants you’ he spat. He gripped you tightly as he lowered himself to your face, his voice low and harsh. ‘Maybe it would have been better if you died in that crash. No one would miss you.’

Standing up he released you, his dull foot steps marched from the bedroom to the living room. Just as soon as he’d shut your apartment door a glass smashed against it. Meant for his head. Oops. ‘Fucking prick!’ You yelled, expelling all oxygen from your tired lungs.

You could feel the tightness in your chest slowly take hold of you. Your heart rate increased by the millisecond as a thick haze descended over your body. Running to the freezer you grabbed an ice block and placed it in your hands, a feeble attempt at grounding.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

He’s right … you should have died … you shouldn’t be here … everyone else had families … yet you survived … pathetic … look at you … disgusting … no wonder no one loves you … you’re a shitty person …

Over and over and over. You tried to breathe. Tried to distract yourself to little avail. The ice block stung your clammy skin, burnt your veins as desperately tried to think of a field of tulips. Your safe image. An image of a happier time when you were a child, before everything went to shit.

After what seemed like an eternity you chest opened up, releasing itself from the clutches of anxiety. Slowly you dropped the ice block into the sink, it fell with a thud onto the beaten up metal. Bent over the sink you looked up into the clear sky through your window. The moon was full, it shone through your blinds casting a shadow in the kitchen. The night always seemed more calm than the day, but it always gave room for over thinking.

Over analysing.

Analysing everyone of their faces as the plane fell. It had been a year. A year on medical leave, a year of going to psychology appointments. A year of lying through your teeth so you could get back to work. A year of living, unrelenting hell.

The blue hue from an advertisement board cast a calm but dim light against the wall of your apartment. The latest skin care you had to have. To stop you aging. The usual capitalist bullshit. It cast thick shadows into the room, fighting against the moon. The shadows danced in your living room, shimmering a long the neglected dusty surfaces.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been stood at the sink, that happened a lot. Slots of time that you couldn’t recall, ending up in places you couldn’t remember getting to. Your phone buzzed to life in the bedroom, taking in a deep breath you walked over to see it was Price. Fuck did he want at 5am.

Reluctantly picking up the phone you pressed it to your ear. ‘Hello?’

‘Hey kid, sorry it’s so early’ his voice was calm and warm, serene even. ‘No, no it’s fine. I was up anyway.’

‘Dreams again?’ He pressed, concern laced in his voice. ‘No I was up anyway.’ Liar.

‘Hmm ok, well come to base for 10am, I want you to meet someone. We want you back kid.’ A small smile tugged at your lips, finally. ‘I’ll be there sir.’

‘Good, lookin’ forward to seeing you.’

With that he hung up the phone, you knew he could read you like a book. He was the closest thing you had a to a father. You’d served under Captain Price many times, forming a close bond with him. No one had had your back like he did after the accident, he’s the only reason you weren’t honourably discharged. Taking a deep breath you meandered your way to the shower, anticipation bubbled in your stomach.

- - - -

Walking down the clinical corridors your boots squeaked with every step. Whispers and murmurs from fellow soldiers and personnel who recognised you. You kept your head down, eyes to the floor, wanting the earth to swallow you whole. While you wanted to come back, you couldn’t be bothered with the shit that came with it.

As you approached Captain Price’s door you heard loud but muffled voices. One Price, the other you didn’t recognise. A string Scottish accent met your ears, his voice was deep and gruff. The voice of someone who demanded respect, but, they’d have to earn that from you. You weren’t about to roll over saying ‘yes sir’ to anyone.

‘… you’re mad Price. She ain’t ready, not even close. I’m not having her on my team.’

You heard Price sigh, ‘Soap you’re havin her. She needs to come back. She’s a damn good sergeant. She’d be an asset to your team and you know it.’

Soap? Not someone you’d heard of before. Either way he was gonna get an earful from you, who does he think he is? He doesn’t even know you. Prick.

‘She may be good at her job sir, but she’s damaged goods.’

That was enough to make you see red, but, you’d always promised Price you’d always try and keep calm. Your mouth had gotten you into trouble on multiple occasions. Pushing the door open you entered his office. The familiar smell of cigars and cedar wood filled the air, it smelt like home. Prices eyes widened, knowing you’d heard everything, he looked tense. Clearly wondering if you were about to chew Soaps ear off.

Looking over to Soap sweetly you offered him a warm smile and held out your hand. ‘Special Sargent Dunn, sniper and demolitions. Or, I guess my preferred name, damaged goods.’ Soap took your hand firmly and shook it. He was tall, easily 6’2, bulky stature, the most captivating azure eyes you’d ever seen and a very distinctive Mohawk. He chewed his cheek as he watched you take a seat.

As he opened his mouth you raised a hand, silencing him. ‘No need to apologise sir. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding. Easily done, wouldn’t you agree?’ Price struggled to hide a smirk as you eyed up the Captain. He was pretty sure he saw him take a small step back. Soap flashed a look to Price who merely shrugged, leaving him to fight his way out of the grave he’d dug himself.

‘Aye. Just a misunderstanding.’ He eyed you cautiously, unsure of what to make of you. Clearly headstrong and someone who wouldn’t take any shit. Something Soap felt he could work with, you’d be able to handle your own well. He just needed to make sure you didn’t lose your head. Nodding, you have him another sickly sweet smile, borderline psychopathic. ‘Good. Glad to hear it. Now, what am I helping you with sir?’

Soap looked down at the floor and took in a deep breath, his huge shoulders rising and falling. ‘Gotten wind of one of the most dangerous terrorists known to date. Putting together a team to track him down. You bein one of ‘em. Price speaks very highly of yah.’

You glanced over at Price who was sat behind his desk, watching you both intently, ready to break you up at any second.

‘Oh he does, does he?’ You say smiling at Price, you shifted in the chair, crossing your leg. ‘And what do you think of my record sir?’ Soap wasn’t overly used to being pinned like this, but he knew you had him in a vice courtesy of the comment he made. ‘Top in your class for sniping, impeccable skill and kill count. Not to mention your efficiency with demolitions. You’d fit in nicely.’

‘Hmm. Well, as long as you think so.’ You stoop up and brushed off your trousers. ‘Captain, you can count me in. It’s been a pleasure.’

As you turned to leave Soap coughed, grabbing your attention. ‘Training starts Monday. Just a refresh, you’ve been off for a while. Block B. 8am. Got it?’

You nodded ‘McTavish.’

‘Dunn.’

- - - -

If you want to be added to a tag list let me know

#call of duty #soap mctavish x reader #Captain McTavish #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny mctavish x reader #soap mctavish x you #johnny mctavish #slow burn #09 soap

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lady-charinette · 11 months

Text

Shadows of Chat Blanc

Sometimes, Marinette dreams of going on dates with Chat Noir. Always, Chat Noir is a true romantic, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Once, Chat Noir promised her something that made the blood in her veins freeze. "I would even give you the moon, princess." Her dream changed. She wasn't with Chat Noir anymore, somebody else greeted her. His smile never reached his icy blue eyes, so unlike her kitty. And yet, all the same. "I did good, didn't I? I gave you the moon, purrincess, I did good, right?!"

It was a cool evening, but his arms around her allowed Marinette to feel none of the chill.

Paris was quiet, a serene city plagued by chaos and nightmares during the day to be granted some respite in the evenings.

Sometimes, Marinette wished this moment could last forever.

The warmth of her kitty left her when he stood up, standing on top of her balcony railing and offering her his hand with a kind smile. “Just say the word princess and I’ll grant you any wish.”

A smile lit up her face and Marinette took Chat Noir’s offered hand. “Silly kitty, what if I ask for something impossible?”

Chat Noir leaned his head down, grabbing both of her hands into his own to pepper gentle kisses on her knuckles. “I would even give you the moon.”

Marinette smiled, leaning in to kiss him sweetly when ice rushed down her spine like lightning.

The moon.

Behind Chat Noir, the image of the brightly shining moon flickered.

Distorted.

Disappeared.

“No.”

Something snapped, a distant image filled Marinette’s mind.

A dream.

A vision.

A memory.

The warmth of her evening date with Chat Noir disappeared, replaced by the rush of harsh winter prickling her skin like sharp blades.

A soft thud behind her alerted her of another’s presence and when Marinette turned around, she swore the cold around her froze her very blood.

Standing before her isn’t Chat Noir anymore, but Chat Blanc.

Striking green eyes became piercingly blue, betraying the pain and anger that consumed him. That plagued him.

Chat Blanc offered Marinette his hand, a distorted mirror image of her kitty from mere moments before. But his smile was pained, drawn tight over the corners, all teeth.

No warmth.

“I did good, didn’t I?” his words struck her chest like a physical blow.

“…What?” Marinette shook her head, the burn in her eyes worsening when she spotted the rising water consuming the buildings. The floating bodies.

A haunting laugh.

“Here purrincess, I gave you the moon. I did good, didn’t I?”

A dull thumping sound echoes in Marinette’s ears and she realized Chat Blanc had grabbed one of her hands, like Chat Noir had done, only he didn’t kiss her hands, he pressed them over his heart. Each pulse a reminder of the agony that coursed through his veins, a desolate existence, where warmth and life have been extinguished, replaced by the unbearable chill that grips him from within.

A chill that threatened to consume her whole.

Marinette wrenched her hand away, stumbling backward.

Chat Blanc’s eyes narrowed at Marinette’s silence and actions. He crawled towards her form on the ground, claws digging into her arms as he gripped her close. “I did good, didn’t I?! Wasn’t this what you wanted?!”

His maniacal laughter drowned out all the alarm bells ringing in her mind, the icy shower covering her body replaced with the white-hot pain of Chat Blanc’s claws digging into her arms.

His shoulders suddenly slumped low, the world was silent until Chat Blanc lifted his head again, stark white hair falling into icy blue eyes.

Hollow.

“I said I did good, isn’t that right, little bug?” Chat Blanc traced his fingers across her jaw and gripped her chin, the claws nicking her skin, a river of blood trailing down her neck.

Chat Blanc licked his lips at that, Marinette swallowed thickly.

“I did everything you told me to, Marinette!” Chat Blanc’s voice filled with malice as it taunted her.

This is all your fault!

When Marinette found her world changing again, she woke up in her room, her bed damp with cold sweat.

When her eyes landed on Tikki sleeping peacefully, her body finally relaxed, evidence that her recurring nightmare didn’t turn into reality.

Again.

Gazing out through her window, Marinette’s gaze stayed transfixed on the source of the white glow that illuminated the dark night sky.

The moon.

Hope you enjoyed! Angsty prompts are welcome :3

#miraculous ladybug #ml #adrien agreste #chat noir #chat blanc #marinette dupaincheng #marichat #mariblanc #ml angst #miraculous #ml fic #ao3 #my fic #my fics

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roppongisorchid · 10 months

Text

Since we got the official coloring for bonten - especially the matching eye color of Sanzu & Takeomi - gave me instantly an idea~

🎴Brotherhood🎴

Tiny angsty-wholesome one shot

Characters are mainly Sanzu x Rindou

Mention of Takeomi & Ran

TW : drug$, violence

Words : 357

In the dimly lit bathroom of the Bonten headquarters, Sanzu’s reflection stared back at him through bloodshot eyes. The drugs coursing through his veins blurred the lines between reality and his haunting memories of Takeomi. Each twitch of his fingers echoed the unresolved rage he harbored deep within.

The mirror became a canvas for his frustration, a canvas that held the twisted image of his older brother. Sanzu’s fist collided with the glass, shards scattering like his fragmented thoughts. As the broken pieces fell to the cold tiles, so did the illusion of control that the drugs had falsely promised.

