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eraenaa · 2 months

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One More Night (Modern AU)

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: You were quick to leave after a one night stand, leaving Aemond dissatisfied, for he wanted so much more. When he found you again, he was sure to never let you go.

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, Grinding, Squirting, Cum Shot, P in V sex, Overstimulation, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Submissive Reader, Not Proofread

Word Count: 3,278

Another night spent in the bar— it was not as if it was your choice. The other nights, yes, it was you who dragged your friends to your favorite spot, but for this particular night, you had planned to spend it alone in your flat. Yet, here you are once more in your third tight dress of the week and fifth drink of the night. Scanning the crowded room for an escape, suddenly growing claustrophobic even though you were happily squeezed with the other bodies the previous nights.

There was an open area to your right, a balcony overlooking the cityscape, and offered the space the dance floor did not provide. But before you headed to the empty space, you went to the bar to order another drink. Your eyes glossed over the room to look for your friends. But instead of locking with familiar eyes, your gaze was captured by the gaze of the lone eye of icy sapphire. Never had you encountered such a gaze— calculating and serious with just the tiniest hint of mirth. You removed your gaze from the man… unnerved and growing cautious as you took your fresh drink and headed out.

You stood by the glass railings, the serene city skyline before you as the music poundeed behind you. You believed you were alone but when a silky deep voice cuts through the dull music, you were proven wrong. “Do you have a light?” He asked, resisting the urge to smirk as he noticed you were slightly startled. Glossed lips parting, unconsciously making Aemond want you more. You were the first girl who caught his attention in a while. The way you almost reluctantly walked into the room with your friends dragging you along was enough for him to grow curious. God, you were gorgeous in your crimson dress and oversized leather jacket that Aemond prayed was not of your boyfriend’s. His eye quickly trailed to your luscious thighs that temptingly pressed together, then to your legs that were clad in your knee-high boots.

“Sorry, I don’t,” You answered as your eyes locked once more, and you were the first one to break contact again, returning your gaze to the skyline. You thought he had left, but you heard the click of a lighter, and the first smoke of a cigarette was quick to follow. You turned to the man with silver hair and a sapphire eye, his leather eye patch making him fearsome yet utterly attractive. “You have a lighter,” You said as he threaded closer, standing beside you, his other hand holding a cold glass. “I do,” He answered, gazing downward. You knit your brows. “Then why would you…” You trailed, confused.

Aemond shrugged; he had never felt the need to approach someone so openly and first. He usually waited for the others to come to him. But there was something about you that made Aemond feel the need to approach you first. “Needed an excuse to speak with you,” He said, finally letting his smirk slip as he noticed that a blush bloomed on your cheeks, matching the color of your dress. You hummed and tried hard to appear unaffected by his tactics, but it was hard. Never had you been so attracted to someone— a strange no less. Just looking at him made your body turn warm.

Things were quick to escalate. One moment, you and Aemond were engaging in conversation on the balcony of the club, then the next, he led you to the bar for another drink, until finally, you found yourself leaning in to kiss him. A kiss that only left both of you wanting more, and who were you to deny your bodies what they needed?

Aemond was quick to open the door of his flat and pull you in, pushing you against the wall to kiss your lips again. Pinning you up and grounding your hips against each other, finding friction that both of you desperately sought. You were distraught as Aemond placed kisses on your neck… you had never been in this situation before. You never had a one-night stand before. You thought it would not be enjoyable for you— that you could not sleep with a stranger that you met in the bar. But as Aemond cupped your breast and placed his knee in between your legs and met your cunt, you knew that you would have been collecting one-night stands like trophies if all of them were as good as Aemond. And to think, you haven’t had him inside you yet.

“Fuck… look at you, grinding on my thigh, so fucking desperate to be fucked by a stranger?” Aemond hummed with a vicious smirk as he moved his knee upward to create more pressure just to see the look of utter pleasure on your face. “Yes… Oh god,” you muttered, fastening the pace of your hips as you were so near your release. But a whine left your lips as Aemond cruelly removed his knee between your thighs. Backing away slightly, leaving you unsatisfied and wholly wanting for more. “Aemond,” You whined, but he only relished at your complaint—a chuckle leaving his lips before kissing you once again. “You’ll come when I say you come,” Aemond whispered against your lips, his eye growing dark, his hold on your waist growing tight. A whimper left your lips, and Aemond relished the sound of it.

“Do you want to come, hm, baby?” Aemond asked and tucked a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. “Only good girls get to come… will you be a good girl for me?” You nod your head fervently as his hand trailed upward your thigh, teasing you as his finger would lightly graze your cunt. “Words, sweetheart,” Aemond hummed. “Yes,” You quickly said. Aemond raised his brow as his hand trailed higher— making you think that he’d finally settle his touches on the part that needed it the most. “Yes, what?” He asked. “Yes, Aemond,” You answered, wanting to feel pressure and friction on your sex again. “No, try again,” Your lips parted, and brows knitted once more. “Yes, what?” Aemond asked once more.

“Yes…” You trailed as you scanned his eye for an answer. “…daddy?” You guessed and were quick to moan as his hand cupped your cunt that was dripping with your needy essence. “Good girl.” Aemond hummed and let his fingers draw circles on your cloth-covered cunt. You moaned aloud as you found someone who had the same sexual interest as you… someone who had forced your hidden desires out and would present you with your deepest sexual fantasy that you were ashamed of.

Aemond pulled you off the wall and dragged you to his bedroom. Him sitting on the bed, leaving you to stand and pulling you between his parted legs. “You’re my good girl, yes?” Aemond asked, now the one to look up at you. His hands trailed your body and rested at your backside, gripping your flesh firmly. “Yes, Daddy,” You answered, and Aemond hummed at how responsive you were. The others he brought home in the past just didn’t understand what he wanted— what he needed, greatly discouraging him from playing out his desires. But here you were… so obliging and obedient, the perfect match.

“Prove it.” Aemond stated, “Strip,” he added. You licked your lips as hesitancy peaked through— but you were determined to ignore it as you moved to undo your dress, letting it pool on the floor, leaving you in your undergarments. You kept your eyes stead on Aemond as you reached back and unhooked your brasserie, letting it fall and exposing yourself to the man you’d met mere hours before. “Fucking hell,” Aemond muttered under his breath, not able to resist and cup the ampleness of your tits, his thumb teasing the pebbled buds. You bent down to remove your boots next, but Aemond prevented you from doing so. “Keep them on,” he ordered, and you nodded. “Whatever you want, Daddy,” You answered and relished as a groan left his throat. “Fucking perfect,” He muttered as you embodied all he ever wanted.

“You’re being such a good girl… you really want to come, huh, baby?” He hummed as he massaged your tits. “Mhm… yes, Daddy. I want you to make me come so bad,” You moaned as his fingers pinched the sensitive buds in unison. “Then kneel,” You did as told and watched Aemond undo the zipper of his trousers, expectingly waiting on his cock, relishing when it was finally revealed. God… he was beautiful. “Show me how a good girl you are and suck daddy’s dick… make daddy come on that pretty face if you want to come over and over again tonight,” You wasted no time and took his shaft in your hand, placing your tongue flat on its base and slowly licking upward, noting that mere action alone had left Aemond’s breathing staggered and his cock already twitching in your hands.

Aemond let out a low moan as you bobbed your head on his length, the tip of him hitting the back of your throat perfectly, and your soft hand massaged his balls. Aemond could no longer hold it in, pulling out of your mouth and positioning his cock to come all over your face, just as he promised. He breathed heavily as he watched you gratefully grin and use your fingers to gather his seed and bring it to your mouth, licking it clean. “Was I a good girl, Daddy?” You asked innocently, still kneeling before him, eyes wide and imploring him to say yes. “The best fucking girl there is,” he growled, pulling you to straddle his lap and kiss your lips once more.

“So fucking eager,” Aemond said in-between kisses as you his grounded at his soft length that was quick to harden once more by the feeling of your cunt atop it. “I want my reward… please, Daddy, you promised,” You said and moved your hips faster, now utterly desperate for your own release. You squeaked as Aemond stood, tossing you to lay on the bed and placing himself between your leather-clad legs that his hands forced apart. “So, so pretty,” Aemond hummed as you lay completely exposed to him. Your fingers playing with the buds of your tits whilst your cunt begged for his touch.

Without warning, Aemond dipped his head down and met his lips with your cunt. Eagerly lapping at the folds, sucking art the bud, and darting his tongue out to tease your entrance. You bit your lip harshly, not wanting to be loud, guessing it would not be appreciated by his neighbors. Aemond furrowed his brows as he was doing his best work eating your cunt, but all he could get was a whimper and strained moan. Your breathing shallowed as the wrapped arms on your thighs tightened their hold. Aemond looking up at you with glazed eyes. “Do not hold back your moans.” He ordered as he saw you harshly bitting your lip, only making it more plump and tempting to kiss. “Let me hear how good I make you feel,”

Aemond smirked and continued his torment as you were quick to do as you were told, finally spewing your heavenly moans that were music to ears. That made the blood in him somehow stream faster; his heart beat louder, and his cock so much harder than it had ever been. If just hearing your moans could elicit such a reaction from him, Aemond could not wait to feel the whole of you. Have himself buried deep in your sweet cunt and have you scream his name. Aemond saw the telltale sign that you were about to reach your peak as your legs that rested comfortably on his shoulders started to tremble. “Daddy�� I’m—I’m,” Words could not be comprehended as you were so close to the peak that you had been craving for the whole night. “Is my girl gonna come?” Aemond cooed as he abruptly pushed a finger in you, making your eyes roll back and your body arch in surprise. “Yes… yes!” You cried as you were on the edge, “Come.” Aemond ordered, watching you squirm on his bed, his fingers being coated with your essence.

But even as you came, Aemond did not his torment; his lips still sucked on your nubbin, and his tongue would vibrate on the sensitive bud, making you cry out. Tears would stream at the side of your face as it was all too much. “Aemond— I— No,” Aemond shook his head disapprovingly, switching his tongue for his other hand to continue to draw circles on your cunt. “Not Aemond, sweetheart,” He taunted as you tried to squirm away. Quickly retrieving his fingers that were inside you, licking them clean first before using them to keep you in place. “Daddy— please, stop! It’s too much!” You cried as you were about to reach uncharted territory— a place Aemond wanted you to reach.

Aemond savored the sound of your cunt reaching another high— spraying liquid all over Aemond’s bed, but he did not at all mind. He looked at you, fisting the sheets, eyes still rolled back. He called upon your name but you did not respond, too lost in the pleasure that you were so desperate for. Already exhausted, Aemond had pushed you over the edge, overstimulating you. It was a miracle you did not black out in pleasure. Aemond moved atop you, kissing your lips that were swollen and red—letting your slick skin tangle each other, brushing away the hairs that clung to your neck.

“Is that what you wanted, my pretty girl?” Aemond hummed, moving his lips to pepper kissed on the upper part of your chest, resisting the urge to suck at your nipples because he knew you needed a moment to recompose yourself. “Yes,” You breathed out after a while, Aemond chuckling at the time it took for his words to register in your pretty little head. “Do you still want more?” Aemond asked, nipping at your neck, leaving a mark that would make you think of him each time you saw it. You swallowed thickly and licked your lips before answering. “Yes, Daddy, I want so much more,” You answered, making Aemond feel he had truly found his match.

Aemond smashed your lips and glided the tip of his cock against your folds, making you moan against his lips. “I want it, Daddy— I want you so bad,” You uttered as you felt a hint of hesitancy in him. Your lips parted as Aemond obliged your wants. God, he was huge. It was a rather good thing that Aemond had prepared you ever so much because if it weren’t for your two orgasms, you doubted that he’d even fit. “So fucking tight— such a good girl taking all of daddy,” Aemond praised, and you could only moan as that made your walls tighten and, in turn, made Aemond moan as well. “You like being praised, huh? Don’t you, my pretty girl?” Aemond bit his lip as you clenched around him once more— if he had less self-control, he could have come already. You nodded your head, “Yes, Daddy, thank you, Daddy,” You answered as Aemond cupped your cheek, finally moving in and out of you.

“My good little girl, so responsive and so grateful,” Aemond grunted. God, he was already close but could not let himself come until he coaxed another one from you. Aemond licked his tongue as his eye was locked in on you, placing his finger flat on your nubbin once more, rubbing it to aid you along to another orgasm. Aemond groaned as he watched your eyes roll back again, your back arching and creating a different sensation for Aemond, who pounded in and out of you. “Oh… daddy— it’s so good, you’re so good!” You cried as you felt the familiar coil in your abdomen. “Is my good girl going to come again? Hm?” Aemond asked and fastened his pace, no longer having restraint. “Yes, Daddy— please, can I come? Please?” You asked permission first. Aemond loudly groaned as he didn’t even have to ask you to do that. God, you were utterly perfect— the personification of all he wanted.

You tiptoed around the room, trying to gather your clothes as Aemond lay sound asleep on his bed. You’ve never had a one-night stand before, but guessing by its title, it meant that one should leave before the following day. Aemond tossed around, and you quickly wore your jacket and completely disregarded your search for your underwear. Clutching your boots to your chest, you sneaked your way out of his bedroom and eventually out of his flat.

