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shuagirl · 10 days

Text

TAKE IT SLOW, BABY. | L.SM

pairings. virgin!lee seokmin x soft dom fem!reader genres. smut [s] fluff [f] angst [a]

summary. it's your boyfriend's birthday and you wanted to give him a special treatment.

warnings. established relationship, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, oral sex, blowjob, very slight angst (i think?), slow pace

( marvy ) this random idea just popped up in my head after scrolling through some dk pics on pintrest (IM NOT A CREEP!!!) yeah anyways, i can't lie ran out of full plot ideas and this was so rushed but enjoy i guesssss <3

You've spent all day prepping, making sure everything's perfect. It's Seokmin's birthday, and you want to give him a night he'll never forget. The room is dim, lit only by the soft flicker of candles you've placed everywhere. Their warm glow dances on the walls, creating an intimate, romantic and magical atmosphere. The air is thick with the heady scent of vanilla and jasmine from the candles, blending with the faint smell of roses from the petals scattered across the bed.

When Seokmin walks in, he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes widen, taking in the scene. You can see the surprise and the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—desire, maybe even a bit of awe. You stand there, heart pounding, wearing that white dress that flows around you like a soft, delicate cloud.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whisper, stepping toward him. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, and you rest them on his shoulders. You rise on your tiptoes and plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

Seokmin's heart is racing—you can feel it under your palms. He's nervous and excited. "Y/N, this is... amazing," he stammers. His fingers, trembling just a little, cup your face. He leans in, and his lips find yours again, this time with more urgency. The kiss deepens and grows more passionate. You feel his hands sliding into your hair, pulling you closer, and you respond eagerly, pressing your body against his.

The world outside fades away. It's just the two of you now, wrapped in this moment. Your fingers trace patterns on his back, feeling the heat of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of his body against yours, the taste of his lips, and the intoxicating scent of his skin combine into a heady rush that makes your pulse quicken.

You pull away just enough to tug at his shirt, lifting it over his head. He helps by raising his arms, and then your hands are on his bare chest, exploring his muscles' smooth, firm planes. You kiss his neck, feel the shiver running through him, and smile against his skin.

His breath hitches when your lips move lower, trailing kisses down his collarbone. He wants you—God, you can feel how much he wants you. But you recognise hesitation, too, a tension in his muscles. Whenever things get heated, he always finds a way to stop, to pull back. You know it's not because he doesn't want you. It's something else, something he's never reasonably said.

Tonight, though, you're determined. You guide him towards the bed, gently pushing him down. You climb onto his lap, feeling the hardness of his desire pressing against you. He freezes, his eyes wide, a mixture of lust and fear in them.

"Seokmin, what's wrong?" you ask softly, searching his face.

He hesitates, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I... I have to tell you something," he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a virgin."

You pause, taken aback for a moment. But then you see the vulnerability in his eyes, and your heart melts. You cup his face in your hands, looking into his eyes with all your love for him. "Oh, baby, you don't have to be embarrassed. I'm sorry if I made you feel pressured," you say, your voice filled with concern and affection.

He shakes his head, a small, shy smile on his lips. "No, it's not that. I just... I didn't want to disappoint you," he admits, his voice cracking with vulnerability.

You lean in and kiss him, slow and lingering. "You could never disappoint me, Seokmin. We can go as slow as you want," you murmur against his lips.

He looks at you, and something in his eyes changes. There's a newfound courage there, a determination. "But tonight, I want you. I need you," he whispers back, his voice filled with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

You smile, relieved and excited. "Me too," you breathe, diving back into the kiss, your hands roaming over his body with deliberate slowness that drives you both wild.

The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more fervent. You guide him to lie back on the bed, your lips never leaving his as you start to undress him. The feel of his skin under your fingers sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help the low moan that escapes your lips when you kiss down his neck, your tongue tracing a hot, wet path to his collarbone.