On the bathroom floor, amidst the wreckage of the mirror, Sanzu found himself drowning in a abyss of emotions. The weight of resentment pressed down on him, and the echoes of past grievances reverberated in the hollow space. The chaos in his mind mirrored the shattered reflection around him.

Just as despair threatened to consume him entirely, a distant sound broke through the haze—the sharp impact of a door being kicked in. Rindou, with his unyielding loyalty, stood in the doorway. His eyes, a stark contrast to Sanzu’s, wide awake, held concern for the pink haired.

Rindou stepped into the shattered scene. He didn’t judge; he understood. Always. Kneeling beside his boyfriend “Sanzu,” he whispered, concern etched across his face as he carefully approached the broken man.

Ran lingered in the doorway, a silent guardian offering support from a distance watching his younger brother beside Sanzu, his touch gentle yet firm. In the midst of the storm, Rindou became the anchor, a lifeline for the troubled Bonten number one executive.

As Sanzu’s walls crumbled, his pain spilled out in waves, a torrent of emotions that Rindou patiently weathered. In the background, Ran observed, a silent witness to the complexities of their intertwined lives. Together, they navigated the wreckage, trying to piece together a semblance of healing in the shattered fragments of that bathroom.

He began to pick up the broken fragments, piece by piece. In the silence that followed, Rindou’s presence spoke volumes—a silent promise, that no matter the darkness, even about the childhood that Sanzu never spoke of, not even with him, not even knowing that the eyes he so deeply loved are shared with the person the other so deeply hated, the brotherhood of Bonten though, would never crumble.

#haitani #ran haitani #haitani brothers #rindou haitani #tokyo revengers #sanzu haruchiyo #rinzu #bonten sanzu #bonten #fanfic #oneshot #sanzu x Rindou #sanzu angst #takeomi akashi

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neutron-stars-collision · 2 years

Text

Waiting for the Night

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Chapter 17 - While most of me is still intact

Masterlist; Chapter 16 Summary: The aftermath of the flood. Warnings: Swearing, canon-typical violence (only a mention), angst™️. Author's Notes: I am back 🙈 Still writing, still here, only it's slow and for that I'm sorry. If that's any consolation, this chapter is long. 8k long. It's fluffy too, because it seems my idiots needed some respite before the ultimate conclusion... I'm still not sure how many more chapters till the end, since this one was supposed to be longer. But I'm definitely going to finish the series. Until then, thank you for sticking around and let me know what you think? 💕 Tag list: @thecraziestcrayon, @kookiewastolen, @imimsy, @tuskens-mando, @sugarcoated-lame, @blue-aconite, @hypnoash, @rabbitdictionary, @nicklet94, @mcrmarvelloki, @shimmeringgrim, @ttae-yong, @freyadruid, @siriuslydestiny, @ms-dont-care, @raphaelaisabella, @itsmytimetoodream, @brightjimini, @castellandiangelo (let me know if you wanted to be removed/added).

Once upon a time, an image had been planted in your mind, the biblical allegory for a hopeful intervention. The Red Sea parted precisely when safe passage was needed. Something you never once dreamt of seeing with your own cynical eyes. Until the election night in rainy Gotham. Until the metal railing was biting into your hand, the cold seeping into your bones. The fear was so familiar you could no longer tell it apart from anything else.

Until the dark and murky waters below had been lit with a single red flare, the unmistakable shadow of Vengeance wading through the sea toward the stage. He was alright. Your hand relaxed on the railing as a collective gasp rushed through your small party. Your gaze inadvertently found Selina, taking in the worry on her face, the palpable terror you could feel coursing through your veins, too. When she turned to look at you, you quickly dropped your eyes back onto the scene underneath.

Bruce made it to the stage and began extracting those trapped underneath from within the mess of steel and debris. In the background, you could hear Gordon calling in for backup and choppers, and medical staff for the wounded. The bustle of the police forces intensified, and you knew it was just a matter of seconds till you would be addressed. Till the reality would have to catch up with what had unfolded.

It seemed like you were not the only one with the realization. A muffled shout behind made you turn to find the source, finding Gordon leaning over the railing on the other side of the bridge. You quickly crossed the space to join him, watching as Selina leapt down the ladders and constructions. Her body filled with feline grace you could barely fathom.

“You’re going to do that too?” the gruff voice cut through your consciousness, turning to see Gordon staring at you pointedly.

Despite the weariness and exhaustion, you could not help but crack a wry smile:

“Nah, I don’t fancy dying tonight,” and, then, just as an afterthought you could not hold back, you added, “I’m not that good,”

You really weren’t. It was nearly impossible to ignore the running thoughts, the questions piling in your head, begging to be answered. Like: what if you never showed up on the bridge? What if Bruce never saw you? And what did Selina have to do with all of it?

You did not dare hope it was the last you would ever hear or see of her. The universe was never quite that kind. Or generous.

“Well, I’m glad because I want to talk to you sometime. Once it all quietens a little,” not allowing your brain to go on a tangent, the cop’s conversational tone was once again the one to bring you back to the present.

“What like a witness statement?” you eyed him suspiciously, never the one to eagerly enter the police station and confess your thoughts at the white desk of shame.

But there was no cunning to be found in his face as Gordon nodded:

“You can call it that” as if reading your thoughts, he cracked a wry grin of his own “Don’t worry, you’re not a suspect,”

Perhaps Bruce was right, and he was one of the decent ones. A lone bastion of decency in the GCPD ranks, if you will.

“I should hope not,” you levelled him with one final hard look, hoping to show that you would not be easily intimidated, police forces or not.

One alliance, pulling you right into the centre of this mess was quite enough. And you could not even pretend you were willing to let go of Bruce. It simply was not happening.

Before you could contemplate the logistics of getting back home with the streets flooded, Gordon broke the silence again:

“For now, wait here. I’ll send someone with you to get your head checked out and to get you home safely” only once reminded of it, you felt the throbbing pain pulsing through your skull.

“Police escort, huh?” rolling your eyes, you allowed the uncertainty to speak, “Am I that important?”

The question was not aimed at Gordon. But he was there, and the only person you wanted to ask was… unavailable.

Judging by the expression on his face, you were very transparent on the matter. James threw one look at the stage below and turned away with a simple statement:

“It seems like to him, you are,”

He left you with the words resonating in your head, unaware of the consequences. Unaware of the fact that the statement would haunt you for hours to come. Until you could look into Bruce’s eyes and ask him too.

***

Hours passed since leaving the Garden until you could finally step through the doors leading into the Wayne Tower. Sometime between the fifteen minutes spent at the back of an ambulance (no head trauma, sweetie, but take it slow for a couple of days) and the police car, you decided not to go home. Directing the cops to a random street near the tower, you lied through your teeth, pretending this was home and they could leave you alone. Luckily, they were eager to comply. The excuse you had prepared in the quiet of your mind was that you were safer there. And conveniently more likely to find Bruce once he made it back.

The list of things that needed attending was getting longer as you crept through the familiar foyer and into the creaking lift. You had to call the hospital and inquire after Alfred, the worry gnawing at your heart relentlessly. You were hoping you would stumble upon Dory, too, wanting to let her know Bruce was relatively unharmed. Some dry clothes would have been nice, as well.

Some of those prayers had been answered, for as soon as you stepped into the study, you noticed the warm lamp glow by the bookshelves. One of the armchairs was occupied. As you crept closer, you could easily discern Dory curled up in the chair, her head propped on the backrest, eyes closed. She was dozing. A soft smile spread over your face as you closed the distance and whispered:

“Hey, it’s me” even with all the softness you could procure, Dory sat up startled.

You watched as her wide gaze slowly gave way to recognition and relief. A tentative smile inched its way across your face as she stood up from the armchair and gathered you into a tight hug:

“I’m so happy to see you, darling. I wanted to call someone, but I didn’t have your number, and master Wayne wasn’t picking up. I was so worried” Dory’s voice was smothered by the embrace, yet you heard it well enough to feel the tears gather in your eyes.

Blinking them away, you gave the older woman a final squeeze and stepped back. It was nearly impossible to ignore the uptick of fondness and the part of your brain that already forgot what it was like to be cared for. What it felt like to be important to someone.

“I know. I’m sorry it took me so long” swallowing down the emotions, you sank into the nearest armchair and allowed yourself to relax.

For the first time in hours. Only now, you could feel just how much everything hurt.

The subtle wince did not escape Dory’s worried eyes as she scanned you intently before settling on a question:

“Are you alright?” she added another as you opened your mouth to speak, “Were you there when…?”

She need not finish it.

“Yes, I had a front-row seat to the whole ordeal… I’m fine, though” shrugging halfheartedly, you chose to ignore the aching body and the tarnished confidence; instead, you aimed for another reassuring smile as you added, “Bruce is alright too, he um… helped people there. I’ll wait for him tonight” noticing the dark circles underneath her eyes, you made sure to soften your voice “You can get some rest; I’ve got it all covered,”

It took one long look between you for Dory to agree. She stood up slowly, gathering her bearings and casting one final glance around the space. And then back at you. Eyes filled with fondness you could barely process without bursting into tears.

“Thank you” as if pulled by an invisible string, you got up and allowed her to take your hand between her palms and squeeze it tightly, “He’s lucky to have you,” the sentiment was uttered with enough sincerity to make your heart ache.

A protest was ready to be launched, but you tried to push it down, unable to look away from Dory. From the look in her eyes begging you to accept it as a fact. You closed your eyes to gather your thoughts, knowing it was futile anyway.

“I’m not sure he agrees, but… I’ve always been hard to get rid of” shrugging helplessly, you opened them again only to turn away with a wry smile.

You could not stand it anymore. The housekeeper must have taken the hint, for she gathered the rest of her things and left the room without another word. For once, the loneliness did not hurt too bad.

***

After that, you moved like a ghost through the tower. Careful not to dwell on your actions, you slipped into Bruce’s bedroom to find spare, dry clothes. The set he gave you days before was still there, carefully laid on the chair as if he did not want to put it in the washing yet. That, too, was a thought best left in the dark. Hoping he would not mind, you put them on and dared yourself not to linger as everything there reminded you of his presence and of the safety you were not sure you deserved in the slightest. But it did not matter. You promised Dory to wait upon him, and so were going to do just that.

Calling the hospital was a much easier feat to achieve. It did help to discover that the last time Bruce was visiting Alfred, he had put down your name as someone trusted, and hence it took no effort on your side to get information. What mattered was that he was safe. It took the invisible weight off your chest as you collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and rested your forehead on the cold marble.

It took a great deal of self-persuasion to make a sandwich your stomach badly needed and to convince yourself you should wait downstairs in Bruce’s underground station. That way, you would know exactly when he arrived and could see him right away. And there was no telling when that would happen. Eschewing the importance of clocks and watches, you took a blanket from the sofa in the study and got in the lift to take you down.

The shiver shook your body as the chill of the underground station hit you in the face. Careful not to pay much attention to the late hour or the temptation of everything scattered around the place, you curled up in one of the chairs and burrowed in the blanket. Before long, you were sound asleep.

Waking up was no less jarring. One moment, you were dead to the world, lost in the nonsensical dreams that offered no comfort, and the next, an engine roar made you jerk awake with a start. When your senses adjusted to reality, Bruce was in front of you, the vehicle door closing behind him. He was still wearing full armour, standing motionless as if arrested by your gaze. Just as you were rendered frozen by his.