Aemond woke a few moments later, his arm reaching for the warm body that clung to him last night. Wanting to feel the softness of the girl he had decided would be more than just a mere one-night stand. Aemond furrowed his brow as the left side of his bed was empty and partly cold. He sat up and called your name, quickly going to his feet and searching for you in his bathroom; it was empty. He walked nakedly to his living room, and no trace of you was to be seen; only now did he realize that you had left without even a goodbye or a note. It was early in the morning, but Aemond’s mood was already at its worst.

A week had passed, and Aemond was growing desperate to find you once more. It was cruel of you to give him the best moments of his life and just abruptly leave. He found himself frequenting the bar you two had met. His eye steady on the door each night, willing it would be you to enter next. It was his fifth night in the bar; hope was wearing thin. He was entertaining the possibility of just picking up a random girl just for the sake of it— knowing he’d imagine that it be you he was fucking instead. He was growing tired of pleasuring himself through the night; he lewdly needed the feel of an actual cunt.

Aemond downed his drink as his eye glanced over a girl who had been staring at him the entire night. He sighed heavily as he knew he had no other choice than to let himself settle for another night of mediocre sex… nothing would compare to the night he had you. But before he could approach the girl, his eye flew to the balcony once more. Aemond’s stomach pitted, and he blinked rapidly as he thought his eye had deceived him, that his desperation for you had led him to hallucinate. Aemond forgot everything around him, threading closer to the space where you and he first met, praying to whatever deity that it was really you who stood by the balcony once more.

Aemond hasn’t called for you yet, but you have already turned. The same eyes he had been longing to look into, the same lips he had been fantasizing all week now before him. You smile sheepishly at him, not expecting to see him once more, “Hi… daddy,” You whispered lowly at Aemond, who was still enveloped with shock. When he made no answer, you stepped forward with a furrowed brow; it was then Aemond regained himself, pulling you close to him and kissing your lips like a man starved. Arms tightly wrapped around your waist.

He found his perfect match again and swore to himself that he’d never let you go.

#house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond modern au #one night stand

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tommykinard6 · 10 days

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Should I be eating and resting? Yes. Am I? No, so come join me for a dissertation on Tommy Kinard being lonely.

Edit to add a note since I saw a reblog about it: Tommy has no canonical age right now and Lou is 39, 40 later this year, so that is my basis for saying he’s 39.

Now when I say lonely, I don’t mean that he has no one whatsoever. I can picture him going for drinks with his team or having some Muay Thai buddies that he could call up if he really was inclined. Maybe an old army buddy or two.

But there’s something about Tommy that’s just achingly lonely, both when he was at the 118 and now at Harbor.

Tommy had a broken home, or some other kind of unstable childhood. Maybe his parents split, maybe he was mistreated, maybe he was in the system or was passed around family members. Maybe he was isolated as a child because he was a little overweight (I think Lou said something along those lines) and was bullied. I think Tommy didn’t really have any friends until high school, when puberty hit and maybe he started working out and probably joined the football team. I don’t know if anyone remembers what teenage boys are like, but I can imagine they were the same as they are today back in the 90s/early 00’s. Because around this time, Tommy might’ve started to realize that something was very different about him.

Now this isn’t a meta about how I think Tommy dealt with his sexuality (maybe I’ll do one of those later) but I think he never would’ve risked his football friends knowing even if he himself could acknowledge it, which I doubt. So he messed around, got in trouble with these guys, hung out with the bros, and pretended to be interested in girl talk.

Of course, eventually, his buddies all got girlfriends and he was always the odd one out again.

He didn’t do college. The army was his next step. And I feel like this might have been the first time in his life he wasn’t lonely. He’d learned to blend in by this point and he worked with some great people. But as he started making real friends for the first time, he also started losing them as the war tore them away.

Tommy left the army and joined the fire department. There was an aching hole where the camaraderie of the army had filled previously and with no education beyond a high school diploma, Tommy thought the fire department would replicate that. Not the police though. He’d had enough of guns.

(And ohhhh now so many ideas on his thoughts during the sniper)

But he ended up at the 118 and quickly realized that his team had maybe more of a DADT stance than the army. He realized that he had to put on an elaborate act to fool his fellow firefighters, who had more time on their hands and more prejudice they were willing to wield to pick apart his life. Tommy, who maybe had only just started to acknowledge he felt differently about guys with less panic than before, had no choice but to backslide. He acted and acted and crafted a person he wasn’t until the day that maybe he was. Sal was his closest buddy at the 118 and Tommy had no doubt that Sal would be one of the first to make his life hell. Gerrard seemed to look at Tommy as some sort of mentee. Boxed in by two notorious bigots, Tommy had never felt more claustrophobically alone.

Chim was the first one to reach out a hand of friendship, or at least the first one that didn’t come with caution tape, but he was also an “other” and Tommy, who was confused and afraid and had just had his captain call his bluff on his fake girlfriend, lashed out. Then he allowed Chim in and Chim wasn’t interested in being besties but he was a great drinking buddy and movie buddy and Tommy felt safest around him.

Then Hen came and Tommy watched her get the same treatment he was afraid of. Not that he had to worry about the racism, and he was aware of the privilege, but Hen didn’t exactly hide herself and he watched them bully his lesbian coworker. He let himself get pulled into it all and hated himself for it, but was too cowardly to break away from it. He wasn’t sure why Hen had forgiven him, but she became the only other person on shift he felt even a little safe around other than Howie. But then Chimney and Hen became best friends and Tommy fell to the wayside. They still included him, sure, but they were always a pair and there was something there that Tommy didn’t know but longed for. A closeness he’d never felt.

A best friend. A juvenile idea to him, but one he’d never truly had.

Then Gerrard was gone and Sal got transferred and the 118 moved forward under Captain Nash, but Tommy felt left behind, even in what was the most united A shift team yet. Because he was over 30 and was starting to be unable to ignore everything that he’d had to hide under Gerrard, as he no longer had a distraction from it.

He’d been a pilot in the army, so he transferred to Harbor. And Harbor was great. He wasn’t best buds with anyone (he was starting to think that was never in the cards for him) but his team didn’t carry the same baggage that the 118 had.

So Tommy started to come to terms with himself. He started to date for the first time and came out to his team. And he had several boyfriends, but most couldn’t handle the job or his baggage or the desperate need he had to be wanted. His most long term partner cheated and the one he fell hardest for couldn’t deal when Tommy was injured on the job. Even within his own relationships, he felt like he was destined to stand alone.

Tommy was 39 years old and alone, as always, when Chimney walked back into his life, dragging an adorable and also extremely hot blonde and a stoic brunette that radiated ex military in a way only ex military could know. And then Hen was there and they were trying to rescue their captain and his wife and they clearly loved each other fiercely and like family.

And as Tommy listened, flying through the remnants of a cat 5 hurricane, he thought to himself that he should’ve never left. Simply just never found himself if only that meant being part of the family the 118 was now. However, he knew deep down that he still would’ve been alone and on the outside.

And they rescued the survivors and Tommy thought that was it but then Eddie wanted to hang out. And they liked the same things and had similar experiences and Tommy couldn’t help the hope. Because the loneliness had grown stifling and now he could breathe a little. And then Evan, the cute blonde, wanted a tour of the hanger and he thought that maybe he was being hit on.

And then at the end of it all, Tommy was left realizing that he’d wedged himself between two best friends and that was what happened when he allowed himself to hope. So he went to Evan to apologize. He would get Evan and Eddie to talk to each other and then would fade into the background.

But then Evan was sweet and apologetic and told him that he was part of the 118 family simply by helping them. Tommy couldn’t help it. Here he was, at 39, with a little boy still waiting inside of him to be soothed. And Evan was hot and sweet and Tommy couldn’t help himself.

And he really liked Evan. Evan was adorable. But their first date didn’t go as planned and Tommy knew he was already whipped. So he removed himself before someone could get hurt. Evan deserved better and so did he, even if the loneliness was stifling again.

But then Evan texted him and looked at him with sparkling blue eyes over too sweet coffee and wanted him. Him. He wanted Tommy and to have something with Tommy and he wanted him to come to his sister’s wedding with him.

And Tommy looked at him and saw someone who could finally fill the ache he’d felt his whole life. He saw a man who he knew he wanted to take a chance with. All he had to do was jump.

And he did.

And it wasn’t solved, not immediately and never fully. Too many wounds were left gaping for too long to ever heal. But for the first time in his life, at 39, with the 118 surrounding him and Buck as the sunshine at his side, Tommy finally felt at peace.

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puckarchives · 3 months

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making it through july: l. hughes

blurb: moments in june, falling in love and getting put back together by luke. / word count: 2.2k / pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader / tw: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks; general anxiety about getting older and change. part two to "moments in june"

“The movie is my mind is blue — / As June runs into warm July / I think of little else but you.” (Wendy Cope, From June to December.)

When the heat of June melted into the sticky sensation of July, the summer felt almost claustrophobic; the feeling of freedom you had tried to play off as being permanent, while the remainder of the month looming took center stage: a rush of anxiety, of worry, and of anger at the closing of summer.

Now, as you stood at the kitchen island inside the lake house, Luke draped over the sofa with the fan pointed directly at him, you could see the toll the summer had taken on your boy, as well. The once pale skin he wore now a tan, the beauty marks dusted on his cheeks and neck now surrounded by smatterings of freckles — reminders of the kisses you had once laid on that same expanse of skin.

Despite how much you hated to admit it — how much you hated to let the overwhelming feeling of wrongness take over your senses, you knew it was time; time for a conversation between the two of you of what July really meant. For you, July was a marker of anxiety; of homesickness for the boy who was merely six feet away from you, burdened by the same fear you were overcome with during the semester, when the nights of studying, of feeling overwhelmed and as if you would never finished, felt like they’d never truly stop.

It was those nights that spiked the feeling of missing this version of Luke: of missing the way he’d grab your hand, entwining your fingers even if he didn’t mean it. Of the soft touch he’d leave at the back of your neck, his fingers ghosting over the trails of kisses he’d leave when no one else saw him, where the only salvation he ever claimed to know was the taste of your skin. Now, the only taste you could sense was the taste of disappointment; an ash-like memory of the anxiety of being away — a fear that you could feel weeks before you even had to leave. In a way, it was your body preparing you for the pain — the rush of discomfort, of lonely and cold nights, and of resentment in a way.

Now, though, as you walked towards Luke’s lounging form, the boy looked up — opening his eyes and meeting yours as you laid the glass of water and plate of snacks on the coffee table in front of him, and as he sat up to make space for you on the couch — scooting his body away to let you soak up both the warmth of his own body, and the fresh air blowing straight at the both of you. He smiled softly, his curls sleep-addled and his muscles relaxed. In a way, for every single one of your worries, Luke combatted it with his own ability to remain calm — to soak up the same sun you stood by worrying would be gone much too soon.

“Luke?” you asked quietly. He only cocked his head a bit — already being able to mark the tension your body held, and that you carried. As you sat next to him, he stopped you before you could fully reach the couch — instead, stretching out his own legs to they stretched the length of the couch, and where he maneuvered you to sit between his legs — pulling your back to his chest, and working his way fro your hands, to your forearms, to your shoulders with his hands, dragging the tips of his fingers, calloused and scarred from his job, to trail up your body.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he began, his voice cutting through your own stupor. Could he, though? Was he really able to tell that you felt like you were ripping at the seams, so caught up in your own fear of change? Of losing the moments you held on to so dearly?

Almost as if he could sense your thoughts, he nodded, despite the fact that you couldn’t see him. “Yes, I’ve seen it, baby. The way you’ve decided you aren’t allowed to enjoy the rest of our time here because of the fear of what comes after this. Of what comes after June and July and August,” he said quietly. How was it that this boy could read you so well? How could he so easily peel apart the layers of yourself you had tried so hard to keep together?

You could only nod, laying as close to him as you could, and not trying to quell the tears that dripped out. You couldn’t keep pretending like it was fine — like the toll your body was working with was okay anymore. Instead, you let Luke speak — let him drag your hair away from your face, running his fingers through the strands.

“Look, pretty girl, this is what’s going to happen — and before you say anything, before you let the fear overtake every single thought in that pretty little head of yours, I need you to listen to me first, okay?” he asked. “When July is over, we have until August — until you’re so sick of me. When we leave, when I go back to Newark and you go back to Michigian, we’re going to be okay,” he continued.

“We’re going to make it through the summer, and then we’re going to make it through fall and winter, and then spring again. You’re going to go back to school and work your ass off, but you’re going to set boundaries for yourself, we both are, because baby, I refuse to let you worry about this again. Y/N, I love you — since you laughed at my stupid jokes, and since you made my entire family love you, I knew you were mine, and I never want you to doubt that. But, when July ends, I want you to go back knowing that I am always going to be here. Me loving you doesn’t just stop because July comes around,” he finished.