When he's finally naked beneath you, you take a moment to drink in the sight of him—flushed and trembling with anticipation. You kiss your way down his chest, your lips and tongue teasing every inch of his skin until you reach his hips.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with adoration and desire. You can see the tension in his body, the way his muscles tighten with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. You want to make this moment as special and comfortable for him as possible.

With a reassuring smile, you kiss the inside of his thigh, your breath warm against his skin. Seokmin's breath hitches, and he lets out a soft moan as you continue to plant gentle, lingering kisses along his thigh. You can feel his body relax slightly, his fingers gripping the sheets as he surrenders to the sensation.

You take your time, your kisses slow and deliberate, your tongue tracing delicate patterns on his skin. You move closer to his centre, your mouth hovering above him, your breath warm and teasing. Seokmin's eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggles to maintain control.

"Y/N," he breathes, his voice filled with longing and uncertainty.

You look up at him, your eyes filled with tenderness. "It's okay, baby," you whisper. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

With that, you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him in a soft, warm embrace. Seokmin lets out a deep, shuddering moan, his hips bucking involuntarily. The sensation is overwhelming, and he can't hold back the sounds of pleasure that escape his lips.

You work him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, your tongue swirling around him, exploring every inch. You can feel him trembling beneath you, his body responding to your touch in ways that make your heart race. You take him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you create a gentle suction, your hand wrapped around the base to provide additional stimulation.

Seokmin's fingers tangle in your hair, his grip tight but not forceful. He's lost in the pleasure, his mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. Every touch, every movement of your mouth sends waves of ecstasy coursing through his body.

You continue your ministrations, your pace steady and unhurried. You want to draw out the pleasure, to make this experience as intense and enjoyable for him as possible. You can feel him getting closer, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, his moans growing louder and more desperate.

"Y/N, I'm—" he begins, his voice strained.

You don't stop, and your movements become more fervent and insistent. You want to take him all the way, to show him just how much you love him, how much you want to please him. With one final, deep suck, you feel him tense beneath you, his body shuddering as he reaches his climax.

Seokmin cries out your name, his hips bucking as he releases into your mouth. You take it all, your tongue and lips milking every drop, your hands soothingly caressing his thighs as he rides out the waves of pleasure. When he finally relaxes, you pull back, a satisfied smile on your lips as you look up at him.

He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath. His eyes are half-lidded, a dazed, blissful expression on his face. You crawl up his body, your hands and lips trailing soft touches and kisses as you make your way back to his lips.

You kiss him deeply, allowing him to taste himself on your lips. Seokmin responds eagerly, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. The moment's intensity, the raw physical and emotional connection, leaves you both trembling with desire.

"Y/N," he whispers against your lips, his voice filled with awe and gratitude. "That was... incredible."

You smile, your heart swelling with love for him. "There's more, Seokmin," you murmur, your eyes dark with desire. "If you want."

He nods, his hands sliding down your back to grip your hips. "I want you, Y/N. I need you," he says, his voice filled with conviction.

You move to straddle him, positioning yourself just above his now-hard-again member. You take a moment to look into his eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. All you see is love and desire, making your heart race.

"We'll go slow," you promise, your voice soft and soothing. "We'll take it slow, baby."

Seokmin nods, his hands resting on your hips, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. You guide him to your entrance, lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, until he's entirely inside you. You both gasp at the sensation, your bodies perfectly aligned, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

Guide him to your entrance, lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, until he's entirely inside you. You both gasp at the sensation, your bodies perfectly aligned, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

The feeling is intense, a delicious mix of pleasure and slight discomfort. You take a moment to breathe, to adjust to the incredible sensation of having him fill you so completely. His eyes are wide, his lips parted as he gazes up at you with a blend of awe and desire. You can feel his heartbeat racing against your skin, matching the wild thrum of your own.

"Are you okay?" you whisper, your voice calm and tender.

He nods, swallowing hard. "Yeah," he breathes, his hands tightening on your hips. "You feel... so good."

You smile down at him, your heart swelling with love. "So do you, Seokmin. So do you."