He was the first to make a move, raising his arms with a quiet groan to take off the cowl. The motion mussed his dark hair, making it fall in disarray over his forehead. Over the attentive eyes, now encircled with smudged black eyeshadow. Your heart stuttered in your chest. A traitorous blush spread over your cheeks as you fought to keep looking him in the eyes, hoping Bruce would not notice the internal crisis.

A flash of surprise followed by recognition and a faint smirk twisting his lips blew those hopes with the wind of your embarrassment. But you did not have enough time to dwell on it. Your legs finally became unstuck as you started closing the gap, exactly when Bruce came to the same conclusion. You met in the middle, bodies colliding almost chaotically, except for the needs controlling every movement. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your own hands came to rest on his shoulders. Eyes met for a split second to fulfil the soul’s desire before Bruce delved in for a kiss.

You gasped, pressing against him, instantly opening your mouth underneath his prodding tongue, giving in to the longing sizzling in your veins. It was easy to slide your tongue alongside his, to let your teeth nibble on his lower lip, revelling in the groan he let out. To press your hand to his cheek, pouring the feelings into the kiss, hoping the message would get through. That you missed him. That you loved him, against all hope and reason. That all you wanted was for this to last. Somehow.

Perhaps it did get through. Perhaps Bruce understood if the way he kept chasing after your lips was anything to go by. Kissing you with all his might, devouring your mouth like a dying man. Like there was no hope left. Nothing but this. But you.

You only broke the kiss when you could hardly breathe, taking half a step back but keeping your hand caressing his cheek lightly. Bruce whined quietly, his hold reluctantly easing to let you go. When your eyes met again, it was impossible not to exhale sharply, shocked to the core by the depth of yearning in his gaze. Mirroring your move, Bruce cupped your face with careful fingers, wincing as soon as he felt the cold skin:

“God, you’re freezing” the slight rasp in his voice was another reason for the stumble in your heartbeat.

Leaning into his palm, you cracked a wry smile and shrugged:

“Yeah, well… You forgot to turn the heating on” your grin widened upon seeing Bruce's faint smile, yet you chose not to dwell on it, “Sorry, I fell asleep” feeling the awkwardness slipping in, you took another half-a step back.

But Bruce did not let you. The arm he kept around your waist stayed right where it was, making it impossible to move further away. You could only stare back as his eyes worriedly scanned your face, looking for any signs of pain. When he found nothing apparent, Bruce gently cupped the back of your head and asked:

“Are you alright? Is-” you could barely tolerate the concern you saw in his eyes, so you stopped him before another word could get out.

Before you got used to being treated like you mattered to someone.

“I’m fine. Got checked up, no head trauma, so as good as it gets” another shrug, taking over the inability to deal with everything you were feeling; you scanned his face with a scrutinous glare before settling on a simple statement, “You, on the other hand, look terrible” proving the point, you dragged your hand through his knotted hair, unable to fight off the fond smile.

The offence you had been awaiting never came. Instead, Bruce mirrored your uncertain smile and sighed, evidently letting go of the invisible weight perched upon his shoulders. His body sagged just a fraction as he finally let go of you and replied:

“I feel like it too” as if not knowing what to do with himself, his gaze ventured over the equipment in the station with palpable restless energy, “I wanted to check up on Alfred, but-”

It felt good to be able to offer him some solutions. You cut right into his sentence, briefly summarizing the discoveries:

“No need, I already called them. He’s safe. Their ICU is on higher floors, so they managed to keep the water under control. They’ll let us know when it’s alright to visit him” running out of steam, you remembered one last crucial bit of information; all the while ignoring how it felt to have Bruce’s eyes fixed on your face with intent, “Caught up with Dory, too, and told her to go to bed,”

You could never have foreseen the reaction to your recap. Before you could do as much as blink and find a new way of filling the silence, a blanket was draped over your shoulders. You whirled around with a gasp, meeting Bruce’s soft stare with wide eyes of your own. He only nodded, answering your unasked question.

“Thank you. I really mean it” seeing the gratitude in his eyes, you could only offer him another tight-lipped smile before turning away to conceal the blush spreading over your cheeks.

You wrapped yourself tighter in the blanket and shot back the remaining two revelations you felt Bruce should know. Those were harder to say out loud without hesitation.

“Um… Gordon wants me to visit him in a few days, so… yeah,” taking his silence as all the encouragement you would get, you added; voice wavering pathetically, “And Selina got away, unfortunately… Sorry about that”

Any idiot would have been able to detect the glaring lack of compassion in the sentence. Not for her, anyway. And Bruce Wayne was many things, but definitely not an idiot.

As if seeing right through the bullshit in your head, he laid a careful hand on your shoulder and forced you to face him. The haunting blue eyes stared into the depths of your soul as his fingers inched higher, caressing your neck in tentative strokes. Unable to maintain eye contact, you squeezed your eyes shut just in time to hear the murmur:

“I don’t care” the sheer conviction in his voice was almost enough to make you believe him.

Almost. Gathering the remains of courage, you chose to face Bruce again:

“She saved your ass up there. You don’t have to pretend it’s nothing” you could tell that bitterness was seeping through each word, the resignation forcing you to stop the rouse, even if just for the moment, “Not for my sake, anyway,”

The flash of annoyance in Bruce’s eyes was almost enough to keep you there. He sighed with frustration before surprising you for the umpteenth time within the past quarter of an hour. Tipping your chin so you could not escape his gaze, Bruce closed the gap to lay a gentle kiss on your parted lips. He leaned back before you could think of chasing after him. The steel-like resolve is still there, written in his blue eyes and the clench of his sharp jaw. As if he was done with your nonsense and yet unwilling to let you go. It was another thing to get you hooked on, so you could never dream of getting over him. As if.

“I’m not pretending. The only person I wanted to see after it all was you” the sincere statement is the one to cut through your internal monologues.

The force of it was enough to rejuvenate the blush on your face and to bring back the stutter in your voice. You stepped back out of his grasp and dropped your gaze to the floor. How did he dare?

“… okay, I… We should go to sleep I think” how eloquent, goddamn it, “You must be exhausted,” it was as good an excuse as you could ever find.

You knew Bruce saw right through it. His eyes flickered over your face with something unidentifiable, but it was clear he had given up. Instead, he found something else to fret over. It became apparent the moment he looked at you helplessly, hands gesturing at the armour with something close to shyness:

“Could you… could you help me get out of this?” his blush had synced up with yours.

One glance at all the different straps and fastenings holding together the upper part of his suit was enough to make you understand. You only nodded, already dropping the blanket on the chair and approaching him with a blank expression. Wordlessly asking for pointers.

The next fifteen minutes had been spent on the painstakingly slow process of disassembling the armour. Quiet was only disrupted by Bruce’s directions, patiently narrating the process so that you knew what you were doing. It was almost pleasant to be this close to him without any pressure of time or case needed solving. Feeling the trust and knowing that this experience was not one many have lived. Perhaps only Alfred had done it before for him. Albeit selfish, the thought gave you comfort. And the courage to think about what came after. About what you wanted (and needed) to offer.

Placing the breast plating on the rack Bruce showed you, you hesitated, eyes slipping over his torso, still hidden by a black shirt. You knew you had been caught once you noticed him stare at you back, head cocked to the side in silent question. There was no point stalling anymore.

“I can stay with you… in your room, if you’d like that” as soon as the words left your mouth, you winced, internally berating yourself for every one of them, “Just to sleep, of course. I don’t… I know you wouldn’t-” the ramblings were cut off with a simple whisper carrying your name.

Making you glance back up at Bruce, at his smile and kind eyes that showed no malice. None of the feared sneer either.

“I’d like it very much” a relieved sigh was inescapable.

As was the flustered smile and maddeningly fast pulse pounding in your ears. It was part of the deal, unfortunately.

You were the first one to break the sickly-sweet exchange of giddy smiles. For the first time in a while, that hopeful spark in your chest was not unwelcome. You allowed yourself to feel it burn as you grinned at Bruce:

“Good. Me too” your lips twisted into a smirk, one Bruce was so familiar with, as you dropped your voice to a faux seductive timbre, “As far as I recall, you’re quite a comfy pillow, hun,”

The delighted laughter you got in return for the nickname was worth the faint headache. And the battered heart.

***

The awkwardness crept back in before you could get in bed and get lost in the dream world. Sometime between getting into Bruce’s bedroom, closing the door, and settling in for the night, everything became harder to ignore. Like the extent of the bruises underneath his shirt, the sheer uncertainty that lays after the flood and the closeness between you that was still terrifying. Having convinced Bruce to let you rub the ointments into the worst of bruising, you settled in between the pillows while he disappeared into the bathroom to get changed. It gave you time to manage the inexplicable spike of anxiety that began to get out of control. Because it was the first time you were going to sleep next to Bruce without any other reason. Because you both wanted to be close to each other. And it was utterly frightening.

The crisis hardly got smothered when Bruce emerged from the ensuite and joined you under the covers. The familiar shy smile graced his features, making it so easy to mirror his position and turn onto your side to face him. You did not have to look for words to fill in the silence:

“Come closer” Bruce extended a hand toward you, fingers trailing over the length of your forearm.

What had been a respectable space between you suddenly felt like nothing. And Bruce wanted you closer than that. Cursing quietly, you levelled him with as a serious look as you could manage, all things considered:

“You sure?” the act was easy to see through.

You wanted to close that gap, perhaps more than anything. But Bruce’s bravery was still something new, something you were not used to. It was best to check lest you could fuck it all up somehow.

“Very, very sure” as if reading your mind, Bruce gave you a reassuring smile, his arm winding around your waist as you gave in to the pull and closed the distance.

Without a word, you laid your head on his pillow and pressed the length of your legs against his. Placing your arm around his middle, you felt instantly enveloped in an embrace that would keep you safe. As did the look in his eyes, trusting and open. The chatter of your thoughts at once grew quiet.

“You know, for a minute there, I was scared I’d never be able to do this again… It was terrifying” laying this close to each other, you could feel each word Bruce spoke with a warm rush of air over your mouth.

Nearly distracting you from the meaning of his words. And what they revealed. Once it sunk in, you closed your eyes and allowed the honesty to speak.

“Will you tell me what… what happened there?” hoping the inflexion would do the work without you having to put it into words, the anxiety raging in your brain made you add, “You don’t have to, is just that… I’d love to get that gap filled in with something other than assumptions” Bruce squeezed your arm in reassurance, confirming he understood.

That he was willing to elaborate on what was, without a doubt, a vulnerable moment. You still were not ready to open your eyes.

“I saw one of them take you out with a blow to the head, and I… Guess I just fucking lost it” the bitter tone with which he threw out the curse felt like a punch to the gut.

It was why your eyes flew open, and the words rushed out.

“But you could barely move, I-” Bruce never let you finish.

“I used an adrenaline shot. Always got a couple in the utility belt” although his voice was rid of emotions, you could see the urgency in his eyes.

As if Bruce was begging you to understand what he meant by it all. You understood enough. Even if you could not bear to think about it without risking your sanity.

“I never heard you swear before” it was why you chose to deflect, holding onto the least important of facts.

Bruce’s eyes widened at the question, and his mouth fell agape in what would be a comical expression if the circumstances were any different.

“Really? Is that the takeaway?” there was a flash of that previous annoyance in his eyes.

Yet still, Bruce tightened the hold over your body, pulling you a fraction closer to the heat of his frame. Close enough that you could melt into him, admitting to the reasons for your foolishness. The why of all the omissions:

“Yeah, because I don’t want to deal with the rest of what you told me” you met his searching gaze, hoping your eyes could show the words that got stuck in your throat.