He wrapped his arms around your chest, enveloping your arms in his — he was right. Just because June had bled into July, just because your worry had transformed into a more immediate thing, did not mean that Luke was going to simply disappear; Luke, for all of your worries or your anxieties, was not the summer. He wasn’t simply a month that would come and go every year, but the man who had loved you since he saw you — the man who would put himself and his needs just to take care of you and yours first — something he had proved time and time again. The truth was that Luke was the boy you wanted to spend your Junes and Julys with, who you wanted to watch the summer bleed into the fall with, and who you wanted to continue loving; just because July was here didn’t mean the love between the two of you was as fluttering.

For so long you had forced yourself to see the changing of months as markers for your relationships — for how those around you would treat you; how they would make your time feel almost limited when the summer was over, but with Luke, that changed. With Luke, whether it was June or July, you’d be loved.

“It’s July and I have hope in who I am becoming.” (Charlotte Eriksson, Everything Changed When I Forgave Myself.)

For all of his quirks — his inability to cook, his bad habit of always leaving his dirty shirts on the rim of the hamper instead of inside, or always leaving his keys everywhere, Luke was truly the partner of your dreams — so you tried your best to ensure that you were just as supportive and assuring as he was when he needed the opportunity to breath — to calm the raging storm that you knew was constant in his head. Luke was always there for you — always a sure hand, always a solid companion, and the one individual who knew what you needed the moment you asked.

Knowing this, you still felt your heart clench the moment you felt Luke creep out of your shared bed close to 3AM — unlatching himself from where his arms were encasing you, and where you heard his footsteps retreating from the bedroom, and dwindling down the stairs — hearing the give of the wood under his own large frame as he tried his best to be quiet, and not wake his sleeping brothers.

You did your best to give him some space; despite the fact that you needed to be encased in comfort when you were anxious, Luke wasn’t like that — he needed space, and then he wanted to comfort — needing the reminder that he was solid, and that you were unmoving as well. Turning into the warmth that he left on his side of the bed, you counted from one to sixty ten times; giving him, at the very least, ten minutes to take what he needed before you helped him, as well.

Once you finished counting, you sprang out of bed, sleep be damned. Your boy needed you, and you wouldn’t disappoint him.

Making your way down the stairs — making sure to skip the bottom step so it wouldn’t creak, you walked out to the porch, where you could see Luke’s frame illuminated by the porch lights, small patio lights the two of you had put up at the beginning of the summer. You could see the wide expanse of his back — toned and fit from all of his hours training, almost caving in on himself. Luke, for all his glory, was as anxious as you were, but instead of isolation, he tried to make himself smaller — to fit into the rle he had played for so long as the youngest child.

As you walked outside, you could hear his silent sobs; the shaking of his shoulders a dead giveaway. As you joined him, sitting next to him on the porch, you reached out and put a hand on his shoulder — shaking him up a bit, but ultimately feeling as he turned directly into you, and simply hugged you — enveloping the entirety of your body and dragging you up to your tip-toes as he hugged you, and as he sobbed into your shoulder.

To offer him some sort of reprieve, you rubbed his back slowly — giving him the ability to take the time to let it all out, because as much as Luke knew you, you also knew him — and you knew he had been keeping this in for a while.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay, sweet boy,” you whispered, now running your hands through his hair. “Whatever it is, your brain is playing mean tricks on you. You’re so worthy, and smart, and I am so endlessly proud of you, hmm?” you said, trying to offer as much comfort to the boy as possible.

As Luke’s cries subsided, he brought his face away from your shoulder quickly, and, through a tear-stricken voice, explained the toll that the months had on him, too. “It’s just — I see the toll that this takes on you; that I take on you, and I don’t want to keep hurting you, baby. I can’t keep hurting you,” he whispered, and at that moment, if you hadn’t been outside and the lake hadn’t been less than a hundred yards away, you would've thought you could hear the distinct sound of your own heart breaking into a million tiny pieces; fragments that Luke himself had put together, but that broke again hearing his say that.

Yes, you were anxious, and it did tend to take a toll on you, but it wasn’t his fault — and neither was it something he could fix. You were so proud of Luke — of the fact that he was out there, chasing his dreams and making his own name because of his talent and skill. Did you miss him? Absolutely, but you didn’t want to be the reason he gave up his dreams — the reason he hated doing what he loved.

“Luke, look at me, please,” you pleaded quietly, holding his face and cupping the right side of his face. “None of this is your fault, do you understand me? You have done nothing wrong but wait all summer for me to be myself, and because of you, I have. I’ve had the best weeks of my life here, with you, and I don’t give a fuck if its June or July or fucking December, because you taught me now to,” you started.

“Luke Warren Hughes, I don’t care if it’s the middle of July or it’s January, you are mine, you hear me? You aren’t hurting me or causing me any pain; in fact, it’s the exact opposite — you’ve been the only reason I’ve smiled in so long, and I love you for that,” you whispered, still holding on to him, nodding and making sure he copied your actions — you’d drill this into his head even if it gave you vertigo.

Luke could only look up at you — his face tear-stricken, his curls plastered to his head, and the echoes of pain in his eyes. He nodded, looking at you, before once again bringing you into a hug. You loved him, and fuck if it was July or August; the summer wouldn’t be a deadline or a reminder, but just a change of page. Because, right now, despite being the beginning of July, you still felt like you’d been in love with him for much more than a summer.

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #new jersey devils #nhl imagine #nj devils #hughes brothers #nhl blurb #luke hughes is a sap #making it through july — moments in june #anxiety is okay!!!#please make sure you have a support system i love you

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milkteamoon · 1 year

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Jon doesn’t think he has a fear of doors — entamaphobia, or whatever you call it (and yes, it’s a thing, he’s done more than a few simple google searches about the subject). It’s not that doors themselves are particularly the issue here. They’re just wood, they’re not a particularly terrifying shape, they’re not going to grow teeth and try to eat people like they did in that one movie he’d watched with Georgie years ago, and he’s not an agoraphobe. Or a claustrophobe. Or any other type of -phobe that is seemingly linked to fear of doors, which he doesn’t have, mind you, because it’s not the door itself.

Georgie had once asked if it had something to do with the uncertainty. Something about “not knowing what’s on the other side”; something with a simple cause and a simple answer. He’d had to explain it to her a bit after she’d found him standing outside of her flat near midnight, just the same as he’d been doing for the past two hours, all because he couldn’t bring himself to raise his goddamn fist and knock like a normal person; of course, that hadn’t been the first time, but he doesn’t tell her that. He doesn’t tell her about sleeping in the hallway as a child after the wind had blown his bedroom door closed when he’d gone for water. About missing so many classes in high school they’d called his grandmother, because his teacher kept closing the door before he’d get there. About having to go buy new clothes because he couldn’t bear to open his fucking closet after he’d accidentally knocked the door shut, and god does he know just how irrational he sounds. It’s stupid that he’s like this. It’s downright ridiculous. And yet... and yet, and yet, and yet —

So: when Jon moves in, he gets his own key to their flat. Mr. Spider’s doors don’t have locks, he tells himself, so Mr. Spider can’t come in. That makes sense, right? If Jon has rules, then so does Mr. Spider. If Jon has a key, then he doesn’t have to knock, and if he doesn’t have to knock, then Mr. Spider can’t come through. Georgie keeps the rest of the doors open — when he’s home, at least — and Jon thinks he must be the only person in the world who feels safer seeing the darkened living room from their bed.

When Jon moves out, he takes his key with him and trades it in for a new studio flat. Less doors, you see, nothing but the bathroom and the closet, both of which he wedges open with a cheap pack of rubber doorstops; it’s easier if he can see in. If he can see into the room before he pulls the door open, then Mr. Spider can’t be hiding inside, right? It makes sense. He knows it does.

He gets a new job and starts waking up at six in the morning just so he can get there when most of the other employees arrive, so he can rush through with them or catch some poor sap’s eye who hangs behind long enough to hold the door for him, just to be polite. Jon acts polite back and tells them thank you. He always waits until he’s seen at least three go inside, because he knows Mr. Spider takes his meals in small portions. It makes sense. It has to. If he was so hungry, then he’d have taken Jon too all those years ago, and not just maybe-Daniel-Michael-Thomas as his lonely guest for dinner. Is he still there, he wonders sometimes, seated at Mr. Spider’s table? Jon doesn’t know. He doesn’t dare to find out.

He likes his job. He likes his coworkers. He likes his desk with no walls, dumped in the middle of a messy bullpen. He likes Mr. Bouchard, he thinks, strange as he is, who keeps his office door open so that Jon doesn’t have to knock when he goes to him for questions. “Open door policy,” he’d mentioned once during Jon’s training, and nodded at him like he Knew some secret between them. Jon knows that Mr. Bouchard doesn’t. That doesn’t stop him from being grateful.

And then...

And then —

And then Jon gets a promotion.

Jon moves out of research. Jon gets rid of his old desk. Jon gets a new office — a private one, Mr. Bou- er, Elias, ensures him cheerfully — one where he won’t be disturbed during work, because this office comes with a door. An old door. One that creaks something awful when it’s first pushed open, and no amount of rubber stoppers will stop it from closing on its own. How professional, Jon wants to laugh, but he knows it will come out like a sob. How ridiculous that he’s tried so hard, and yet he always seems to end up at square one.

And the thing is? Jon knows it’s just a door.

Of course he does. He’s not stupid. It’s- it’s just a door — just wood and metal and oil for the hinges — there’s nothing special about it, there’s nothing he can’t see on the other side through the little window that displays the rest of the bullpen. He says that he’ll manage. He thanks Elias for the opportunity. He can’t very well turn down a promotion just because his new office has a bloody door on it, no matter how much that childhood instinct screams at him to run away, get away, get far enough away.

The window helps, for the most part, but he still tells his assistants not to knock. Cites something stupid about how it will ruin his recordings if they do. They seem to buy it just fine and get in the habit of simply coming in when they need him — or at least, Tim and Sasha do. Martin, of course, forgets this rule about a week after Jon tells them, and Jon’s certain the panic attack he gives him is justification enough to have the man transferred back to the library. If Jon could report him about it. Could admit that the half hour he spends in the restroom afterwards is because he’s trying not to throw up from terror and not because he just ate something bad, but he realizes who sounds like the irrational one here.

So he manages.

He manages.

It’s simple if he breaks it down. There are steps and rules and lines that he doesn’t cross. That Mr. Spider doesn’t cross. They have an agreement, he thinks, to some extent, because while Jon didn’t invite himself to dinner all those years ago, he still invited someone. That makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense. An old favor. Don’t knock. Don’t open the door. Don’t knock. Don’t open. Don’t knock. Don’t —

Someone’s knocking on his office door.

A crisp, simple knock knock, just like anyone would do before a closed door. A common courtesy. A meaningless gesture. A chance for him to open on his own time, if he’s busy, but that doesn’t stop the jolt of ice from shooting up his spine.

Jon knows it isn’t his assistants. He knows, he can see them, all sitting at their desks shuffling through papers and boxes like he’d told them. No, it’s Elias at his door, with his neatly tailored suit and wristwatch that he checks as he waits. He can’t see Jon, but Jon can see him. Just like Jon can’t see Mr. Spider, but Mr. Spider can see him. Funny how that works, isn’t it? Doesn’t really make much sense.

The knock comes again, two quick raps, and Jon has a choice to make. It’s Elias at the door, not Mr. Spider. He stands up. He walks over. He places his hand on the knob. It’s Elias behind it. He can see this. He knows this.

The thing is, Jon’s never been afraid of the door itself.

The thing is, he thinks Mr. Spider knows this too.

Jon opens the door.

Elias looks up, meets his eyes, and then smiles.

“Ah, Jonathan,” he says pleasantly, “just came to see how you’re settling in.”

#anyway. ANYWAY.#tma #file this under: random motifs I'm oddly passionate about #sorry this was meant to be a meta post but it turned into creative writing. idk what came over me #my writing #the magnus archives

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nico-is-a-corn-plant · 2 months

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Assigning the foxes fear entities cause I have brain worms.

Neil Josten - The Hunt

Went a bit back and forth because hunt avatars are usually the hunter not the huntee but then I remembered that ep in season five about the hunt and paranoia. A slightly untraditional hunt avatar for sure but what is more hunt than not knowing what you are outside of it?

Could also see the eye but he's not obsessed enough about Knowing

Andrew Minyard - The Web

Being controlled? Lack of free will? Plus the addiction angel? Like Come on. As an extra bonus the addiction was forced upon him which just makes it even more web coded. Those with the most need for control are usually the ones that have had it stripped away.

I also played around with the spiral for a hot sec.

Kevin Day - The Buried

TSomething about being trapped your whole life only to get out and then having to fight the instinct to crawl back to the comfort of the known. The nest was underground with no natural sunlight, gotta make dude a bit claustrophobic. But also the fear of no longer being trapped, Kevin Day what you do to my brain.

Aaron Minyard - The Desolation

They say Andrew is the one with the anger issues but we all know it's actually Aaron. Aaron just perfectly embody being afraid of loss and chaneling that through anger and destruction. Also remember that self destruction is also destruction.

Nicky Hemmick - The Spiral

Conversion therapy, need I say more? Growing up with parents that think he's deranged and a sinner? That he's sick? Plus the whole throat of delusion incarnate thing. His lying may not be as obvious as Neil's but that boy is hiding his pain behind jokes and we all know it.