You start to move slowly at first, rocking your hips in a gentle rhythm. The friction is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your body with every movement. Seokmin's hands slide up your sides, exploring the curves of your body with reverence. His touch is warm, grounding you in the moment.

"God, Y/N," he groans, his head falling back against the pillows. "This feels... amazing."

You can't help but smile at his reaction, the pure, unfiltered joy in his voice. You increase your pace slightly, finding a rhythm that makes your breath catch and your heart race. The room is filled with the soft sounds of your bodies moving together, the mingling of your breaths, the occasional gasp or moan of pleasure.

Seokmin's hands find your breasts, his fingers brushing over your nipples, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. You arch into his touch, encouraging him. He takes your nipple between his fingers, rolling it gently, and you gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily.

"Yes, Seokmin," you moan, your voice trembling with pleasure. "Just like that."

He watches you with wide, dark eyes, his lips parted, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The sight of him, so overwhelmed with desire, so open and vulnerable, sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. You lean down to kiss him, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips, tasting the sweetness of his mouth.

His hands slide down to your hips, guiding your movements, his grip firm but gentle. You move together, finding a rhythm that feels right, that brings you both closer to the edge. The sensation of him inside you, the way he fills you completely, the way his body responds to yours, is almost too much to bear.

"Seokmin," you gasp, your voice catching as a particularly intense wave of pleasure washes over you. "I can't... I can't hold on much longer."

"Me neither," he groans, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. "Y/N, I—"

You both lose yourselves in the moment, the world narrowing to just the two of you, the heat of your bodies, the mingling of your breaths, the heady scent of desire that fills the air. Every touch and movement is filled with love, passion, and a deep, undeniable connection.

You can feel the tension building inside you, a tight coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment. Your movements become more urgent, more desperate as you chase that elusive climax, your body trembling with the effort.

"Seokmin," you moan, your voice breaking with the intensity of your need. "I'm so close."

"Me too," he gasps, his fingers digging into your hips, his eyes wide and dark with desire.

With a final, urgent thrust, you feel the coil of pleasure inside you snap, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense, overwhelming sensation. You cry out, your body shaking with the force of your release, your mind going blank with the sheer intensity of it.

Seokmin follows you over the edge, his own climax tearing through him with a force that leaves him breathless. He moans your name, his hands gripping you tightly as he spills inside you, his body shuddering with the intensity of his pleasure.

For a moment, you both lie there, tangled together, your bodies trembling, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The world slowly comes back into focus, and you realise that you're still holding each other, your bodies still connected, the aftershocks of your orgasms still pulsing through you.

You smile, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this incredible, beautiful man. "Thank you, Seokmin," you whisper, kissing his lips softly. "That was... amazing."

He smiles back at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "No, thank you, Y/N," he murmurs, his fingers gently stroking your hair. "You made this the best birthday I've ever had."

You laugh softly, your heart full. "Happy birthday, Seokmin," you say, your voice tender. "I love you."

"I love you too," he replies, his voice filled with emotion. "More than anything."

You stay like that for a while, just holding each other, savouring the warmth and intimacy of the moment. The candles flicker softly, casting a golden glow over the room, and the scent of vanilla and jasmine lingers in the air, creating a cocoon of love and tenderness around you.

Eventually, you roll off of him, lying by his side, your bodies still touching, still connected. You trace lazy patterns on his chest with your fingers, your touch light and soothing.

"Do you feel okay?" you ask quietly, looking up at him with concern.

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "I feel amazing," he says. "I was nervous, but you made it... perfect. Thank you for being so patient with me."

"Always," you reply, kissing him softly. "I love you, Seokmin. There's no rush. We have all the time in the world."

He holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "I love you too, Y/N," he murmurs. "Thank you for tonight. Thank you for everything."

You fall asleep in each other's arms, your bodies warm and tangled, your hearts full. The night had been a beautiful blend of passion and tenderness, a perfect beginning to a new chapter in your relationship.