You pressed your palm to his shoulder blade, feeling the warmth of his skin through the shirt fabric. After a beat, Bruce mirrored the gesture, his soft hum getting lost in the space between you. The silence stretched for a short while, enough so you could feel your heartbeat settle, falling for the chance of peace. Yet it did not surprise you when Bruce spoke:

“I’d do it again if I had to” his voice was still soft, treading that familiar territory between a sleepy confession and a nonchalant observation.

You knew it was not really the second one. Tightening the hold over his body, you moved a fraction closer to brush your nose against his and whispered the reply:

“Let’s hope you’ll never have to” there was nothing else to add.

Nothing else you could say without showing how much his admission meant. It was almost incomprehensible to think someone could willingly risk it all for your sake. Without reason or obligation. It made it dangerously easy to believe you were worth something.

For a while, neither of you spoke, seemingly content to drift off to sleep entangled like that. Although his eyes were half-closed, you could see Bruce glance at you every few minutes. It was impossible to say what he was thinking. Once you could feel the sleep pulling you under, you risked asking what was on your mind:

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” even to your ears, your voice sounded embarrassingly insecure.

There was no guarantee he would be there. No certainty that whatever had happened over the night would prevail the next day. You were not sure you could cope with it if the morning changed how things were. It was doubtful.

From the briefest of winces passing through Bruce’s face, you knew you had hit the jackpot. Your hand trailed down his arm to thread your fingers together. Waiting to be disappointed.

“I don’t know. The city needs me, now more than ever” the excuse was weak, and Bruce knew it.

As if trying to recompensate, he squeezed your hand but averted the furrowed look you immediately sent his way. You did not feel like giving in to what was utter bullshit.

“Yeah, but you need to rest” when Bruce still did not meet your gaze, you added, tone firmer this time, “Gotham is still going to be there tomorrow. And I hope you know you can’t help everybody. You can’t save them all” it must have struck the chord for he raised his head, the boundless blue of his eyes troubled “Some are beyond helping” it was hard to say what made you finish the speech on a vulnerable admission “Like me,”

One that made Bruce’s face twist into a look of pure dread. He disentangled his hand from yours to cup your cheek, the tenderness tearing your heart apart as you stared back.

“You’re not-” deciding you did not want to hear it, you used an empty hand to shut him up.

Your fingers traced the outline of his mouth once he fell quiet. His lips were an easier point of focus than the eyes seeing into the depths of your soul.

“Bruce, please. Not tonight,” the whisper filled the silence, pleading without saying so.

He understood. Nudging your chin upwards so that you were both forced to look at one another, Bruce searched your eyes. That same emotion settled for good in his gaze. The one you could never identify. Though you could sometimes guess…

“Okay… Can I kiss you?” the simple question acted like an instant brain freeze.

You did not have to think hard about the answer.

“Yeah… but only if you’ll stay with me” for once, it did not hurt to be exposed.

For once, it was okay to know he saw you. All the faults and weaknesses. All that you would rather reject than embrace.

“I’ll stay” Bruce sealed the promise with a kiss.

Fragile and gentle, the pressure of his lips was almost tender. It was still easy to sigh into his mouth and lose yourself in the hope that flickered in your heart. The hope that maybe it meant enough to last. This time, you made no moves to devour him, no intent to make a mark. For this one was only a vow. And when it was over, and you could press a final peck to the tip of Bruce’s nose, it was so much easier to lay your head over his chest and close your eyes.

***

It was almost surreal to wake up enveloped in an embrace you had no desire to escape. Slowly opening your eyes, you allowed them to adjust to the morning light peeking through the curtains. The rain was pattering against the window; the sound was acting like a mellow soundtrack. Realising you had moved through the night, you found your back pressed against Bruce’s chest. It felt like being spooned by a heater. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. That much was certain.

For a beat, you were content to simply lay there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest and the muffled snores escaping his throat. It was impossible not to grin, tightening the hold over Bruce’s hand around your waist. The throbbing headache at the back of your skull was almost worth it. Because although it was still terrifying, you could not deny yourself the bliss felt at that moment. Everything else be damned.

Only once you felt him stir you began to move, turning as gently as possible to face Bruce. The sight alone was breathtaking. His dark hair was tousled beyond saving, several strands falling over his eyes. His forehead was clear from the frown lines; the long eyelashes fluttered over the sculpted cheeks. Although his eyes were still closed, you could tell he was not sleeping anymore. Ignoring the warnings alarms in your head, you shifted, so you could see him better and kissed the edge of his jaw. Then laid another peck on his chin, smiling involuntarily upon hearing Bruce gasp shallowly. His arms tightened over your frame as he slightly lowered his head to catch your lips in a chaste kiss. You were more than happy to give it to him.

Only then did Bruce open his eyes, the blue irises catching the light and immediately focusing on you. His lips twisted into a small smile as you noticed:

“I think you needed that sleep” on its own accord, your hand rose to let the fingers trail over his features.

Bruce’s smile widened into a bashful grin. You could feel his hand caress your side, slowly inching closer to the shirt’s hem. You were happy to let him do that too.

“Probably,” acquiescing, Bruce was interrupted by a wide yawn.

Giggling into the pillow, you briefly contemplated what it would take to convince him to stay in bed with you forever. Or at least for the whole day. But then, the reality crashed. Even without being able to see the city outside, the memories came rushing in like the sea water breaking through the walls last night. It was the darkness at the edge of the peaceful morning that made you ask:

“What do you think will happen now?” as soon as the words were out, you could see the frown return to Bruce’s face.

Damn it. The apology was already on your tongue when he replied.

“No clue. But it’s going to be tough. People like the Penguin are going to try to use this mess to their advantage” a tired sigh acted as an interval while Bruce seemed to collect his thoughts; his eyes were trained on the world outside the window, “I should probably do patrols every night, aside from keeping in touch with Gordon” the reluctance in his voice felt like a stab in the fabric of your soul.

With a start, you realised that you would probably do anything to make it go away. To stop whatever was making him hurt. But there was nothing you could do.

“Work is cancelled with everyone urged to stay inside, so if you’ll have anything to work on, count me in” feigning nonchalance and failing miserably, you waited with bated breath for Bruce to look at you again.

To say anything to the thinly veiled plea to let you work with him again. The answer was more important than life itself. Slowly, Bruce turned his head to rest his heavy gaze on you. His mouth stretched into a smile:

“No please?” he grinned, taking the weight off your shoulders and making you giggle breathlessly.

“Nah, you didn’t earn it” an attempt at schooling your features into a mock seriousness went horribly, yet Bruce still seemed pleased with the quip.

His hand, which was still tracing patterns on your side, slipped underneath the shirt. Now the warmth of his careful touch was acting like an anchor, making it much easier to stay present. When his eyes met yours, it still felt like a jolt to the system.

“I will” Bruce’s voice dropped into a lower timbre, dragging a shiver through your body.

If he noticed, he did not let on. Ignoring the response of your betraying body, you raised an eyebrow, fixating on the conversation you were having. Or on one that lay beneath the words that filled the silence.

“Earn it?” as if following the invisible pull, you allowed your hand to reach out; your palm pressed itself to his chest over the heart.

To feel its rhythmic beat, wanting to memorise it for the future where you never got to touch Bruce like that.

“That too” as though he was reading your mind, Bruce pulled you closer, his words a murmur you wanted to trust.

You wanted to believe whatever changed last night was an indication of how things were now. And how they were going to be. But trusting was not in your blood. You buried your face in the crook of his neck to breathe in the calming scent. Only after a few minutes have passed in the near-blissful quiet, you could begin to seek the courage to voice one last desire. You could only say it when there was no chance of Bruce’s eyes finding yours. So, you took one final deep breath and tried to shoot the shot:

“Will you have some breakfast with me? Before you leave to do whatever?” with every word, you were wincing harder, trying to focus on the movement of his chest underneath your palm.

All because of how much rejection would hurt. Sure, you had already gotten so much more than you ever bargained for. But the longing never ceased anymore, growing more insistent by the hour.

“That’s a question or a request?” Bruce’s question had a cheeky edge, easily throwing you out of your head.

He had no mercy for your desire to hide. Leaning back to catch your chin in his hand, Bruce met your blushed cheeks and half-closed eyes with a confident smirk. An expression you were slowly getting used to, to your surprise. It forced a shy smile to appear, despite your wishes.

“Depends on what’s more likely to work on you” your tongue darted out to wet the suddenly dry lips.

Immediately, you noticed Bruce’s eyes trace the movement, keeping the eyes fixed on your mouth. Way too long for it to be accidental. You knew it wasn’t.

Bruce groaned as if in response to the dance between you and pressed his forehead to yours with a fake pained expression. In response, you could only raise an eyebrow and catch the bottom lip between your teeth. The giddiness in your chest began to spark to life.

“You’re just so…” it only grew brighter when you heard the yearning in his voice.

Bruce seemed speechless; his eyes were fixed on your face with something akin to devotion. As if he had so many words to describe you but none that would fit the bill. None that would express what he wanted to say. You decided to help:

“Annoying?” Bruce shook his head in silent exasperation, so you decided to use it, “Yeah, I know. So?”

His smile was the answer you had been waiting for. Soon, your face was bound to hurt from smiling so much.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded, making your grin shine even brighter.

Caught up in the feelings evoked by this moment, you never saw when he leaned in to catch your lips but felt it when Bruce kissed you. Slowly and thoroughly, responding to the playful back and forth you had been indulging in. You deepened the contact when you felt his tongue swipe over your lips, gasping when Bruce licked into your mouth. The taste of him was already familiar, and the more you had of it, the more you craved it. Following the pull of your heart, you pulled up on your forearm to lean over Bruce, feeling his hand slip to the small of your back. He caressed your skin while his mouth devoured yours, and all you could think of was how much you were willing to sacrifice to never let him go. Somewhere in between another swipe of your tongue curling around his and the playful bite as your teeth sunk into his bottom lip, you had to swallow the three words. The ones that would destroy everything. The ones that kept appearing on the tip of your tongue, following the letters of his name. The ones you traced onto the material of his shirt. I love you.

Not that long later, when you had climbed from the bed, and locked the bathroom door, you whispered them against the wooden frame, choking on the weight of the feelings you should never have had in the first place:

“I love you…”

***

The crisis had passed by the time you sat at the kitchen island and sipped on the coffee while gossiping with Dory. She had hugged you tightly when you entered the room, relieved to find you still in the building. In return, you filled her in on Bruce’s whereabouts and asked for help in preparing the breakfast spread. Once it was ready and you had convinced the older woman to join you for the meal, you settled by the countertop, waiting for Bruce to join you. Somehow, you knew he would. Breaking promises did not seem to be in his nature. At least, you had hoped so.

He proved you right ten minutes later, walking into the kitchen just as you were telling Dory about the police escort from the night before. Your story was interrupted when she laid her eyes on Bruce, let out a surprised noise and instantly dropped the milk carton to gather him into an embrace. A smile planted itself on your face upon the sight, observing with the familiar happiness as Bruce returned the hug and squeezed the housekeeper with fondness permeating every cell of his body. After a moment, you turned away to give them privacy for the hushed conversation and tried to occupy yourself with the toasts, which had just popped from the toaster. The only reprieve from the task came when you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder and turned your head to find Bruce standing right next to you. He smiled and wordlessly asked for the plate, forcing you to marvel at the domesticity of the situation. So different to the other breakfast at the Wayne Tower, only days before. Once you were all seated and picking at the spread, it was that memory which made you ask:

“So… are you going to eat, or do I have to force you again?” you levelled Bruce with a pretended serious look and sneaked a glance towards Dory.