Renée Walker - The Slaughter

Renée both fears and takes comfort in the fact that she is capable of great violence. She is dangerous, she knows this, she knows this but she hates it. She comes from a place of unpredictable and senseless violence. What really sells this one for me is the musical motifs this seemingly beautiful and gentle thing that hides slaughter.

Allison Reynolds - The Corruption

Her relationship with Seth for one, her lack of relationships with her parents for two. Wanting to be loved, wanting to be wanted. The persona she wears free of imperfections, free of rot. The classic mean girl toxicity. The bulimia, making yourself sick to escape a perceived sickness.

Matt Boyd - The Lonely

My man is a child of divorce. All the love to randy but she has an irregular work schedule which left him with his dad who is......not great. Matt is generally presented as a friendly and outgoing guy but then again so was Martin.

Dan Wilds - The Slaughter

I would love to have everyone have their own entity but Dan fucked it up. She gives me Melanie vibes. Having to fight tooth and nail to be respected. The feminine rage of it all. The righteous anger. Finally being in power.

As you can see the longer down you go the more iffy my justification gets but oh well. Do you agree? Disagree? Is this to niche of a crossover?

#the magnus archives #tma #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #renee walker #allison reynolds #matt boyd #dan wilds #just realized i forgot seth but who gives a shit #fear entities

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magicalbats · 4 months

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We Turn Not Older: Layla

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 3136

Warnings: Afab!reader but no gendered language, mentions of cunnilingus, scissoring

A/N: with a few minutes to spare, I'm actually on time with this one! Amazing!

⭐

Layla’s dorm is almost claustrophobically small and cluttered with astrology equipment, but it is also decidedly cozy. You knew you liked it as soon as you’d stepped through the door hours ago, when it was still daylight. Now it was dark. The cracks around the shuttered window on the far wall let in no light at all but you have no idea where she might have a clock sitting around to check the time. Not that it really mattered right now. You were much too comfortable lying in bed together, sharing this tight space with her, to even think about getting up and dressing yourself.

Sighing in contentment, you instead roll over onto your side to regard the other girl. She’d drifted off to sleep some time ago after just a single round of going down on her and you now had the perfect opportunity to simply study her without fear of putting her on the spot. Honestly, you’d been more than just a little surprised when she first suggested this. You came as soon as you’d received the letter from the mysterious, unnamed scribe who you strongly suspected had been her other half. The other Layla. The one that is not quite so shy or easily flustered, or absent minded. You thought you were talking to her at first, for just a brief moment, but you’d quickly realized that was not the case.

The fact you ended up in a tangle of limbs and sheets almost seems like a distant dream to you. Just something your travel weary mind had cooked up to taunt you with on lonely nights spent out on the road. This hadn’t been your intention or even some sneaky ulterior motive you’d harbored beforehand. But it was her birthday and she’d seemed like she needed it. Badly. After cumming so hard you thought she was going to pass out she’d promptly fallen asleep and you quickly followed suit not along after. It was hard not to start feeling drowsy when your bed partner was snoozing away so soundly.

But she was still quietly snoring and you were awake. Carefully, you reach out to toy with a curled strand of rich dark hair. It’s unbelievably soft and silky between your fingertips. You think you could probably play with it for days without growing bored but even just that simple touch is enough to rouse her from what you’d thought was a deep slumber. With a faint, sleepy groan, Layla turns her head on the pillow to peer over at you.

Offering her a small smile, you drop the strand of hair and it bounces back into place as if nothing at all were amiss. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine.” She half slurs under her breath. Blinking away some more of the sleep from her eyes, Layla shifts to the side and then rolls over to face you. Her golden irises take you in for a long moment, just flitting over your face and your shoulders. The curve of your bare hip. “We really did that, huh?”

“Yeah. We did.” You agree.

“Should we do it again?”

A quick laugh bursts out of you. “I probably shouldn’t be surprised considering how good it looked like you were sleeping a moment ago, but I had no idea you could be so insatiable.”

She quickly averts her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You murmur, soft and reassuring. Scooting yourself closer on the already cramped single bed, you bring your hand up to cradle the delicate curve of her waist. “Do you want to do it again? I don’t mind if you do.”

She considers that for a brief moment, idly picking at a single loose thread on the sheet with thoughtful fingers. You think she’s very cute like this and you lean even closer to press a quick kiss to her cheek. That brings her attention back up, both of you just looking at one another for a long stretch before she lowers her eyes to study your mouth. The same mouth that had brought her to shuddering pleasure earlier in the day.

“I’d like that, Traveler. Can we?”

You grin at her. “Of course we can. After all, I didn’t have a chance to get off before you zonked out on me the first time.”

Layla’s expression is equal parts surprised and flustered. Her mouth warbles open to stammer out a string of apologies and self deprecating sentiments but you quickly silence her with a kiss. She moans, very softly, at the lingering taste of her own cunt on your lips and tongue. Breathes deep and relaxes into the gesture before kissing you back. Your snuffed excitement from before promptly flares back to life, set aside but far from forgotten. It actually feels even more potent than you remembered it being and you can’t help but moan too as you drag your hand up and down her side in an encouraging caress. This may not have been your intention in coming here but you hoped she was well rested enough after her nap to stay awake a little longer.

But even if she doesn’t, even if she falls asleep again right after, you were still enjoying yourself in the moment. It felt good being naked with her, here in the secluded privacy of her dorm. Layla’s breast is firm and perfectly cuppable in the palm of your hand when you touch it with a reverence that makes her tremble and stretch out beside you. You take a moment to thumb over the nipple in slow, even strokes until it’s stiffly perked. Taking it between your fingers, you then give it a gentle tweak. She appreciatively sighs into your mouth before tentatively reaching over to do the same to your chest, reciprocating the gesture almost tit for tat.

You spend what feels like many minutes just basking in the warmth and the feel of one another. Kissing, touching and fondling, but it doesn’t take long for you to grow impatient. She’d found release earlier, you hadn’t. You were still wet and waiting for your own turn, your cunt mutedly throbbing every time you rub your thighs together.

Finally giving in to the urge, you turn half of the way over onto your back and reach down with your free hand. The other tugs on Layla’s neck to guide her right up against you. She breaks apart from the kiss with a low, breathy sound as your breasts meet and press into each other. Rubbing your sticky slit in savory circles, you look her right in the eye as you reach back with the other to dip fingers under the curve of her ass and prod at what’s between her legs.

“Oh.” She gives a quiet squeak, thick lashes fluttering slightly at the sensation. You allow yourself a moment to just tease along her crease while you sedately hump into your own hand at the same time. Archons, if you’d known this was what she wanted you would have stopped somewhere and bought some toys to play with.

“Is this what you were looking forward to?” You keep your voice low and suggestive as you slowly breach the seam of her body and press up into satiny soft lips. “Having my fingers in your tight pussy again?”

“Oooh.” She makes the same sound but she draws it out this time. Allows her eyes to slip shut and just basks in the sensation. Gingerly, she lifts her top most leg and throws it over your hip so she can curl her body even closer and give you a better angle to stretch open her cunt. It works and your fingers sink in a little deeper. She’s so incredibly warm inside, all soft and wet, and cushiony that you can’t help but give your digits a small wriggle. “It feels so good, Traveler … don’t stop. Please.”

As if you even could at this point. Between your own arousal and the way she’s gripping you in palpitating squeezes, her body instinctively trying to take you in even deeper, there was no way you could bring yourself to stop until you were watching her fall apart again. You had no intention of teasing her today. Not when that would mean teasing yourself in the process.

Momentarily abandoning your own cunt, you reach up between your bodies and offer Layla your hand. She gently takes the wrist so she can hold it in place while she gives your fingers shy little kitten licks to taste you. The way she watches you while she does it seems to be in apology. Like she felt bad for leaving you hanging the first time, even though you’d only been joking about that. It was her birthday after all. This was her treat, not yours no matter how much you wanted a chance to cum too.

Besides, you had something in mind that you suspected would please both of you at the same time and keep you two equally happy. You just needed to make sure both of you were wet enough first.

Layla was certainly getting there, the soft little clicks you pull from her body attesting to the amount of slick her pussy was making around your fingers. You weren’t far off either but you still take your hand from her and reach down to smear your cunt in saliva. It feels so good that you almost don’t want to stop, especially when she brings her hand down to fondle your breast again. The way she pinches the nipple with delicate fingertips makes your breath come a little faster, moaning into the static charged air.

Before you can edge yourself too close to the line, you force your hand to stop rubbing. Your pussy throbs at the loss of stimulation but you quickly roll her over onto her back and sit up. Eagerly, Layla spreads her legs wide in clear invitation, her cunt flushed an excited pink and sticky with arousal. You oblige her for the moment and bend over her pelvis so you can flick your tongue over the sensitive bud at the apex of her slit. Meaty creases and folds shudder under the ministration of your mouth and she promptly shakes in response. It was quite clear to you that Layla very much enjoyed having her pussy ate and, truth be told, you liked it too. Her clit was prominent and easy to find — hell, you could see it at just a glance, erect and jutting out from under its protective hood in search of more pleasure — and that made it all the more fun to tease and mouth at it. You were banking on it making your idea a resounding success.

“Your pretty pussy is so greedy, Layla. You already came once and look how excited you are. Don’t you have anyone to go down on you in the Akademiya?”

A faint, wavering moan rises in the air. She nudges her pelvis at you, back and forth, back and forth in a pleading manner. She was needy, that was for sure.

You take pity on her and bring your hand close, rubbing her fat clit with your fingers. Layla shakes beautifully for you, her breathing rapidly picking up and becoming thicker. You don’t want her to cum like this when you had something even better in mind though, and you pull away before she can find her release. She blinks at you as if in a daze as you get spun around and take hold of one dainty ankle so you can curl it up and out to the side. The motion leaves her cunt perfectly bare and vulnerable so you can shuffle closer until your pussy finds hers. It takes a moment of adjusting, slotting the pieces together just right, but you know it as soon as you find it.

Your body suddenly feels ten degrees hotter as lips brush against lips and squish together, creating a wet warm seal. Layla’s breath hitches in her chest when your clit prods against hers with the first experimental roll of your hips. You moan, and then do it again. Even for the lack of a toy to help mutually stimulate the two of you, it still felt mind numbingly good just to grind your cunts together and you take a great deal of pleasure in watching her face take on a far off, dreamy look as you fall into a steady rhythm.

She almost doesn’t seem to know what to make of it at first but the pleasure is undeniable. Her cheeks flush even hotter, a low chorus of appreciative sounds falling from her lips with each slow motion drag or your hips. It looks like you’re driving her crazy now, the way she not so subtly writhes and clutches the sheets. Her hazy attention stays locked on the spot where your bodies meet though, like she was fascinated with watching you thrust against her.

Oh, if only she knew what you could do to her with the right equipment.

“Does that feel good, princess? You look so lovely spread out for me like this.”

The way she moans your name then, so sweet and fragile, makes your pulse pound even harder. You wanted to touch her more, play with her tits and pinch on those stiff nipples until she really started to cry out for you. But it’s hard enough keeping your slit lined up with hers while moving at the same time and you have to make do with squeezing her thigh in a possessive grip. You’ve got it half curled around your waist, the other leg still held captive in the air, and you could tell you were slowly creeping ever closer to the breaking point. You were wound tight to begin with but the way her stiff clit digs up into and slides over yours … it was amazing how perfectly made for each other two pussies could be. Like puzzle pieces, you fit together so very nicely and you were soaring high on the adrenaline of fucking yourself on her.

“Shit, Layla,” You gasp, struggling to keep your pelvis planted squarely over hers without losing your pace to the eager twitching that runs through your tightening muscles. Any second now the cord would snap and you sincerely hoped she was as close as you were, so you could finish together.

“Ooh, please … please make me cum, Traveler, I want to cum so bad.”

Digging your fingers deeper into the soft pudge of her upper thigh, you allow your hips to thrust a bit harder. A little quicker. There’s such a sticky mess between the two of you now that your slit just keeps gliding over hers in a meaty press, but her clit seems to hit its mark each time. It was making you shudder much more violently than you’d anticipated and making the effort that much more of a struggle. Almost like a role reversal, you felt vaguely like the one who was getting fucked here, not the other way around. But you keep going even when your breaths puff out of you in quick, heaving gasps and it seems like you’re just as liable to shake right off her as anything else. Your world recedes to a fine pinprick of consciousness that consists entirely of the sensation of her pussy squishing under yours, moulding two bodies together, and the breathy groans of pleasure she lets out.

It was dizzying in the best possible way, and that feeling only increases when you finally cum with a stuttering roll of your pelvis. The spasms seize you in the time it takes you to blink, trembling so suddenly it startles a high pitched yelp out of you. Teeth clenching tight, you seethe throughout the duration of your release even as you stubbornly continue to work yourself against her.

And Layla manages to surprise you when she cums too, just a heartbeat later. She shakes and rattles through her orgasm in almost perfect tandem with you. It’s like she’s feeding off of your pleasure, taking it into herself and then giving it back tenfold. You can feel her pussy squeezing underneath you and the sticky mess between you suddenly feels obscene. You'd thoroughly soaked one another.

Wheezing with the final tremors of your orgasm, you release her and collapse on top of the still moaning girl in a heap of limbs and sweat dampened skin. She quickly brings her arms up to twine them around your heaving back, holding you close against her chest. It takes a prolonged moment for both of you to recover but the afterglow is warm and peaceful. Comfortable.

It wouldn’t have been so bad staying with her here, just like this. If only you didn’t have other matters, other responsibilities to see to.

“Layla?” You speak at last, wondering if she’d already dozed off again.

“Hm?” Her response is quiet and groggy. Distant, like she really had been drifting back to sleep despite having only just woken up some half hour ago. You probably would have found it a little ridiculous had you not known exactly how content and satiated she must have felt in that moment. Another nap didn’t sound bad at all.

But you wanted to ask. Had to ask. “Are you sure you don’t want to do anything else for your birthday besides lay in bed all day? I mean. It’s your choice, of course. I just thought … maybe you'd want to do something else.”

“Like what?” She yawns quietly when she says it. You try very hard not to smile and you fail miserably.

“I don’t know. Go out to dinner or something? My treat, obviously.”

Layla noises a small sound of interest but rather than rousing her with the prospect she actually snuggles deeper into the mattress as if settling in for the night. “Mmm. Dinner sounds good. How about breakfast instead? We can go somewhere in the morning.”

“It won’t be your birthday tomorrow.”

“That’s alright.” Is the last thing she murmurs to you before knocking out completely. Her chest slowly rises and falls underneath you with the slow breaths she pulls in, lulling you into a similar state of drowsiness. It was the same as the first time. You just couldn’t seem to keep your eyes open when she was snoozing away with such tranquil ease. And it didn’t exactly help that you felt so safe and secure cradled in her arms like this. Vulnerable almost, like you were the one at her mercy. It was very possible that you were.

Perhaps you should try giving her the toy and seeing what she could come up with when taking the lead. Something told you that you wouldn’t be disappointed.

⭐

#genshin impact #layla #layla x reader #self insert bullshit

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ineffable-gallimaufry · 13 days

Text

jonmartin headcanons:

- i like to think that they both get cold real easy (for jon it's just normal reasons, for martin it's lonely reasons) so they have a million sweaters. and they cuddle a lot. jon used to refuse to bundle up because it didn't fit with how he wanted to be perceived but eventually he gives in and dresses warm

- jon is the "kill the spider with fire!!" guy and meanwhile martin is befriending the spider and trying to have a tea party. eventually someone else has to take care of it.

- jon's favorite teas are english breakfast, earl grey, and chai whereas martin's favorites are lemon ginger, jasmine, cinnamon, and chamomile. i just think jon's the kind of guy who drinks black teas + martin seems like more of an herbal tea guy.

- martin has a bit of a green thumb and really likes growing flowers for jon and other people in his life; jon likes knitting/tatting/embroidery so usually martin will be out in the garden and jon will sit on the patio and work on something

- both of them really like cooking together, even if they're not the best chefs, they still make good food when they get to make food together

- like. they record so much stuff. they're always making adorable videos of stuff, jon has a little video camera he keeps on him, and he also keeps a polaroid on him.

- both just have the worst nightmares but the other is always there to comfort them with a warm mug of tea + a blanket. martin mostly has nightmares about everyone leaving him whereas jon has nightmares about. well, anything and everything

- jon loves weighted blankets & compression gloves so much; martin isn't as big a fan (the compression makes him kind of claustrophobic) and prefers stress balls/squishies more. he does really like weighted stuffed animals though, especially when he can warm them up.

and yeah! i am not all the way caught up so i might add to this but. i think they're fun

#tma #tma podcast #the magnus archives #jonmartin #tma jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood

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honeybadgerwritings · 2 years

Text

Every Step You Take

Pairing: Dark!Peter Ballard x Afab Fem!Reader - Dark!001 x Afab Fem!Reader

Requested: Hi there! First I wanted to express how in love I am with your work! I honestly think you're an amazing writer and that your works are bliss istg! ♡ I just read that you're closing your requests and I wanted to see if I could leave one, if you don't wanna answer it it's okay I understand ♡I wanted to request a Peter Ballard x fem reader (if you want the reader can be one of Brenner's kids but ofc the reader's of age) with the prompts 1, 9 in fluff, 22 and 23 in smut, 19 and 25 in angst, all from him and in the order you want!

Summary: Chaos erupts in Hawkins lab. What’s happens when your close friend Peter is the reason why?

Warnings: Heavy Mentions of Blood, Gore, Violence, Death, Manipulation, Claustrophobia, Panic Attacks, Smut, Age-Gap, Oral (Fem Receiving), Fingering, Edging If You Squint.

Please Please Please let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: The reader is 18+ in this fic. If I had to give her an actual age I would say roughly 21-22. Peter is roughly 28-29. Any sexual acts are fully consensual. This is also tagged as Dark!Peter, and while that is true, it’s mostly just regular Peter, because he himself is a walking red flag, and his character is already very dark. Just wanted to make that known.

Prompts:

1. “I want you by my side.”

9. “Just trust me alright?”

19. “I know you’re mad at me, but I’m only doing this to protect you.”

22. “So good for me, look at how much you came.”

23. “Where did this attitude come from hm?”

25. “Please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

This is not yet edited, I will get to it ASAP

———————

⚠️ This fic is 18+ so minors DNI ⚠️

Please read the Author’s Note and Warnings above before continuing!!! Thank you!

———————

Chaos.

If there’s one word you could pick to describe the situation you’re currently in, that would be the word to choose.

Everything around you is in utter chaos.

Alarms are blaring, the fluorescent lights over head are flickering, screaming echoes from somewhere throughout the building, and everyone is tumbling past you. It’s all a blur of white uniforms and clicking heels as someone shoves you out of their way. They’re all more concerned for their own safety than yours, as you stand there, utterly clueless, in your hospital gown.

This doesn’t upset you though. In all honesty you’re not really worried about yourself either; If it comes down to it, you’d use your powers for protection. The only thing you’re actually worried about right now is finding him.

Finding Peter.

Peter is your….friend? Companion? You’re not really sure to be honest. All you know is that the two of you had grown close in recent months, bonding over shared experiences with loneliness. You both found solitude in each other, and he made sure you knew that you could always come to him for help, advice, or comfort.

And you did, almost every day in fact.

Being so much older than all of the kids easily made you an outcast amongst them. They didn’t disrespect you at all, in fact they’re all borderline terrified of you, but that didn’t stop the exclusion. Papa never really acknowledged you anymore, other than when he needed to run some tests, and all of the workers treated you like you were five. You were so lonely and had no one to talk to for a long time, spending most nights wandering the halls instead of being alone with your thoughts in your room.

It wasn’t until you had first bumped into him in the hall about a year ago that you even knew of his presence. He’d been so kind and gentle with you that day, helping you up from the ground and guiding you back to your room.

“How did you even manage to sneak out?” He’d asked, and you’d been forced to meekly explain that after many freak outs, Papa instructed workers to leave your door open a crack every night.

You’re insanely claustrophobic, and your room really doesn’t help. You don’t have control over the lights, so it’s almost always dark in there, and it’s such a small, confined space that it makes it hard for you to breathe.

You’d expected him to roll his eyes and scoff like every other person who’d heard the story, but he didn’t. He threw his head back with a laugh, joking that you must have caused a lot of trouble to get Papa to agree to something like that.

He wasn’t far off, but you didn’t feel like going into detail.

He’d guided you into your room, and waited for you to get situated in bed before wishing you goodnight with a wink, and leaving the door open a crack.

The whole interaction left you both flustered and confused, wondering why this absolute stranger had such an effect on you, and why he spoke to you with kindness instead of authority like everyone else did.

You began to notice his presence more often after that. He would always offer to play chess with you in the rainbow room if you seemed bored, sometimes he’d be the one to deliver lunch and dinner to your room, and on occasion he would stay and chat with you for a few minutes.

“On occasion” quickly turned into most times, and “a few minutes” turned into an hour or two. He was easy to befriend, an you both had plenty in common. He made you feel safe, and warm, and dare you say even loved. He’d promised to always be there for you and protect you, and he’d kept that promise. Any time you were threatened with a punishment or put in harms way by another child, he would stick up for you, keep you safe.

So you can’t help but feel like it’s your turn.

Gunshots ring out somewhere in the distance, and you flinch as the screaming around you becomes louder. Another person bumps your shoulder, and this time you’re knocked onto your ass. You groan, covering your head with your arms as you attempt to protect yourself from getting trampled. You’re surrounded by a stampede of incompetent assholes who’ve bossed you around your whole life, and honestly you’re starting to feel more annoyed than scared.

Finally after a few moments the screaming subsides, and you’re left alone in an empty hallway, sitting in the middle of the floor. You shake your head, beginning to pull your aching body up from the ground, until you pause. You hear footsteps coming from the hallway to your right.

You take a moment to listen, registering their movement. They’re not quick paced, scattered, or scared like everyone else. These ones are calm, collected, menacing even. And of course, they’re headed right towards you.

You barely have any time to register this observation before the person rounds the corner in front of you. You make eye contact with them and the tense feeling in your chest dissipates, your shoulders immediately relaxing with a sigh. It’s just Peter.

For a second, he has a wild, crazy look in his eyes, but then it flickers to confusion with furrowed brows, then fear. He’s tense, more tense than you’ve ever seen him. “What are you doing out here?” He sounds frantic, like he didn’t expect to see you here, in this building, that you’ve never left.

“Uhh-” you’re cut off as he lifts you up from the ground by your arm. You yelp, but not in pain, more in surprise than anything as he half escorts, half drags you down the hallway with him. “You’re supposed to be in your room.” He sounds like he’s scolding you.

“I was, until I heard gunshots and screaming. They don’t latch my door Peter, you know that-” you remember the chaos that had surrounded you moments ago, “Hey what’s going on?” He doesn’t respond, whipping his head around as if he’s looking for something, “Peter.” You try again, desperately waiting for an answer.

He only grunts in response, leaving your question unanswered once again. You quickly become fed up, as he drags you down empty hallway after empty hallway. Eventually you pull your arm from his grasp in annoyance, backing away from him. He spins to face you, attempting to snatch your arm but you step back, dodging him.

“Stop it! What the hell is the matter with you? What’s going on?”

He tries to grab your arm again, failing.

“Peter!”

“I’m trying to protect you!” He finally spits out, and your eyebrows furrow, bottom lip beginning to tremble at his tone.

“Protect me from what? Peter, please, you’re scaring me. What’s happening?” His eyes soften significantly as your face falls, and he steps closer to you, lacing his fingers through yours. His thumb delicately strokes the back of your hand and you sniffle, absolutely lost.

“I know, I know you’re scared. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He glances around once again as if to make sure the coast is clear, before looking back down at you, “Just trust me alright?”

You shouldn’t have nodded as quickly as you did. You should have held out a little longer, pestered him with more questions, and refused to go with him until he provided you with the answers that you so desperately wanted. But this was Peter, he’d never given you a reason not to trust him, so how could you start now?

“Good girl.” He squeezes your hand in response before turning on his heel, and dragging you with him. You have very little time to process the affect those words have on you before you slam into his back. He’d stopped abruptly, listening for something. You can’t help but listen too, hearing many sets of footsteps heading down the hall in your direction.

“Shit.” He curses, before quickly pulling you into a room off to the right. He shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you in almost pitch black, the only lighting coming from the small glass panel on the door. You stay completely silent as the footsteps rush past you. In all honesty they sound like guards. But why would you being hiding from the guards?

He turns to you once they pass, gripping your wrists firmly in his hands to gather your full attention. “I need you to listen to me,” he speaks in a hushed tone and you nod, “I’m going to go back out.”

Your brows feel like they’ve just been permanently furrowed in confusion, because why in the actual fuck would he want to go back out there? You feel yourself shaking your head before he can even finish his explanation.

“No…no you can’t Peter.” He releases your wrists, gently cupping your face in his hands.

“I’m going to go back out there,” he repeats slowly, “and you’re going to stay here.” You almost burst out laughing at that. You? Stay here? Absolutely not.

“No.” You shake your head, “No way- not happening. At least let me go with you, I can protect you!” You try to reason and he chuckles, like you had just said something so unbelievably adorable and he found it endearing.

“I appreciate the thought darling but I don’t need you putting yourself in harms way. I can protect myself.” You cross your arm’s defiantly, twisting your head out of his grip.

“Well if you leave, I’m sure as hell not staying-” you glance around, trying to figure out exactly where the two of you are. It looks like another bedroom, which is the last place you want to stay, and he must know that, “-in here!”

He sighs, backing away from you and towards the door. “Please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

You’re staring to become angry now. Angry that he thinks he can keep you in here. Angry that he thinks that this situation is more difficult for him than it is for you. Angry that he’s not giving you any information other than the fact that you “need to trust him.”

“If you leave this room I’m coming with you, end of story. Now get out of my way.” You huff, wishing he would stop trying to boss you around. You try to push past him to get to the door but he doesn’t budge. You try again and still, nothing. With the way he’s looking at you he almost seems amused, and that pisses you off.