As expected, she was unsuccessfully hiding the laugh behind the coffee mug in her hand. Turning back to Bruce, you found him matching the faux glare with one of his own. His mouth was curled into a smile as he picked up the buttered bread and used it as an accessory to accentuate the response:

“I will. I will. No need to force-feed me the toast” Bruce took a demonstrative bite with no heat in the pointed look in his eyes.

A spark in his gaze told you he remembered well the moment you alluded to.

“Good” signing off the comment with a wink, you reached for the mug again.

You did not get to swallow the sip of the warm beverage.

“Though, admittedly, I did enjoy the last time” Bruce’s response was the sole reason for you choking on the coffee and the coughing fit which followed.

He must have felt responsible, for within seconds, his hand was between your shoulder blades, firmly hitting the space to ease the coughing. The concerned frown on his face was almost enough to help you take a breath again and find the courage to place your hand on his knee underneath the kitchen island. You squeezed it once and measured him with a steady look:

“I see” the company in the room did not matter anymore as you met the blue of his eyes and remarked, “You’re a strange creature, Mr Wayne” the way Bruce reacted to the name never got old, and you could not help but smirk with satisfaction at the pink tint appearing on his cheeks.

He caught his bottom lip between his teeth as if to hold in something he did not want to say out loud. Composed himself and took a toast bite to find a breather. You could only watch him, feeling Dory’s observational gaze rest on both of you with quiet contemplation. Whatever she saw between you surely was not that far off anyway.

At last, Bruce must have found his footing again, for he returned your taxing gaze and muttered a reply:

“Yet you’re still… around” the inflexion on the last word suggested he was surprised by it.

That he never really expected you to stay around for so long. You did wonder whether telling him that it was a surprise to you, too, was a reasonable move. You ignored it, softening the smile on your face and fully aware that the look in your eyes was nothing short of affectionate.

“I never said I don’t like strange creatures” finishing the sentence, you moved your hand up from his knee to the lower thigh, hoping to convey everything your heart felt.

You signed off the sentiment with a cheeky wink, feeling your cheeks burn under Dory’s scrutiny from the other side of the worktop. At that moment, you quickly decided to discard this line of the conversation and include the older woman in your discussion. It was what you did then, sharing with her your recounting of the night before, happy to have Bruce join the story. Afterwards, you both promised her to keep in touch to avoid anxiety-filled nights and confusion.

Still, it was not a surprise that as soon as Dory finished her breakfast, she excused herself from the kitchen, wishing you both a good day. A blush on your face was a permanent fixture by now. For a beat, you and Bruce stayed quiet, sipping the remains of the coffee in companionable silence. Until he cleared his throat and placed the mug on the worktop with a hollow sound. Your eyes darted to Bruce anticipating the unknown. Although there were no reasons to suspect anything bad, you still felt anxious as you watched him intently.

“I’ve been thinking and… I think it would be best if you stayed here for now. Until it all settles a little in the city” Bruce rushed the words out almost breathlessly, staring at the marble surface as he added, “Of course, you can say no, but… I wanted to put it out there, I guess” with each word the conviction in his voice grew weaker until it disappeared completely.

The proposition surprised you, making it difficult to find an answer before Bruce managed to talk himself out of it. You could see him battle himself, so you blurted out the only question that made sense:

“Why?” it was the magical word that made Bruce look up at last.

He met your searching gaze with a simple shrug, the look in his eyes helpless but not in denial anymore. This time he had the answer ready.

“Because I’d feel better knowing you’re somewhere safe,” his voice grew softer as he silently begged you to understand and agree.

The statement broke through the reluctance in your heart and melted the hard shell, as it always did. It was tempting and oh so easy. Another excuse to stay by his side and feed your needs as long as he would allow it.

“And here I was hoping you’ll say you want me in your bed again” you dropped the tone to a private timbre, eager to make Bruce blush again.

It did the job. As soon as he registered your words, his cheeks turned a vivid shade of pink, lips falling agape to sputter words of denial that never came. You were right. Kinda. A triumphant grin planted itself on your face upon the sight, acting as a driving force behind the decision to stand up and drape your arms over Bruce’s body from behind. Your chin came to rest on his shoulder as his hands came to cover yours over his torso. Before he could begin to question himself again, you whispered an agreement into his ear and leaned back an inch to leave a playful bite on his earlobe. It was enough to make Bruce gasp sharply. And to widen your smile, silencing the voice in your head that always reminded you it would not last. For now – it would. And that was enough.

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arabaka · 2 years

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!!! fem!reader. references to breasts/pussy. you send nudes to seri and he surprises you in return.

"hey katsuya," you'd purred in his ear one night, "can i send you pics while you're gone?" he'd looked so puzzled, with a sparse dusting of pink on his cheekbones and a heightened openness to his eyes. "dirty pics."

the answer had been yes and so that's why you're here now, scrolling through the carousel of pictures on your phone, looking for the perfect one to send to serizawa on his first night away. you decide on the most mild of the bunch: a selfie with a bright smile and a flippant peace sign, but your arms are squished against your breasts, making your bustling cleavage the undeniable focus of the image. you tap on your phone the accompanying message, "thinking of you katsu. miss you!" and hit send.

( 📨 YOU'VE GOT MAIL! )

the read receipt that flashes on your screen comes right after and you see the ( . . . ) come and go before ultimately receiving, "I miss you too! Thank you for the picture. I love it." you kick your feet in the air, squealing like you're falling in love all over again, before typing out, "can i send you more?" and just like the first reply, serizawa's message to you is swift. "Yes."

you flip through the series of photos you'd already taken but the fire lit in your tummy calls you take a new one. your thighs rubbing together in anticipation for seri's reaction, you ready yourself for a new ensemble of photos.

you end up sending serizawa a treasure trove, each picture more risqué than the last. you start with your tank top a little more dipped than before, showing more of your bra than before and of course it's one of seri's favorites. he just loves how the color and shape compliment your body so well, but he loves in you everything really. that photo stirs awake his cock, the thick and weighty flesh pressing against the fabric of his pajama pants. it's a good thing he's alone because if there's one thing about serizawa, it's that he can't hide his hard ons. he's much too large for that.

the next photo has your shirt off and breasts out. your face is barely in the photo, clearly the priority being for seri to ogle your naked form. but there's enough of your face for him to see the cheeky grin plastered over your lips. your fingers are tantalizingly wrapped around the band of your panties, promising to show him more if he just stays patient. this one has him palming his erection, his large hand easily covering and rubbing out his strained cockhead through his pants.

your third message is an ass pic, taken with the help of your phone's timer. you're bent over your dresser, the fat of your bottom in the center of the photo. your underwear? gone. so on top of seeing your ass, which you know already drives seri crazy, he is also treated to your plump folds, pussy glistening with your essence and it makes seri's head fuzzy seeing you like this, even with him so far away you're so good to him.

every photo got a response from seri within the minute but that last one is left on read. you're not sure what to make of it, but you figure seri just got wrapped up in something. you've never been one to doubt seri.

then you get a notification, "katsu <3 sent you a video" and you swear you've never clicked on an alert so fast.

what you see next has your mouth watering and your cunt dripping. the video starts a little shaky but stabilizes soon enough, giving you the most perfect view of serizawa's fattened cock. seri is holding the phone close to his face, you know this because you are treated to a beautiful assortment of his pants and grunts as he wraps a hand around his veiny girth. he gives himself a few strokes, treating you to the delicious sight of his foreskin, firm and stocky, running up and over the wide mushroom tip of his penis. you're licking your lips, looking at how his veins pulse with every twitch of his monster cock. "hnngh, i remember -- remember you told me you liked this." there's a breathy chuckle from him that wavers as his fingers tighten around his dick. "i-- i hope this is okay."

oh, it's MORE than okay. the video goes on for a little over a minute but you rewatch it over and over, absolutely mesmerized by the way seri's big hand commands his cock, stroking it and letting it go so it goes pap! against his cushy thigh. he does it with confidence, knowing the view and sound is to your liking.

"katsuya! you're so good to me!" you cheer in your message to him. "wish i could take care of that for you <3"

and god, the sex you have when he comes back is INSANE. he shows you JUST how much he missed you, shows you JUST how much he loved the pictures you sent him

#serizawa #mp serizawa #katsuya serizawa #serizawa x you #serizawa x reader #serizawa katsuya x you #serizawa katsuya x reader #mp100 imagines #mob psycho x reader #mob psycho 100 x reader #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for serizawa. ꒱

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quads4days · 1 year

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BodyBoost Enterprises—The Collapse

“The following two-part story is a culminating end to Phase Two of my Gaining Universe. It is a cross-over event that brings together many of the characters from the majority of the Phase Two stories and some recurring characters from Phase One. It also includes feedback received in my inbox about some of the events that occur to the character.

As always, send through questions and ideas; I enjoy bringing your thoughts to life as well as fattening up my characters. In the meantime, grab some food, relax and enjoy the end of Phase Two.”

Prologue

In the Executive Director's office of BodyBoost Headquarters, Jamie Jacobson sat before a multitude of screens, each one displaying scenes of chaos unfurling across the sprawling facility. The sterile environment of the office, once used for signing contracts and entertaining VIP clients, now served as the command centre for Jamie. He was no longer an assistant. Today, Jamie held the reins of BodyBoost.

His attention was riveted on one screen in particular: the sub-level feed, displaying images of massive blobs struggling to make sense of what had just occurred. BodyBoost's grand experiment taking another unexpected turn—a dark tableau of flesh and science. As he watched, a wave of strange sensation washed over him, like a shiver of electric anticipation. His body, already an imposing mass of 160kg of sheer muscle, seemed to be in flux. He watched in awe as his body began to expand once again, as if every sinew, every muscle fibre were alive and growing.

Muscles bulged with newfound volume, his chiselled torso swelling outward, his mammoth legs thickening even further. His biceps exploded with growth, his trapezius rose towards his ears, and his pecs swelled to the point of casting a shadow over his rippling abs. The office, which once made him feel small, was now shrinking around him. Jamie’s formidable form, a muscle titan reaching 250kg, began to inch closer to the ceiling, a testament to the power of BodyBoost’s products.

His body’s transformation could have triggered panic or fear. However, Jamie felt nothing of the sort. Instead, he felt an indescribable surge of victory. His massive frame was not a mistake, but the product of his own ambitions, his choices. The muscles that now threatened to outgrow the room were the embodiment of power, potential, and a future that held no limitations.

A feral grin curled onto his lips, echoing the exhilarating sense of conquest coursing through his veins. He was no longer just Jamie, the assistant. He was Jamie, the unstoppable, the embodiment of growth and power. The pandemonium on the screens reflected the chaos within him, a perfect storm of strength and size. And it was only the beginning.

Chapter 02 Sean Symonds

Sean, the enigmatic charmer with a clandestine mission, found himself standing in the cavernous atrium of BodyBoost Headquarters. The air was thick with the smell of polished metal and the sterility of scientific advancement. In his pocket was the security pass, stolen from Jamie Jacobson, BodyBoost's hulking assistant whose muscular body now tipped the scales at 160kg. It was the first breach in the company's elaborate defences, and Sean was determined to exploit it to the fullest, knowing the contents in this building would make his farm grow its potential.

As he swiped the card, the door clicked open with a soft electronic whir, as if beckoning him into the secretive realm that lay beyond. The pass had worked, and for a moment, Sean revelled in his own cunning. The alarms were silent, the guards nowhere in sight. The world was still asleep, oblivious to the storm brewing in the dimly lit corridors of BodyBoost.

Stepping into the building, Sean felt a rush of exhilaration, his footsteps echoing with purpose on the marble floor. He glanced at the information panel next to the lift, his eyes skimming through the list of floors and their corresponding departments. There it was, the security office—a digital portal to the sanctum sanctorum where the serums of his dreams were kept.

As he pressed the call button for the lift, Sean’s eyes met his reflection in the tempered glass of the entry door. He couldn't help but smile at the man staring back at him, the very face of beguiling charm. That charm had been his greatest asset, a weapon wielded with precision, luring many unsuspecting souls to a life of insatiable hunger and uncontrolled growth. It was a charm that had already fattened men beyond recognition, altering the very fabric of their lives. Sean revelled in it, basking in the dark glory of his own magnetism.

But as he admired himself, his hand subconsciously drifted toward his stomach. A sense of unease washed over him, a subtle disquiet that felt like a scratch on an otherwise flawless gemstone. He paused, the reflection in the glass seeming to scrutinise him for the first time. Was it just nerves? The palpable tension of breaking into a fortress of scientific secrets? Or was it something more, a forewarning echoing from the depths of his subconscious?

For a fleeting moment, Sean contemplated the risks. He was in the belly of the beast now, a trespasser in a world that played God with the human body. His own body felt different as if warning him of the perils that lay ahead. But he shook off the apprehension like a snake shedding its skin. This was not the time for doubts. This was the time for action. The lift doors parted, and Sean stepped inside, dismissing the unease that had momentarily gripped him. As the lift ascended, he took a deep breath, bolstering himself for the mission ahead. This was his moment, his chance to turn fantasy into reality. And whatever the cost, Sean was prepared to pay it.

Stepping out of the elevator, Sean felt a renewed sense of urgency pulse through his veins as he made his way down the labyrinthine hallways of BodyBoost Headquarters. The stolen security card had granted him access to the nerve centre of the facility: the security office. He swiped Jamie's card one more time, and the door whispered open with robotic compliance. Not a single guard was in sight; they were either deeply negligent or astonishingly trusting. He chuckled at the thought, savouring the delicious irony.

Settling himself in front of the console, Sean's eyes darted over the array of monitors. The screens buzzed with mechanical life, revealing various rooms where robots, with the precision only attainable by artificial intelligence, orchestrated the creation of the company's magical serums and pills. As he flicked through the screens, his eyes caught sight of a laboratory that particularly interested him.

What struck him was not just the endless rows of serums and bottles nor the meticulous choreography of the technicians who were checking them. It was their bodies—specifically, the incongruous, sizeable stomachs that dominated their otherwise modest frames. Each gut looked like an anachronism, a grandiose statement on a canvas of normality. And it aroused him. This was the twisted art of body manipulation that BodyBoost specialised in, and Sean was intoxicated by it.

Noting the lab's location, Sean stood up, ready to continue his quest. His eyes fell upon a white lab coat hanging on the back of the door. A perfect addition to his disguise. Slipping it on, he felt another wave of that mysterious unease wash over him. His hand instinctively found its way to his stomach again. "Get a grip," he muttered under his breath, fighting to maintain his focus.

He walked briskly through the maze-like corridors until he reached the lab he had spied on the monitor. A technician, whose name tag read 'Doug,' looked up as Sean entered. The buttons of Doug's shirt appeared to be on the verge of mutiny, battling against the taut expanse of his 40kg gut. "Must be hard to carry that around," Sean found himself commenting, a bit too openly, about Doug's disproportionate belly.

Doug hesitated, then sighed. "Well, let's just say Marco wasn't pleased about a delayed product launch. My punishment was becoming a test subject for our 'unstable' line. Gained all this overnight." He patted his large stomach for emphasis. Intrigued and aroused, Sean shifted gears smoothly. "I've been sent by Marco to collect one of every product, and I need it ASAP." The mention of Marco sent a palpable shiver down Doug's spine. Fearing another wrath-induced 'punishment,' he hurriedly began loading a cart with various bottles and boxes, his gut bouncing in tandem with his hurried movements.

"Good luck, mate. With Marco, you never know when you might end up…well, like me, you’re lucky he only made you gain a little.” Doug offered as Sean turned to leave. As Sean pondered Doug's ominous words, he heard a soft but distinct 'ping.' His eyes widened as he realised that a button on his shirt had just given up the fight, releasing a burgeoning 'spare tire' from the constraining fabric. Suppressing his shock, he gave a curt nod to Doug and left the lab, his feet speeding him away. Once he was a safe distance down the hallway, he pinched the new soft flesh around his middle, a feeling of furious disbelief replacing his former confidence.

Could it be? Was the universe, or perhaps BodyBoost itself, pushing back against his audacious scheme? The walls seemed to close in on him a little as if the building itself sensed his treachery. But now was not the time for second guesses or faltering steps. Now was the time for action. Yet, as Sean moved to complete his mission, a quiet voice within him whispered, urging caution, reminding him that in a place where the manipulation of human flesh was just another day's work, the manipulator might himself become manipulated.

As Sean pressed the button for the ground floor, his eyes scanned the small, metallic enclosure of the elevator, capturing his reflection in the tinted mirror. He looked like any other technician—except for the newly manifested spare tire straining his shirt and the lab coat concealing a cart laden with stolen secrets.

Yet when the elevator disobeyed his command, surging upward instead of descending, a flicker of uncertainty darted across his eyes. The numbers on the digital panel climbed in opposition to his intentions. "Easy," he told himself, clutching the handle of the cart, "just ride it out and try again."

The elevator's bell chimed, announcing its arrival. The doors slid open with mechanistic grace to reveal two men standing outside. One was unmistakably Jamie—the striking, muscle-bound Adonis whose security pass had granted Sean entry into this labyrinth. Beside him stood an Italian man with an air of calculated grace, his well-tailored suit cutting a sharp contrast against Jamie's more relaxed, albeit still form-fitting, attire. Sean's mind made the connection instantaneously. This had to be Marco, the mastermind behind BodyBoost.

Jamie's eyes met Sean's, and for a heartbeat, the world paused. There was a depth of understanding in Jamie's gaze, a silent acknowledgment that resonated in the space between them. Jamie had discovered the theft; the jig was up.

"Going down?" Marco asked, an inscrutable smile curling his lips as if he knew a secret joke that no one else was privy to. Sean's mind raced, but he was a cornered animal, and cornered animals are dangerous because they are unpredictable. "Actually, I was just heading to a different department. Minor mix-up," he said, mustering a smile that felt like a lie painted on his face.

"That's funny," Jamie interjected, his voice rich with implication, "because you seem to have a cart full of our most sensitive products. Hard to believe that's a 'minor mix-up.'"

Sean felt his hand tighten around the handle of the cart. His eyes darted to Marco, whose smile had now blossomed into a full-blown grin. It was the grin of a hunter who had caught his prey, the grin of a chess player who says "checkmate" without uttering a word. Sean's heart sank, but it was Marco's next words that turned his blood to ice.

"I think it's time we had a little chat, don't you?" Marco said, stepping into the elevator and forcing Sean to retreat. Jamie followed suit, pressing a button that Sean couldn't see.

As the elevator doors closed, encapsulating the three men in a chamber thick with tension, Sean felt his newfound belly tighten in a knot of trepidation. The cart, the lab coat, the stolen security card—all were mere props in a stage play that had just reached its unexpected climax. And as the elevator began to move, Sean wondered how he had become an actor in a script that Marco, it seemed, had been writing all along.

Chapter 04 Marco Marino

In a subterranean realm of science that skirted the edges of ethical boundaries, the elevator creaked with an odd symphony of metallic groans as it struggled to contain its passengers. Jamie's frame, a mass of taut muscle seemingly hewn from marble, nudged uncomfortably against Sean. The confined space became a theatre of tense silence and unspoken intentions, the sterile scent of the lab mingling with the weight of their collective apprehensions.

Marco, the symphony conductor in this strange performance, stepped out as the elevator came to a begrudging stop. His eyes, dark as onyx, fixed themselves upon Sean. "After you," he gestured grandiosely, leading the way to his office—a sanctum adorned with scientific instruments and arcane formulas scribbled haphazardly on chalkboards. Jamie, who followed closely, swiped Sean's security card from its tether on his lab coat with a brisk, almost rehearsed movement.

The chair in Marco's office let out a lament as Sean sunk into it, his shirt making a near-audible cry for mercy as another button strained against the fabric.

"It seems," Marco began, a smile curling at the edges of his lips like smoke from a smouldering fire, "that Jamie's unique condition has some unforeseen side effects."

Sean's eyes darted between Jamie and his own burgeoning midsection, now bulging noticeably. "You mean, his condition is contagious?" His voice wavered.

"Let's just say it seems that my assistant's love can be quite...fattening," Marco let out a sibilant chuckle, his eyes narrowing with mischievous delight.

As Marco laughed, Sean felt his stomach respond as if in affirmation, inching forward as though partaking in the joke. Jamie's gaze was rooted to the floor, a monument to discomfort. The room crackled with a palpable tension, and then Marco's voice, chilling in its quietude, sliced through the air. “I’ve looked into you Sean, killed your father by feeding him until his death, and it seems you have stolen a farm where, might I say, you have some wonderful pigs in your back paddock. In another world, I’d have loved to have learned how you grew those poor men into the magnificent beasts they have become. Alas, that isn’t why you’re here. You've stolen from me, Sean. And that—oh, that—doesn't go unpunished."

Sean felt a wellspring of anger bubble within him; as Marco showed him pictures of his farm and pictures of his fat pigs, he felt his muscles tensing as if preparing for battle. With an impulsiveness he couldn't explain, he lunged across the desk, grabbing a random serum from the cart beside him and plunging it into Marco's hand.

Marco roared, reeling back in pain, but not before Sean thrust another syringe, and before Jamie could intercede, a third found its mark. Marco clutched his stomach, his face contorted in a grotesque ballet of agony and disbelief. His body began to swell, thighs ballooning, the fabric of his finely tailored suit wailing as it tore under the strain. In a frenzy, Marco dashed from the office toward the elevator, its door yawning open as if in horror. Sean gave chase, fuelled by a molten anger that left no room for reason. As the elevator began its descent, Marco doubled over, gasping as his body continued to inflate, each breath a grim accompaniment to his growing girth. The descent took them below the ground level and into unknown territory; their fates precariously hinged on the whims of a madman and the obscure, terrible science that bound them together.

The elevator—no longer a simple means of transport but a battleground of warped physics and dissonant humanity—held Marco and Sean like a prison. Marco's inflating form lunged at Sean, pinning him against the cool metal wall of the elevator with the expanse of his ever-swelling gut. It was a grotesque and surreal tableau, like something from a Dali painting come to life.

When the door slid open with a sigh, Marco vaulted himself out, propelled by a strange mix of momentum and desperation. "Help me!" he wailed just as his suit surrendered to his expanding form with a cacophony of ripping threads and bursting buttons “I’ll triple your salary!” Stunned, Sean stepped out, transfixed as Marco's ballooning body reached the point of no return. With a woeful moan, the Italian scientist collapsed forward, his newfound mass rendering him unable to stand. Technicians’ faces etched with horror, raced to his side and coordinated as best they could to relocate him to a glass chamber.

Sean, once an intruder, was now an astonished witness to a subterranean spectacle that defied reason. The adjacent rooms were filled with amorphous blobs of human fat, grotesque yet fascinating in their size and uniformity. For a moment, he was transported back to his own farm, to his own pigs, and a frisson of perverse arousal tingled through his spine.

Marco, now contained but still expanding, yelled through the thick glass. "Seize him! He's the reason I'm like this!"