You extend your arm, ready to shove him to the side with your powers, but before you’re even given the chance, you’re slammed up against the wall, being held up by nothing but air. It knocks the wind out of you and you wheeze, looking up at him in shock.

What the fuck?

“Do not-” he looks irritated, the wild look in his eyes returning as he steps towards you, fingers reaching out to firmly grasp your chin, “Do not ever use your powers on me. Do you understand?” Your eyes widen and you nod frantically, regretting even thinking about it. This is not the Peter you know, and you’re afraid to set him off even further. So many questions run through your head, unable to process them all at once.

Is he just like you? How is he doing this? Is he going to hurt you? Are you going to be left here alone? What if-

He watches you carefully as you tremble under his touch, knowing that your brain must be moving a mile a minute. The last thing he wanted to do was reveal his powers to you like this, but he has no other choice. If you aren’t going to listen, he’s going to have to force you to. His hand slips from your chin to cradle your cheek, and you whimper in fear.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles apologetically, “I’m sorry but you give me no choice. I’m not letting you out there.” He slowly steps away from you, “I need to keep you safe.” He makes his way towards the door and your eyes widen.

“No- Peter don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare!” You’re angry, but your voice comes out frantic and scared. You attempt to flail your limbs in an effort to escape, but to no avail.

He pauses in the doorway for a moment, contemplating letting you come with him, but that thought quickly diminishes and he shakes his head. He knows you’d be even more upset if you knew what he’s about to do. He glances at you over his shoulder, “I’ll be back, I promise.”

The door shuts behind him and you drop to the ground, hard. Your knees smack on the tile, but you pay no mind as you scramble up towards the door. You try to tug on the handle but it doesn’t budge, as expected. You don’t even try to use your powers to open it, you know it won’t work, it never does. You pound your fists on the steel door, beginning to panic.

“No… no no no Peter please! Please don’t leave me here! I-I can’t- it’s dark and- I can’t do it- please!” Thankfully he’s still there, watching you with sad eyes through the glass panel.

“I know you’re mad at me, but I’m only doing this to protect you.”

You open your mouth to beg him again, but you’re cut off by the abrupt sound of yelling and gunshots. And just like that he’s gone from your view. You cry out, slamming your fists against the door until they’re bruised and bloody.

There’s no way. There’s no way any of this is actually happening right now. You pinch yourself, attempting to will the screams and gunshots away by waking up, but you don’t. This isn’t a dream, if anything it’s a living waking nightmare and you’re trapped in it.

Literally.

You bang on the door in one last attempt to be let out, before collapsing onto the floor in a heap of panic. It’s so loud, everything is so loud and the room is so small and you can’t fucking breathe. You find yourself scrambling back into the corner by the bed, covering your ears with your hands.

It feels like the room is closing in on you inch by inch, like you’re about to get crushed between the walls while the war outside rages on.

But then it stops. It all stops.

Not your panic, god no. If only it could be that easy, but you do hold your breath as everything outside the door— no everything in the facility stills. The screams have stopped, the echoing of bullets have faded, and all that’s left the sounds of your wheezing. You want to get up and peek outside the door but your legs aren’t exactly working right now.

But the silence must be a good thing right? Surely whatever caused the disturbance is gone?

All you can do is take deep breaths and hope that someone will find you soon, someone will come to your rescue and let you out of this godforsaken room. Those hopes however, are soon crushed as your eyes trail under the door, watching as blood begins to slowly seep under the crack.

Oh god.

Everything stopped,

Because everyone is dead.

Everyone is dead and nobody is ever going to know that you’re trapped in here. You’re going to be locked in this room forever, and nobody is ever going to find you. And Peter- Oh god what if he’s dead too?

A broken sob leaves your lips as you curl in on yourself, whole body trembling. You’re spiraling completely out of control, you can feel your heart hammering in your chest, against your ribs, in your throat, in your head. You can feel it in your ears, it doesn’t matter if you cover them, it doesn’t matter how hard you clench your jaw and push your hands against your ears, you can hear it.

Your breaths are quick, sharp— never really getting enough air. Your lungs burn. You feel dizzy. Fear clings to your chest, to your teeth, to your hands. You don’t even register the loud, broken cries that leave your mouth. Surely nobody will hear them anyway, what do you care?

Your vision blurs, fluttered and unfocused. Soon enough there are tears in your eyes, in your nose, in your throat. You’re crying, terrified, pulling the collar of your gown away from your skin, trying to get enough air in.

That’s how Peter finds you. He approaches the door carefully, wincing as he sees the body pressed up against the door, and hears your desperate cries from inside. He knows you’re claustrophobic, and he hated every second that he had to leave you in there, but once again, he had no choice.

He kicks the body of the guard away in disgust, before slowly pulling open the door. Light finally shines into the room, but you don’t even notice, too focused on trying not to pass out. He spots your trembling body in the corner, curled into the fetal position as you claw at your gown, trying to breathe properly.

“Oh sweetheart…” he sighs, stepping over the trail of blood leading into the room. Any other person would likely start panicking themselves after witnessing your state, but Peter has dealt with this a couple times before.

There was one time another orderly had gotten angry with you, and locked you in your room for the night. When Peter had found you the next morning, everything had been broken and likely thrown across the room. You had sat in the middle of it all in anguish, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks.

You hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep that night. He’d held you in his arms for roughly an hour that day, gently calming you down until you passed out from pure exhaustion. Peter was so angry. So angry that he wanted to kill that orderly with his bare hands for what he’d done to you.

Who could’ve known that it would eventually happen?

He gently kneels down in front of you, staying a few feet back as to not make you feel trapped. His eyes scan over your trembling form and he feels guilt wrack through his whole body. He begins to speak softly, trying to verbally pull you from your panic until you’re calm enough to be held,

“I know, I know you’re scared baby, but I’m here. Just breath and listen to my voice, I’m right here.“

Your face twists into one of confusion when you hear a voice. At first you think you’re imagining it, but it doesn’t go away. It’s muffled and far away, but then it gets louder, closer. In fact it’s beginning to sound like-

“You’re okay sweetheart.”

You snap your head up, tear-blurred eyes searching for the culprit like a deer in headlights, until they finally rest on the figure in front of you,

“P-Peter?” You choke out. It hardly sounds like your voice at all, it’s strangled and raw and it’s forced out between rapid breaths. He tries to hide the way he winces, providing you with a small smile instead, though you can hardly see it through your tears.

“It’s me darling.”

Normally he would have to ask you if you want to be held, but this time you don’t even give him the chance to. You quickly scramble up from your spot on the ground, before hurling yourself into his arms with a broken cry. Right now you don’t even care that he’s the reason you’re so distraught, you’re just glad that he’s okay.

He’s quick to wrap his body around yours, sitting against the wall and cradling you against him. You bury your face in the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, muffling your heartbreaking sobs, “I didn’t- I couldn’t- I thought you were d-de-”

He shushes you gently, cradling the back of your head as you weep into his neck. His other hand is placed on your back, his fingers slowly gliding up and down your spine.

“I’m okay, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” He turns, placing a kiss in your hair, “I need you to take some deep breaths for me though okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You try your best to follow his instructions, struggling for the first few minutes, but he’s patient with you. He so patient with you, in fact, that he lets your tears and snot stain his shirt. Though in hindsight that’s not saying much, considering it’s already covered in blood.

You finally manage to suck in a breath, and he praises you, continuing to guide you through it until your breathing is finally back on track. Your tears haven’t quite subsided yet as you pull back from his grip to face him, hands resting around his neck.

“W-why did you leave me?” You sniffle, “You know I can’t- I hate-” you can’t even get the words out before another sob wracks through your body.

“Shhh…” He pulls you back towards him, cradling your face in his hands as he rests his forehead against yours, “I know baby, I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to leave you here, but I had no other choice.” He grips your chin gently, lifting your head up so your eyes meet his, “You’re the most important thing in the world to me. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt.”

You sniffle, nodding your head as you attempt to understand his reasoning, still not really understanding why he left in the first place. “I-I was so scared. I didn’t know if you were hurt…I-I thought I was gonna be stuck in here.” He’s shaking his head before you can even finish, wiping the tears from your face with the pads of his thumbs. He gently grasps one of your wrists, guiding your hand to his chest, placing it over his heart,

“You feel that?” He asks, and you nod, feeling the gentle thump of his heart beating against his chest. It’s calm, collected, like he knows everything is going to be fine, “I’m alright. I promise. I would never leave you alone if I didn’t think I would be okay.”

You nod again, sniffling as he continues to hold your hand in his, examining it. He frowns, seeing how beaten and battered it is, wasting no time to grab the other one, examining that one as well. He tuts, looking up at you in pity,

“You poor thing-” he lifts your hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on each knuckle, before doing the same with the other one. Your heart flutters in your chest as he does. How he manages to be so calm and soft with you in a moment like this will forever baffle you. He’s always been like this with you, when nobody else was. He’s so sweet, and kind, and gentle, and-

He’s covered in blood.

You’re pushing away from him before he can even try to stop you. Your scramble up from the floor, backing yourself against the opposite wall.

“Whose blood is that?”

He stands, hands outstretched like he’s trying not to frighten a baby deer. “Darling-”

“Peter…whose blood is that?” You ask again, a frightened edge to your tone. He doesn’t answer you.

“Is that why you- you-” your breathing picks up again as you put two and two together, “Is that why you locked me in here? Did you do all this?”

“I did what I had to…” he confesses, carefully taking a step towards you.

“What you had to?!” You let out a hysterical laugh, “I don’t understand I-” you’re trembling again, thinking about all of the screams and the bodies that had been pushing past you not even 30 minutes ago. Are they all dead? Did they all spend the last few seconds of their life fearing the man in front of you? And what about-

“Oh my god Peter, the kids…”

“The kids are fine. They’re all safe.” He’s lying through his teeth, but he has to. If he doesn’t he’s going to lose you completely. You aren’t as strong as he is, you’re softer, more fragile. He has to take that into consideration, otherwise you’ll never forgive him, “They’re all safe in the rainbow room. I made sure of it.”

“But why?” You hiccup, “Why do all this? Why kill everyone?”

He clenches his jaw, wondering if you’re really ready to know. Although, with everything else going on, he figures it’s as good of a time as any. He reaches down, slowly rolling up the sleeve of his perfectly cuffed shirt. You squint your eyes to see what he could possibly be trying to show you and- oh my god.

Your face contorts into shock and you take a step closer to him, making sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. You furrow your brows, glancing back and forth between it and your own tattoo, lifting your arm to compare them. Sure enough, his 001 perfectly matches the shape and size of the 002 on your wrist.

He watches you carefully, gauging your reaction. “That’s… not possible.” You whisper, and his eyebrow raises in slight amusement.

“No?”

You shake your head, so unbelievably confused. Your whole world- everything you’ve ever known has come crashing down on you in the last hour and you can feel your brain malfunctioning.

“Papa said-”

“That 001 isn’t real? That I don’t exist? That you’re the original?” It almost sounds like he’s taunting you, but when you look up he just looks sad, like he’s disappointed to be telling you this. “I’ve always been here, locked away in this godforsaken place. And I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m no story, I am very much real.”

You’re at a loss for words, unsure of how to process this new information.

“I was once free you know,” you look up at him, curious as to what he means, “I had a life outside of this place, a home. But then he took me away. He took me away from all of it when I was only a child.” He spits, beginning to circle you, as if he’s the predator and you’re his prey.

“He used me, tested on me; he didn’t care how much it would hurt.” You assume he’s talking about Papa. It isn’t news to you that he’s selfish, backstabbing man. “But then, he decided one of me wasn’t enough. He tried to copy me, clone me. And just like that, you were born. And eventually, there were seventeen others, who were all treated with respect- no painful tests, no beatings, no going hungry… and I was locked away. Forced to keep my identity a secret for so many years while…all the little brats got everything they ever needed.”

You flinch at his tone, and he stops behind you. You can feel his gaze eyeing you up and down, unsure if he’s upset with you or not. You’re startled when you feel his hand slip around you, cradling the side of your face, and turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. It’s an awkward position, but the intensity in his eyes is back, and you can’t force yourself to fight him.

“Except for you,” He hums, pressing his body lightly against yours. You feel a heat rise to your cheeks, not being used to this level of closeness with him, “You know what it’s like to be isolated, excluded, unappreciated… you’re different from them. You always have been.” You feel your eyes slowly slipping closed, not from exhaustion, more so letting yourself relax into him as he speaks, taking in every word.

“You’re so special, and much more powerful than the rest of them. Almost as powerful as me, you just haven’t realized it yet.” You don’t really believe it, but it feels nice to hear. It feels nice to finally have someone notice and appreciate you after all this time.

“I did this so I can be free again… so we can be free.” Your eyes peel open once more, confusion written all over your face. You? Free? That’s something you’ve never really known.

“Me?” You whisper timidly and he nods. You frown, spinning to face him, “You mean… we’re leaving?”

He nods again, a soft knowing smile resting on his face. Of course leaving would be scary for you. You’ve lived your entire life here, and now you’re being asked to leave it all behind for him. “I want you by my side.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, processing all of this. You’d never seen the outside world before, and frankly you’ve never given it much thought at all. But with Peter it couldn’t be so bad right?