Kicking into a sprint, Sean discovered a room humming with the low-light glow of numerous monitors. His fingers began to dance across the console, activating levers and pressing buttons without fully understanding the gravity of his actions. The blobs housed in individual chambers began to quiver as the pumps surged to maximum, flooding their artificial environments with an overdose of the mysterious serum.

Technicians clamoured around Sean, their cries verging on hysteria. "Stop this madness! You don't know what you're doing!"

But Sean was lost, hypnotised by the swell and stretch of the growing blobs pressing against the thick glass that contained them. One brave technician darted past, making a beeline for the elevator. Sean recognised this as his last chance to flee this catacomb of unnatural science and deranged ambitions, but his compulsion held him rooted, a voyeur to his own unfolding tragedy. As he stood there, the glass wall of the first chamber emitted a low, sonorous groan of stress. The blobs continued their expansion, becoming ever more monstrous in their formlessness. In that instant, another button on Sean's strained shirt gave way, popping off as if in chorus with the mounting pressure around him.

In that room of monitors and unbound flesh, Sean was both architect and victim, caught in a vortex of choices and consequences.

The glass prisons—once impenetrable barriers—finally shattered, unable to contain the monstrous forms that quivered and expanded within. Technicians scattered like frightened birds, their faces pallid with dread, as the corpulent figures spilled into the room. Overhead, lights flickered, surrendering to an eerie dimness, while a cacophony of emergency tones blared in disorienting rhythm.

Sean roused from the mesmeric trance that had ensnared him, turned sharply toward the elevator. Through the chaos, his eyes met Marco's, who was now a grotesque spectacle, a mountain of flesh immobilised by his own expanding girth. A crooked smile danced across Sean's face as he approached the behemoth.

Marco strained, his bloated arms flailing in futile attempts to fend Sean off. They could no longer reach beyond the ocean of his own corpulence. Above Marco's pulsating form, Sean spotted an emergency medical mask hanging from the ceiling. With a deft tug, he lowered it.

"No, please!" Marco's voice was muffled, tinged with despair. But his pleas evaporated into the sterile air as Sean affixed the mask onto his face. A muted hum filled the room as a surge of serum flowed from the tubing, coursing into Marco's system.

"Enjoy the growth," Sean whispered, his fingers delicately tracing the curvature of Marco's burgeoning stomach. He turned away, leaving Marco to his helpless expansion, and strode toward the elevator. Marco gulped and gulped, trying his hardest to break free; he felt the serum already filling his body. His eyes looked around desperately and fell upon the gaze of the monstrosity in the middle room. His son. For a brief moment, Marco yearned to hug his son again, back in time before his great empire began. As his body began to expand, all he could think of was eating more and as the floor groaned below him his fat gut surged forward.

As the elevator door opened, welcoming Sean into its metallic embrace. He punched the button for the upper levels, his thoughts turning to Jamie. Just as the doors were about to slide shut, the chambers containing the monstrous blobs exploded, releasing their occupants into the labyrinthine hallways of Marco's facility.

A resonant boom echoed through the elevator shaft, shaking the very foundations of the building. Sean grabbed onto the railing as the elevator lurched, his gut surging forward against the force of his own adrenaline. The seams of his pants gave way, surrendering to the stress with a reluctant tear. A frisson of dread washed over him. He needed to find Jamie, and quickly, lest he become as uncontrollable in his growth as the aberrations he had just unleashed.

The elevator rumbled skyward, its mechanical whir drowned out by the haunting screams and cries reverberating through the building. It was a chorus of damnation, a litany of mistakes and regrets and as the elevator ascended through the darkened shaft, Sean was left to ponder the magnitude of what he had done and what it would mean for all of them in the ever-shrinking world they now occupied.

Chapter 05 Jamie Jacobson

In the stately room of the Executive Director's office, high above the grimy industrialised chaos of the BodyBoost Headquarters, Jamie sat. The plush leather chair groaned beneath him, strained by the sheer bulk of muscle it was now forced to cradle. Walls once pristine were now decorated with feeds from security cameras, each displaying a scene more harrowing than the next.

The subfloor levels were a kaleidoscope of horror; their infrastructures had collapsed, unable to bear the weight of the subjects' rapid and grotesque growth. It was as if the earth itself had rebelled against such unnatural distortions of the human form. Jamie's eyes, piercing and blue, tracked the spiralling chaos. He felt a peculiar tension—subtle at first—ripples of muscle mass compounding upon muscle mass. As the pounds accumulated, Jamie's imposing figure began to stretch and loom higher, threatening to be contained no longer by the room's generous ceiling.

Where fear might grip a lesser man, Jamie remained stoic, even triumphant. He knew he had won the battle of wills. As the elevator doors whispered open to reveal Sean, now considerably plumper and struggling under his newfound weight, a slow smile played on Jamie's lips. Sean's breaths came fast, and his soft, bulbous body quivered with every exhalation. It was a sight both pitiful and curious. Pudgy hands attempted to guard his dignity, tugging down a shirt that clung to every inflated roll and curve. His thighs, once firm, now squished together with every step, chafing slightly. His round face was a mask of panic, eyes wide with a blend of fear and incredulity.

With surprising agility for a man of his size, Jamie reached out, his mountainous arm stretching forth, fingers wrapping around Sean's plump upper arm. Despite the layers of fat padding him, Sean's flesh yielded to Jamie's immense strength. Sean's feeble struggles were no match for the overwhelming might of the muscled giant, and soon he found himself unceremoniously plopped into an oversized chair.

"You see the situation you've put yourself in, Sean?" Jamie rumbled, his voice deepened further by his expansion. "You've made quite the mess, and now you'll help me clean it up."

Sean's eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape, an advantage. But he was surrounded, trapped. The weight of his choices—both literal and metaphorical—pinned him down.

“Make it stop, Jamie, I can’t be fat. I’m the farmer, not the pig” Sean rasped, his voice tremulous.

Jamie leaned in, bringing his massive face closer to Sean's. "Then it's time to make a deal," he whispered. "You let me use your farm for our future BodyBoost subjects, and in return, I will have an antidote formulated to halt your... predicament." His gaze roamed over Sean's bloated form. "Decline and I assure you, you'll make quite the pig for your own farm."

In the soft, dim light filtering through the vertical blinds of the Executive Director's office, Sean took a moment, his eyes skimming over his now distended form. With hesitance, he ran a hand over the curve of his stomach, which now hinted at a considerable gain since he had been subjected to the mysterious serum. Jamie, a towering behemoth of rippling muscle, seemed to consider Sean's condition with a mixture of amusement and contemplation. His expansive form, nearing 250 kg of raw strength, contrasted starkly against the opulence of the office decor.

“Jamie…” Sean started, taking a deep breath as he mustered his words, “Before any more decisions are made, I need to... I want to experience what it feels like with this…” He hesitated, his hands gesturing at his now fuller body. The implication hung heavily in the air between them.

The corner of Jamie’s mouth twitched upwards in a smirk. “You want to feel what it's like with all this added weight?” His deep voice echoed, the mirth apparent.

Sean nodded, eyes never leaving Jamie’s. A few heartbeats passed, the tension palpable, before Jamie’s massive hand reached out, closing around Sean's wrist. The warmth was immediate. Despite the underlying fear and confusion of the day's events, there was a certain exhilaration in the intimacy of the moment.

As they came together, the stark contrast between them was even more evident. Jamie's powerful frame dwarfed Sean's, and yet, there was a certain softness in Sean's newer, rounded form. The two of them are lost in the sensation, the outside world and its chaos forgotten. As the minutes stretched, Sean could feel another peculiar warmth spreading through him, an alarming realisation striking him — he was growing yet again.

Feeling the weight increase, Jamie chuckled, momentarily pausing to appreciate the transformation. "My, my, Sean... You're surpassing 140kg. You’re turning into one of your own pigs." He teased, his deep laughter resonating in the large office.

Their intimate moment concluded, and before Sean could gather his thoughts, the doors to the office burst open. A swarm of technicians, eyes wide with a mix of fear and determination, quickly surrounded him. Their intention was clear; they were there to take him away.

From his towering height, Jamie laughed once again, taking a moment to flex his colossal muscles. The sheer magnitude of his biceps bulged, a testament to the serum’s potency. With Sean being ushered out, Jamie sauntered over to the executive desk, pressing a button on the intercom system.

"Hello, Marco," Jamie's voice oozed confidence, drawing out the syllables of the name. The camera showed a vast form that quivered in response, the flesh visibly trembling. "Don't fret, master. Your company is in capable hands. A little weight," he glanced at his mighty form, "is a small price for the lifestyle."

As a muffled scream emanated from the speaker, Jamie couldn’t help but flex once again, admiration evident in his gaze. Turning on his heel, his towering figure cast a lengthy shadow over the marble floors of the office, signalling the dawn of a new era at BodyBoost Headquarters.

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blakeswritingimagines · 3 months

Text

You Made The Wrong Choice

Summary: Going out for a drink without your husband has never felt so good before.

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Size kink, Implied cheating but not really, Fingering, Unprotected sex, sex in a bar bathroom,

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Al Simmons/Hellspawn character/s nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Al Simmons steps into the dimly lit bar, his eyes scanning the room for a familiar face. He spots you sitting at the counter, your back turned to him. He takes a seat next to you, leaning against the counter with his elbows. His gaze lingers on your silhouette before he breaks the silence. "Hey there, beautiful." His voice is smooth like whiskey, but there's an edge to it - a hint of danger. He reaches out to take your hand, tracing his fingers along yours. "You look stunning tonight…" he leans closer, whispering in your ear "You know what I'd do to you if we were alone?" You turn slightly towards Al, your eyes sparkling under the low light of the bar. You bite down on your lower lip. Your heart races at the touch of his hand on yours, the warmth sending tingles up your arm. "Oh? And what would that be?" you asked, your voice dripping with seduction. You shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other, revealing more of her thigh. You lean back slightly, giving Al just enough space to admire your cleavage without being too obvious about it. Your mind is racing with thoughts of what they could possibly do once they get home. The idea of being caught was thrilling, adding another layer of excitement to this secret rendezvous.

Al can't help but let his eyes wander over your body, taking in every curve and contour. His grip tightens around your hand, pulling you closer until your bodies almost touch. "Well," he starts, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I'd start by unzipping this little dress of yours." His other hand moves to your exposed thigh, slowly inching its way upwards. He lets out a low chuckle, feeling your muscles tense beneath his touch. "And then… I'd make sure you're thoroughly fucked. So thoroughly, in fact, that you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow morning." You gasp softly when Al's hand inches up your thigh. A shiver runs through your body, causing you to lean in closer to him. You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the moan threatening to escape from your lips. "Oh…" Your voice was heavy with desire. You look up at him through half-lidded eyes, your pupils dilated in the dim lighting of the bar. "Do you really think you can handle me, stranger?" You challenge him, raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft laugh. Despite the playful tone of your voice, there's no denying the lustful glint in your eyes.

Al grins wickedly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. He leans even closer, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm not just any stranger, sweetheart," he murmurs, his hand now firmly gripping your thigh. He gives it a gentle squeeze, feeling the muscle twitch beneath his touch. "And trust me," his voice drops to a growl, "I've handled worse than you." With a swift motion, he pulls you closer, pressing his body against yours. His free hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you flush against him. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin, matching the fire burning within him. You let out a soft sigh, melting into Al's touch. You can feel his hardness pressed against you, and it sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. "Mmm… That's not fair," you whispered, tilting your head back to give him better access to your neck. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself even closer to him. "But I guess I'll have to show you how much I can take," you say with a flirtatious smirk. You nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. It's intoxicating, driving you wild with desire. Al feels a surge of arousal at your words, his cock straining against his pants. He lets out a low groan, burying his face in your neck. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmurs, his teeth grazing against your sensitive skin. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." His hands roam freely over your body, exploring every inch he can reach. He pulls away slightly, looking down at you with a predatory smile. "Let's get out of here," he suggests, standing up abruptly. He offers his hand to help you up, his eyes never leaving yours.

You nod eagerly, accepting his hand and allowing him to pull you up. You stand on your tiptoes, pressing your body against his. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a passionate kiss. "I don't think I can wait that long," you whisper against his lips, glancing over at the bathroom door before capturing them in another searing kiss. Your hands slide down to grasp his ass, squeezing it firmly. You push yourself against him, grinding your hips against his erection. The thought of being caught only fuels your desire further. You can't wait to see just how far he will go to satisfy your cravings. Al returns your kiss with equal ferocity, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessive hunger. He can barely contain himself, his entire focus narrowed down to the woman in his arms. "Fuck it," he growls, breaking the kiss. He grabs your hand and leads you towards the bathroom, pushing open the door with his hip. Once inside, he presses you against the wall, his hands roaming over your body with a desperate need. "Let's see how loud you can scream," he teases, his voice thick with lust. He leans down to capture your lips again, his hands slipping beneath your dress to find your bare skin.

You gasp softly when you're pushed against the wall, your body trembling with anticipation. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling yourself up so you can grind against his hard-on. "Mmm… You're such a bad boy," you purr, running your hands through his hair. You arched your back, pressing your breasts against his chest. "Don't hold back stranger," you urge, biting down gently on his lower lip before pulling away to watch his reaction. Al growls in response, his hands finding your ass and squeezing tightly. He lifts you up, pressing you more against the wall, his hardness grinding against you. "You asked for it," he murmurs, his voice a low growl. He reaches down, ripping your panties aside, and plunges two fingers into your wetness. "God damn, you're so fucking tight," he groans, thrusting his fingers deeper into your pussy. He curls his fingers, searching for that sweet spot that would send you spiraling into ecstasy. You gasp loudly when Al rips your panties aside, your body jolting in surprise. You clenched your inner walls around his fingers, digging your heels into his ass. "Oh fuck… Don't stop," you moaned, throwing your head back against the wall. You clenched your jaw, trying to stifle the sounds escaping your throat. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you dizzy with pleasure. You can feel yourself getting close, the pressure building deep within your core.

Al watched you closely, drinking in every moan, every tremble of your body. He adds another finger, stretching you deliciously wide. He starts pumping his fingers in and out of you, setting a brutal pace. "That's it, let it all out," he encourages, leaning forward to suckle on your neck. His other hand slides up your body, palming your breast, teasing your nipple through the fabric of your dress. Your moans grow louder, more uninhibited as Al continues to work his magic on you. You writhed against the wall, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Oh God! Yes!" you cried out, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your inner walls clench around his fingers, milking them for more. As the waves of pleasure subside, you open your eyes to look at him. There's a mix of satisfaction and mischief in your gaze. "Now it's my turn," you say, reaching between your bodies to fumble with his belt buckle. Al watches you come undone, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. The sight of you losing control under his touch was incredibly arousing. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, drawing out every last drop of your climax. He helps you with his belt buckle, tossing it aside as he tugged his pants down enough. His cock springs free, standing proudly erect. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. "Be gentle with me," he teases, but there's an edge of warning in his voice. He positions himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his dick against your slick folds.

Feeling your orgasmic contractions around his fingers sends a surge of pride through Al. He watches you come undone with fierce satisfaction, a primal urge to claim you completely rising within him. "Take your time," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. He captures your lips once more in a bruising kiss, his tongue dominating yours as his fingers continue their ruthless assault. He allows you to undress him, his own impatient hands working to rid you of your dress. With a swift tug, he exposes your breasts, taking a hardened nipple between his teeth, and tugging gently. You shiver at the sensation of Al's teeth on your nipples, a fresh wave of desire washing over you. You break the kiss, panting heavily as you work on freeing his cock from his boxers. "Oh… Fuck…" You breathe out, your eyes widening as you finally get a good look at his impressive length. "I've never seen one so big… Not even my husband is that big."

Hearing your words, Al smirks against your skin, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. He pulls away from your nipple with a pop, licking his lips as if savoring the taste of you. "Well, I hope you're ready to take me all in," he taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. He watches you intently, waiting for your next move, eager to see how you plan to handle him. With a sudden movement, he flips you around, pinning you against the wall with his body. He grinds his cock against your ass, teasing both of them with the promise of what's to come. You gasp when Al suddenly flips you around, your front pressed against the wall. You feel his cock grinding against you, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. "Oh God…" You moan, spreading your legs wider to accommodate his large frame. You reached behind you, tracing your fingers along the contours of his muscular ass. "You're so big… I'm not sure I can take all of you. But I want to try," you add quickly, looking over your shoulder at him with a challenging gleam in your eyes.

Al's smirk widens at your words, his eyes darkening with lust. He reaches down, grabs your hips firmly, and positions himself at your entrance. "I'll make sure you can," he promises, his voice a low growl. He pushes into you slowly, feeling your tightness envelop his throbbing cock inch by agonizing inch. "Fuck… You're so goddamn tight," he groans, pausing to give you time to adjust to his size. But only for a moment, because then he begins to move, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back into you. Each thrust is powerful, and relentless, designed to stretch you further, to claim you fully. You scream out in pleasure as Al fills you completely, your walls clenching around his thick cock. The pain is intense but quickly morphs into an overwhelming pleasure as he starts moving inside you. "Oh fuck! Yes!" You cried out, your nails digging into the wall for support. Every thrust sends shocks of pleasure shooting through your body, making your toes curl. You pushed back against him, meeting each of his powerful thrusts with equal force. You're determined to prove you can handle everything he has to offer.

Al growls deeply, feeling you push back against him, encouraging him to go harder, faster. He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back to expose the tender column of your neck. "Take it all," he commands, his voice laced with raw desire. He pounds into you relentlessly, each stroke hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you scream his name. His free hand travels down your body, cupping your breast, thumb flicking over your sensitive nipple. He wants to hear you moan, to know that he's the cause of your pleasure. Your mind becomes a whirlwind of sensations, each of Al's powerful thrusts driving you closer to the edge. You can hardly breathe, much less speak, but you manage a few strangled moans. "Oh fuck… I'm gonna…" You trail off, your climax building rapidly. You can barely hold on any longer, your entire body tensing as you approach your peak. The sensation is overwhelming, your orgasm ripping through you with a force that leaves you seeing stars. You cried out, your voice echoing throughout the room, your inner muscles clamping down hard on Al's cock.

Feeling you tighten around him sends Al over the edge. He roars your name, his body tensing as he spills his seed deep inside you. Each pulse of his cock sends another wave of pleasure coursing through you, prolonging your orgasm. He holds onto you tightly, riding out the waves of his own release. His breathing is heavy, and ragged, matching the pounding of his heart. He leans down, pressing a series of kisses along your spine, marking you as his. Slowly, he withdraws from you, watching as your shared juices drip down your thighs. He turns you around, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you securely as you both catch your breath. As Al pulled you close, you collapsed against him, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. You look up at him, your eyes glazed with a mix of satisfaction and awe. "That was… incredible," you pants, a satisfied smile curving your lips. You reached up, tracing a finger along his jawline, marveling at the contrast between his rough exterior and the softness of his skin. "You're amazing," you whispered, your voice filled with genuine admiration.

Al's expression softens slightly at your touch, his usual harsh features momentarily replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. He captures your wandering hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "You ain't too bad yourself," he replies, his voice a low murmur. He runs his hands down your back, drawing you even closer until there's no space left between you. But even as he holds you, there's a part of him that remains distant, guarded. It's a defense mechanism born from years of betrayal and loss. Yet, with you, he finds himself wanting to let down those barriers, if only for a little while. After a moment, he pulls back slightly, looking down at you with an intensity that seems to pierce right through you. You looked up at Al, your gaze steady despite the vulnerability you sensed in him. There's something about this man that draws you in and makes you want to peel back the layers and uncover the person beneath. You know there's more to him than meets the eye, but you also know that he won't easily reveal himself. "I think we should get some rest," you suggest, your voice gentle yet firm. You don't want the night to end, but you also understand that you both need sleep after the passionate encounter you've shared. You give him a small smile, hoping that maybe tomorrow will bring more opportunities for you to connect on a deeper level.

Al nods his expression a mix of reluctance and acceptance. He knows you're right, but he also knows that once morning comes, things might change. And he isn't ready to face that reality just yet. "Rest sounds good," he agrees, though his tone is a bit gruffer than intended. He releases you slowly, stepping back to allow you room to move. He watches you, his eyes following every movement, every curve of your body. He can't help but admire your strength, your resilience. In many ways, you remind him of who he used to be – before he became Hellspawn before he lost everything just to find it again once he met you and was lucky enough to marry you for so many years. You let out a soft sigh as you move away from Al, your body still tingling from the lovemaking. You know he's reluctant to leave things as they are now, you both fixed up how you looked before leaving and going out to the car and going back home together before you looked over at him and grinned as you spoke. "Hey honey, I need to tell you something."

Al glances over at you as you speak, his expression wary. He's not sure what you need to tell him, but whatever it is, he's ready to listen. After all, he owes you that much. "What's up?" he asks, his voice still rough from the exertions of the night. He tries to keep his guard up, but the sight of you smiling at him like that is enough to make him forget, if only for a moment. Despite everything that's happened tonight – or perhaps because of it – he feels strangely at ease with you. It's a feeling he hasn't had in a long time, and he's not quite sure how to deal with it. You smile softly, your heart swelling with affection for this man you married. As you speak, your words come out in a rush, filled with emotion and sincerity. "Honey, I love you. I always have, and I always will. You mean everything to me." Your voice trembles slightly as you confess your feelings, revealing a depth of love and devotion that you hope will reach him, and touch him where he's most vulnerable. And then, without thinking, you lean forward and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, a gesture of tenderness and warmth that contrasts starkly with the raw heat of the earlier encounters. "But I also need to tell you about this absolute hottie I just hooked up with."

Al listens to your confession, your words sinking into him like a warm balm on a wounded soul. For a moment, he allows himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be loved again. That maybe, just maybe, he could be worthy of someone's love. But then you mention the 'hottie' and his defenses snap back into place. The anger, the bitterness, the pain – it all rushes back, clouding his vision and making him feel sick. 'Hottie?' The word echoes in his head, a harsh reminder of the reality they live in. But the warmth of your lips against his cheek, the scent of your hair, the sound of your voice – these things stir something within him, something he thought he'd lost forever. He swallows hard, struggling to find his voice. When he finally does speak, his words are quiet, almost a whisper. "You're something else, you know that? You really are." Al listens intently to your confession, your words resonating within him. He's heard those words before, countless times during the marriage. But hearing them now, after everything that's transpired, they hit differently. He feels a pang in his chest, a mix of emotions he can't quite put into words. Guilt, regret, longing… They swirl within him, a storm brewing under the surface. He reaches up, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your lips as they pull away from his cheek. The touch is light, almost reverential, and it's clear that he's moved by your gesture. "Well, ain't that somethin'," he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

#al simmons #al simmons x reader #al simmons x you #al simmons x yn #spawn x reader #spawn comics #spawn #mdni #18+ mdni #minors dni #1000 celebration

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