“I-I don’t know if-”

He steps even closer, pressing his body completely against yours, and you’re cut off by your own surprised gasp as you look up at him. He smirks, seemingly knowing the affect he has on you.

“Oh but there’s so many things you’re missing out on sweetheart. So many things you’d never be allowed to experience here.” You gulp, widening eyes never leaving his as you chew on your bottom lip. Curiosity finally gets the better of you and you gather the courage to ask,

“Like what?”

His gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips as he leans down, gently cupping your cheek in his hand, “Like this,” he mumbles, before pressing his soft lips against yours. You can’t help but squeak in surprise as he kisses you, not really knowing what’s happening. He chuckles against your lips, wrapping his other hand around your waist, “Just follow my lead.”

You try you best to keep up, slowly beginning to get the hang of it. You’re loving the feeling of his lips on yours, never wanting it to end. You clench your fists a few times, not really knowing what to do with them, and he takes notice, gently guiding them up and around his neck.

His lips are soft and pillowy against your own, and a warm fuzzy feeling grows in your chest as he tugs you impossibly closer to him. He gently bites down on your bottom lip, soothing it with his tongue before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you catch your breath.

It isn’t until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed that you notice he’s moved the two of you backwards, and you fall onto the mattress.

He slowly crawls on top of you, placing kisses all over your face, your lips, cheeks, forehead, nose… and you’re a giggling mess underneath him. He slowly makes his way down your neck and to your collarbone, tugging on the collar of your gown to gain access.

“Mmm feels- feels so good Peter.” You don’t even think to stop the moans and whimpers that escape your lips while he gently suckles and bites your skin.

“Such pretty noises baby… and they’re all for me? What a sweet little thing you are.” He hums against your skin. Your eyes roll back, hips bucking up involuntarily at his words, and he cooes at you, “You like that hm? You like when I praise you? Such a good girl aren’t you?” You nod frantically, a whine leaving your lips. You don’t really know why you like it, or why you’re reacting like this, but you do know that you don’t want it to stop. You don’t want any of this to stop, no matter where it goes.

His hands slide down your body as he marks up the delicate skin of your neck, groping, feeling every inch of your gorgeous body. His fingertips finally reach the hem of your gown and he lifts his lips from your skin, examining the already fucked-out look on your face.

“Do you want me to take this off of you sweetheart?” He asks, gently tugging on the article of clothing. You look up at him, eyes blown out as you try to come up with a response, “What happens if you do?” You ask timidly.

He smirks, leaning down to peck a kiss against your cheek, “Well, then I’ll get to make you feel good.”

You squint at him, “But you’re already making me feel good?” You say, unsure if you meant for it to be a question or not. He chuckles at your naivety, touching his forehead to yours and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, “Mmm but I can make you feel so much better than this. Is that what you want baby?”

You don’t even waste a second, nodding your head frantically, wanting nothing more than for him to give you pleasure. However he’s grabbing your chin lightly before anything else,

“Ah ah ah, let’s use our words. Wanna make sure this is actually what you want.”

And how could it not be? Sure, this is all brand new to you; it’s nerve-wracking and scary even… but it feels so good. There’s an intense pressure building between your legs, and you’d give anything for Peter to make it go away, to make it feel better.

After giving it maybe two seconds of thought, you’re nodding your head again as your lips part, “I-I want this. I want it Peter, promise.” He considers asking if you’re sure, but with the way your lips are pouted, and your eyes are so wide and blown out, he can tell you’re running out of patience.

“Okay sweetheart, okay.” He obliges, slowly lifting the hem of the gown up, helping you slide it up your body and over your head, disposing of it somewhere on the floor. His eyes rake up and down every inch of your exposed skin, taking you in. He practically drools at the sight of your breasts, reaching up to gently fondle them in his hands.

“Oh baby,” he watches as you preen underneath his touches, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”

You can’t even imagine how you must look to him right now. Laid underneath him in nothing but a pair of panties, chest heaving, eyes blown wide, and your mind so foggy and blissful as he begins to tug on your nipples. Your hips buck up yet again as he does so, and you react with a whine. You need him so bad, you need to feel him touching you all over.

He chuckles darkly, dipping down to place a kiss to the valley between your breasts, “I’ve got you baby.” One of his hands slowly trails down your tummy, making its way to the hem of your underwear. It startles you with how fast he dips his hand underneath the fabric, swiping two of his fingers through your folds. Your whole body jolts and you gasp in surprise. He slips his hand back out, observing the excessive amount of slick that coats his fingers.

“Mmm look at how wet you are darling, you’ve soaked through your panties entirely. What a messy little thing you are.” He places his fingers between his lips, moaning around them as he cleans his slick coated digits. You can’t help but watch, completely mesmerized by how dirty all of this is. He was right, this is something you’d never in a thousand years be able to experience if you were to stay here. Papa would have be so enraged…but you don’t have care about him. You don’t have to listen to Papa anymore.

He dips down between your legs again, both hands gently tugging your white panties down your legs. You almost feel embarrassed at the way he has to peel the cloth away from your soaked cunt, but he moans at the sight, instantly calming your anxieties.

He watches in awe as your messy cunt pulses, drooling from your tight little hole. He looks up at you, blowing cool air right onto your clit, watching in amusement as your pussy twitches and you whine. You look down at his position, feeling confusion feign through you once again, “What are you doing?” You squeak out, watching his eyes raise to meet yours again, amusement filling them.

“I’m going to make you feel good baby. But first-” He sits up just a little bit to gather your attention, “Hands above your head.” You squint at him, wondering why he could be asking such a thing of you right now. “You heard me darling, go on and put your hands above your head.”

You oblige, lifting them up and over your head, resting them against the pillow. He smiles, placing a delicate kiss you to inner thigh, and your hips buck again in pure desperation. “Good girl, now keep them there for me.”

You don’t have enough time to respond and ask why, before his mouth is on you, devouring your sweet little cunt. The sensation feels so foreign to you, yet is has you writhing around like a crazy person as he eats you out. You whimper and whine as he swipes his tongue from your hole up to your clit.

He loves how noisy you are as he makes out with your soaked cunt. Your moans fill the air as you take everything that’s he’s giving you, and the twisted part inside of him is so grateful that he’s the only one that can hear you. He can’t even stand the thought of someone else hearing you like this, some other guard pleasuring you between your legs as you writhe desperately.

No, these pretty noises and your body are his. All his, and nobody else’s. His tongue laps at your clit before flicking it through your folds, and looking up at you through his lashes. He dips his tongue down to your weepy hole, circling it around the entrance to taste you, and your back arches, grinding down into his face.

“Oh- Oh god Peter! Mmm feels good, feels so good oh fuck!”

That’s right, he thinks, moan my name while I take what’s mine. He knows just how good he’s making you feel, and he’ll continue to make you feel this good over and over again after you leave this place. He’ll have you weak at the knees with every gentle touch, ready to let him use you however he pleases. You’ll be his perfect little pet, needing him all the time, craving to be touched by him, tasted by him, filled by him-

But you’re not ready for that just yet. As much as he wants to see you writhe and moan like a perfect little slut while you take every inch of his cock, he doesn’t want to rush you into anything. This is all about you and your pleasure right now, not his. Though he does find it very pleasurable to be buried face first in your sweet little cunt.

You mewl as he swirls his tongue around your clit while gently suckling on it. Your hole continues to flutter and soak the sheets below you, so he can’t help it when he finds himself slowly rimming it with one of his fingers. He begins to push it inside of you, slowly pressing it in inch by inch, slowly lapping at your clit as he watches your whole body tense up, a broken cry escaping you.

“P-Peter!”

You’re so tight around his finger, and when he finally pushes it knuckle deep he cooes as your whole body trembles in ecstasy. You feel a coil in your lower tummy tightening dangerously, as you feel a high of sorts approaching. Your toes are beginning to curl and— oh god his mouth feels so good on you, sucking and devouring your clit like it’s his last meal.

The way he’s stretching you out on his finger feels otherworldly. If you’d have only known that this level of ecstasy was possible, you would have begged Peter for this a long time ago. And considering how much he’s enjoying this, you can’t help but wonder if he’s wanted this for a while as well.

You’re grinding your hips down to meet his tongue as high pitched whines and moans leave your lips. He can tell you’re getting close, and a wicked thought crosses his mind. He slowly curls his finger upward inside of you, and you cry out so loudly that your body snaps forward, and your hands are gripping his hair. You’re so close, chasing the high as you grip his hair between your trembling fingers.

But then it stops, and you’re pushed back down against the mattress by an unseen force.

“No!” You cry, tears instantly filling your eyes as all of the pleasure is ripped away from you, pulling you back from the edge you were teetering on, “No no no Peter- please!”

He hums waiting a moment to speak as he listens to your begging and whining. He knows how close you were to cumming, but you broke his rule and moved your hands.

“What did I tell you before I started?” He asks patiently, crawling back up your body, hovering over the top of you to see your face. You huff out shaky breaths as you try your best to think past your cloudy mind.

“I-I…I don’t- I can’t-” you stutter out, bottom lip wobbling as a few tears leak from your eyes, feeling everything becoming just a little too much for you.

“Shhh,” he shushes gently, wiping the tears from your face. His thumb moves to caress your temple and you hiccup, “Yes you can. Deep breath for me, c’mon.” You oblige, following his instructions as your chest rises and falls slowly, “You can do it sweetheart, what did I tell you before I started?”

“You-you said…” you press your eyes shut, trying to remember his exact words before he started eating you out so blissfully, “You said… to keep my hands up.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “My smart girl.” He mumbles, and your skin flushes a deep red at the praise.

“And do you know why I stopped?“ He continues, eyeing you carefully.

“Because I didn’t keep my hands up.” You grumble, he lets it slide for now, knowing you’re still a bit worked up.

“That’s right,” he strokes some of your hair from your face, “You didn’t listen, so I had to stop.”

The pout on your face only grows and you find yourself talking back to him, “But that’s not fair! It-it felt so good and I couldn’t help it! That was so mean and-” you’re cut off as he grips your chin, firmly squeezing your cheeks between his fingers.

“Hey,” he chides, “Where did this attitude come from hm?“

You don’t respond, you can’t really respond with the way he’s holding your face, but he can see in your eyes how your mood immediately shifts, melting for him once again.

“I thought you wanted to be a good girl for me? Cause you’re not being very good right now.” You whimper in response, nodding your head under his grip to show him that you wanna be good again, wanna be perfect for him.

“Yeah? You gonna be good again? Gonna stop giving me attitude?” He releases his grip on your face to let you speak, and you do, pleas falling from your mouth as you tell him just how good you’ll be.

“Think you can keep your hands up here this time baby?” He asks politely, tapping your wrists that rest above your head. You pause for a moment, before shaking your head, wanting to be honest with him.

“I-I don’t think I can…I wanna be good! Honest!” You rush out, “I just- I don’t think I can keep them here.” You pause, chewing on your lip as you try to think of how to ask the next part. Peter watches you closely, feeling like he already knows what you’re about to say, “Can you um- can you maybe help me?”

And god what kind of monster would he be if he didn’t oblige to you. The way you stare up at him through wide bleary eyes, the way you nervously chew on your trembling bottom lip, and the way you asked so sweetly…he can never say no to you.

“Since you asked so politely, yes sweetheart I can do that for you.” You sigh in relief as you feel him slowly climbing back down your body, situating himself between your legs once more. You feel a pressure against your wrists as they are pinned down above your head, and you whimper out a small, “Thank you.”

“Of course darling,” and with that his lips are attached to you again, tongue swirling around your clit mercilessly.

“A-Ah!” You cry out, unable to stop the way your legs are trembling around his head. The relief is so good, he’d left your poor cunt unattended and desperate for the last few minutes, and he intended to make up for it in every way possible.

His slips his finger back inside of you and you squirm underneath him, bucking your hips to fuck yourself on his digit. His finger continues to pump in and out of you as he devours your poor little cunt. Tears prick at your eyes from how fucking good it feels.

You unintentionally try to move your hands every few moments, only to be reminded of the weighted pressure against them, as Peter keeps them constrained with his powers. The feeling of being pinned down beneath him as he pleasures you only makes everything more intense, and you can feel that familiar pressure building up once more.

Fear creeps in at the thought of him repeating what happened last time you felt that pressure building, and you begin to mindlessly beg, “Mmmm please don’t stop- god don’t stop Peter. I-I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good just please don’t stop.” You cry out, chasing your high again as you buck against his tongue.

And god he wouldn’t dream of it, in fact, he suckles on your clit even harder, slowly pushing another finger into your hole, desperately wanting you to come undone on his tongue.

The stretch around his fingers is what finally pushes you over the edge, and your back arches high as your orgasm tears through you like a white hot heat. You cry and your eyes roll back into your head as intense waves of pleasure shoot through your body. You’re rocking your hips desperately against his tongue, just riding it out.

He hums around your clit as you clench and pulse around his fingers, continuing to thrust them deep in your cunt as you ride out the high. He doesn’t stop until your back finally meets the mattress again, and your a panting sweating mess.

“God just look at you,” He slowly pulls his fingers from your hole, admiring the aftermath of your ruined pussy, “So good for me, look at how much you came.”

You whimper in response, letting his praise infiltrate your floaty, fucked out mind. You feel the weight let up on your wrists, but you keep them there, absentmindedly fearing his wrath. It isn’t until they’re lifted from their position, and gentle kisses are placed along your wrists that you open your eyes, meeting his fiery blue ones.

“There she is.” He smiles down at you, stroking your cheek. You smile back at him, still feeling floaty and euphoric.

“Hi…” you whisper, and he chuckles, admiring how cute you are like this.

“Hi.” He responds, utterly amused, “How was that?”

You hum in delight, nodding your head. “I don’t think I could ever get enough of that.” A smirk creeps onto his face at your answer, as he studies your naked body beneath him.

He’s done it, he’s finally done it. He’s going to leave this living hell, and he’s going to do it with you exactly where he wants you. Wrapped around his finger, and well, eventually his cock. And god he can’t wait for the day he’ll finally get to ruin and defile you.

“Peter?” You ask timidly, cutting off his thoughts. He hums in response, “Thank you.” You genuinely mean that, and he knows it.

“You’re welcome darling.”

Oh yeah, you’re his now, and he’s never letting you go.

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maybellineissatisfied · 8 months

Text

Cemetery Sweethearts - Kazuya Hikizuri/GN!Reader

A/N: This is my first time posting on tumblr, so sorry if the format is off a bit

Contains: Macabre Fluff, Mentions of Dying (cemetery duh), Implied Sexual Content (but no smut srry)

Also on AO3 if you prefer that for reading fanfics :)

The heavy clouds shrouded the darkening sky, casting a dark blanket over the mansion as the lanterns illuminated sections of the graveyard. The mansion's windows glowed yellow and the muted sounds of shouting and crying rang across the graveyard towards an isolated figure walking towards the furthest corner of the unkept 'garden'. They passed copious graves as they followed a gravel path that had lonely blades of grass growing between the small stones as it weaved throughout the labyrinth of the dead. The path faded into the dense grass the further away from the house it stretched until eventually it was swallowed into the tangle of green.

You crouched by a few of the graves that claustrophobically decorated the backyard, muttering lowly to them about what was on the news that day, and about what you did. The spirits wailed and whined in response as they soared overhead and dipped under the ground. You giggled wryly as they tickled you with a cool breeze when they flew too close. Sometimes the spirits asked you in echoing voices about something specific, whether it be their family, politics or if the convenience store on near their childhood home still had their favourite snack. You would answer to the best of your ability, however, some of them were stubborn and refused to accept that times were changing although they were dead.

"Always the stalker, never the stalked." You tittered as some gravel crunched behind you, not bothering to turn around. "Right, Kazuya?"

"Nothing gets past you, my observant little raven." Said man chuckled, emerging from behind a tall headstone, running a hand through his hair to brush off stray leaves as he sauntered towards you.

"You've stalked me since we first met, I know how you work." You rolled your eyes and turned to face him. His eyes softened when you stood up to brush some imaginary dust off his shoulders and straighten the collar of his shirt. "Why'd you follow me? You said you were going to take a bath."

"I heard the coo of a lovely mourning dove and wanted to catch a glimpse of them." He brought your left hand up to his face and pressed a gentle kiss on your knuckles. "It's a sign of good fortune after all."

"You flatter me." You smiled as he continued to kiss your hand.

"You bewitch me, my darling." Kazuya purred, turning your hand to press kisses into your palm. "It was this very hand that picked up my pen and gave it back to me. I almost proposed right then."

"I would have said yes even back then." You giggled as Kazuya trailed kisses up your arm.

"I know."

"I remember at graduation; you gave me the second button of your uniform because you didn't know if you'd see me again." You reminisced as he softly kissed your neck, tilting your head to accommodate him but still feeling the frame of his glasses prod your skin. "I wore it as a necklace ever since that day, it was like a wedding ring."

"And you still wear it, alongside your wedding ring." Kazuya mused, holding your necklace and inspected the button that used to be on his uniform. "Do you love me that much, darling?"

"Of course I do," You retorted. "I doubt anyone else could put up with you and your family."

"That's true." He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the button. "I love you." He sighed and kissed his way up your face to your lips.

His lips brushed against yours shyly at first until you grabbed his face and pulled him closer. He smiled against your lips slightly and held your shoulders. When you pulled away, you both were breathing heavily and Kazuya whined quietly, pressing his forehead against yours desperately. You smiled and stroked his face which he leaned into.

"You're so cute." You smiled. "I'm going to stay out here for a bit, do you want to stay with me, sweetheart?"

"Sure, let's go on a walk though. Afterwards, could I persuade you to join me in the bath?" Kazuya inquired, linking his arm through yours. You nodded at him and squeezed your arm around his.

The two of you strolled around the cemetery, reminiscing about the individuals whose names were inscribed on the headstones. Kazuya eventually halted at a grave that was fore fronted by a barren patch of uneven dirt and the faded edges of a pentagram, there was also some candle wicks laying in the surrounding grass, swallowed by the erratic blades.

"I wish Uncle Diginosuke could have met you, darling, he would've loved you." Kazuya murmured, gazing sadly at the headstone. "Shame his grave is empty now." You remained silent but nodded. Years ago, the grave used to emit woeful groans and cries alongside the occasional mutter of "karma", but you never saw a spirit. Now it was cold and empty, only a distant memory kept alive by a still-mourning nephew.

Diginosuke had always been a sensitive topic for Kazuya, especially after the siblings resurrected him and his zombie was consumed by their father's ghost. Kazuya would talk about his uncle with fondness as he showed you photographs of his infant self playing with Diginosuke. Your favourite was one of Diginosuke sitting on a swing set with a four-year-old Kazuya laughing in his lap, however, that was the last photo of the two before Diginosuke was forced to leave the mansion after an affair and killed himself. Kazuya admitted he cried for a long time after his uncle left and didn't understand what had truly happened as his father told him that Diginosuke insulted the family and to get over him because 'a man shouldn't cry'. Kazuya found out that Diginosuke was dead a few days before he turned five years old.

"I also know mom would have adored you, maybe even more than she adored me." Kazuya's woeful gaze turned to you. "She knew about you, despite me trying to hide my feelings. She wanted me to marry you, and she was the one who encouraged me to give you my button when I graduated; 'It's a subtle yet meaningful way of telling them how you feel.' is what she said." He smiled briefly at the memory.

Masue Hikizuri was a beautiful and kind woman who loved all her children very much and tried to make time for all of them. You had only met her in passing and she always smiled at you which made Kazuya get embarrassed and usher her and his siblings away. Kazuya constantly mentioned how his mom wanted to formally meet you, and have you around for a meal but you never got the chance before her and his dad died. After that, Kazuya would constantly tell you stories about his mom, and what she would have thought about you two being together and being married.

Even though Kazuya had told you these stories hundreds of times, you never got tired of hearing them, because you knew it made him happy to tell you them. He only talked about his mom and uncle though, he rarely mentioned his father because his father didn't support the relationship and would criticize Kazuya for thinking of courting you. His mom, on the other hand, was fully supportive and was elated her son had found someone he loved to spend time with since he was always gloomy and isolated himself from other people. While you never met his uncle, Kazuya told you about some advice his uncle gave his younger self offhandedly about striving for happiness throughout life, and you made him happy, so he had adhered to his uncle's words.

Eventually, Kazuya rolled his shoulders and smiled at you, gently guiding you away from his uncle's abandoned grave and along another dirt path. You continued to talk about the names on the graves and Kazuya would indulge you in stories about them, since they were his deceased ancestors. However, as you walked further into the cemetery, the headstones became blank; they didn't need names though, you both remembered who each one was and how they died.

"Darling, it's your good friend, Tabata. Remember him?" Kazuya mused, gesturing to a patch of dirt that was nestled between two broken headstones. You could see Tabata's ghost floating above his grave with a woeful expression painted on his disfigured face as his vacant eyes bore into your soul. You stared back, apathetic, and leaned into Kazuya's side more. "I sure remember what you did to him."

"I always knew you were a bit of a freak, but I would never have thought murder turned you on so much. You couldn't keep your hands off me, not that I'm complaining." You teased, making him smirk.

"Like you were any better than I was."

"Yeah, I had you arching your back and biting the pillows then, and I always do it again easily." You smirked triumphantly as he flushed and pulled your linked arm to continue walking.

"Ah, it's poor Kotani and his mannequin." Kazuya giggled at some grass under a tree. "I remember the fun we had with him."

"How many of Narumi's boyfriends have you guys killed overall again? I've been present for seven, and Kotani makes eight of them dead."

"Twenty." Kazuya stated apathetically. "Well we've only physically killed them a few times, most of them got scared to death like poor Kotani. My favourite was one extremely rude boy who thought he could attack Misako," Kazuya laughed. "The look on his face when she scratched his arms to shreds was a pretty picture. It was even better when we got a hold of him, but the clean-up was a pain." He sighed dramatically.

Eventually, the two of you stopped walking around and sat on the lone bench in the graveyard with Kazuya's head resting in your lap as you caressed his face and played with his hair. The dark grey clouds framed the moon, allowing the natural light to illuminate the world for the first time that night. The moonlight shone down on you and Kazuya, creating a soft silver glow on the grass and the granite and marble headstones.

It was a typical weekend evening, with you and Kazuya enjoying each other's company away from his overbearing siblings, even if it was in the graveyard at the back of the mansion. It reminded you of when the two of you would sneak away from your friends and family as teenagers to see each other, however, his siblings would usually stalk you two to check that their big brother wasn't abandoning them. Fortunately, they grew out of the habit after knowing you were not threat, but also because Kazuya and Kinako would scold the younger ones.

"I want to share a grave with you, darling." Kazuya whispered, breaking the silence. "'Deep in the earth, my love is lying, and I must weep alone.' Doesn't that sound awful? Being apart from you is a nightmare I refuse to experience, there's no point to life if my mourning dove isn't singing."

"Poetic." You smiled sadly, twirling a strand of his fringe around your finger. "You could be the next Poe with the depressingly macabre stuff you spout. Or maybe even Keats? Do you want me to cut off your head and keep it in a plant pot?" You laughed glumly.

"I mean it, (Y/N), if you died before me, I would end my life to be laid next to your body." Kazuya's insistence on dying together was unnerving to say the least, and his sincere expression made you shiver. He sat up abruptly and moved to sit in your lap, bringing your hands to his chest. "Our bodies would grow cold and rot together until we become one with the earth." He smiled dreamily and nuzzled his head against yours.

"Or until Hitoshi performs some necromancy." You muttered, causing him to pull his head away and scowl. "Bright side is, we would be undead together, and I know you would be a handsome zombie."

"So would you, my dear." He smiled and kissed you softly. "Maybe I'll ask Hitoshi to do that in the future; just to wake up with you in my arms and see your face again."

You both lapsed into a comfortable silence, with Kazuya sitting in your lap, leaning against you, a serene expression on his face. You wrapped your arms around him and brought him closer to you and rested your head against the crook of his neck to which he sighed contentedly.

"'Neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul, of the beautiful (Y/N) Hikizuri.'" Kazuya said, holding you closer. "We're fated to be together for all of eternity, and in every life. I'll never let you go again." His voice lowered to a more possessive tone and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.

"You said that when you proposed to me, and on our wedding day." You sighed, nuzzling into his neck. "If you weren't worshiping the ground I walk on, I would think you were in love with Poe, the amount of times you quote his poems and change the words."

"His poems are macabre, emotional, passionate." Kazuya's voice shifted to a sultry tone with every word. "Just like us." He purred into your ear.

"You're so sappy!" You laughed and pushed him off your lap.

"You love it, (Y/N), don't deny it!" He insisted, wrestling you down on the bench. He tickled your sides and pressed a wet kiss on your face as you yelped and tried to squirm out from under him. He laughed loudly and pressed his weight down on you, trapping you underneath him as he continued to tickle you.

"Okay! Okay! Let me go!" You cried, cheeks hurting from laughter. Kazuya stopped his attack and smirked down at you. He sat back and pulled you up so you were sitting side by side on the bench. "You're right, I do love it." A bashful smile spread across your face as you leaned against him and he did the same while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Have I told you that you look so melancholy tonight?" Kazuya asked, cupping your chin in his hand, running his thumb across your bottom lip. "The moon highlights the pessimism in your eyes."

"The shadows around your eyes and cheekbones make you look dead, my dear." You whispered, leaning closer to him, gazing at him as his eyes lit up. "But your eyes are alive and conniving. I almost feel like I'm in danger."

"Does that excite you?" He purred as he kissed your neck, smirking into your skin as you moaned and shuddered.

"We will disturb the dead, beloved." You gasped as he nipped your neck and heatedly ran his tongue over the marks. Low groans and wails echoed in the distance but you tuned them out as Kazuya's hot tongue trailed up your throat and jaw.

"Let them be disturbed." Kazuya moaned breathlessly, cupping your face. He crashed his lips onto yours, kissing you feverishly and pulled you down on top of him.

#junji ito #junji ito x reader #kazuya hikizuri #the strange hikizuri siblings #japanese tales of the macabre #first kazuya fanfic?

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