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arminsumi · 10 months

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so happy you're writing for gojo and getou!! You make my day fr <3

Thinking of ex getou hc... he annoyingly drapes himself over you like your not broken up, still brings you lunch and snacks when he knows your craving them, hugs you for way too long Infront of other men until you break and take him again <33

He would not be afraid of being toxic if it ment getting you back

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒꒱ ex-boyfriend

GETO x f.reader

A/N: i am in pieces at the word choice 'drapes' 😩 thank you for your request — so happy i can make your day 💗 i kinda... wrote an excessive amount srry if i deviated a bit i was in a real suguru state of mind

♪ NOW PLAYING: don't blame me, your love made me crazy

Wc: >900

Overview; Suguru just can't let you go. His mad love reels you back into his arms.

Content; fluff, (ex.bf) headcanons

Warnings; light toxicity, light obsessiveness/possessiveness (?), jealousy, he doesn't let you leave

arminsumi's library

— He is the definition of the "I'm not her ex" ex-boyfriend. Anyone who asks "Did you two split?" will be met with a firm "No. We're just working things out." from Geto before you can even open your mouth to speak.

— Soft, good-smelling, and good-looking; his aura permeates through the air of your apartment as soon as he walks in. He unashamedly invited himself over and said "Aren't you lonely without me? C'mon admit it. I'll make some tea, do you want? Okay then, I'll make you one anyways."

— Behind those abyssal eyes are all his unchanged feelings for you; his one and only. He can't move on. You have a death grip on his mind; he thinks about you in the shower, on the road, walking to the store, while shopping. Daydreams of you are plastered throughout his routines.

— He engulfs you in a consuming hug and peers down at you with a tender look. He's so much bigger than you; the broadness of his shoulders are laughable in comparison to yours. "Missed you, baby." he says, usually pressing a kiss to your cheek (smirking when you swat him away like a fly), and he says that a lot; you can feel the weight in each word.

— Of course... when in front of other men, his hugs seem to get clingier. Heavier. Longer. More possessive. He hangs on your body as if he's the clothes on your back. His scent lingers on you.

— Still lends you his oversized T-shirts and insists that you wear them before heading out for coffee with your coworker, Gojo. Asks for 'proof' pics that you really are wearing his shirt.

— He calls you by the nickname you always favored, the one that had the power to weaken your knees to the point of falling to them. Paired with that silken, dangerously attractive voice and the yearning glint in his eyes, you're a goner.

— He's always been able to read you like an unravelling scroll. As if you're a painting and he's an artist, he knows every brush stroke that creates an artwork like you.

So when you push him away, he knows that you actually want him to hold you tight. When you tell him to give up, you actually want him to try harder. And when you shakily answer no to his inquiry about "Do you still feel for me?" he knows you actually mean yes.

— Leans in to whisper something in your ear when you've got company or guests over at a party. He loves forming a barrier of intimacy between you and him in a public setting; he thinks that they should all witness how capable he still is of flustering you. His heart lurches when you react to his whispers with the same swooning smile as you did in high school.

— He pops up at your workplace, "I got you your favorite." he says with a smooth smile that you instantly succumb to.

— He selfishly drags you back into his arms like Hades mythically dragged Persephone back into the underworld.

— You want to move on from him ? Nope, not happening. He's dead set, completely determined, to dig his way back into your heart.

— Needles of jealousy prick his chest when he sees you laughing because of someone else. He can't stand that, not even for a second, so he invades the conversation and plucks you out of it like you're a gemstone lost among rocks in a dirty river.

"Let's go." he says, "Go where?" you ask, but he whisks you away without answering.

— Honest to god, if he could snatch you away and trap you in a castle, he would. In fact, he can, minus the castle — but his penthouse will have to do 🤷‍♀️

A few lavish invitations to dinner at his place lead to you sleeping over like how you used to. It's all part of his grand scheme. "Baby, come back to me." he murmurs into your hair. "This house is so cold without you."

— Come the morning, you're readying yourself to leave for coffee with your coworker again. Stupid Sunday tradition, Geto hated it. No, he despised it; it made his head spin with anger.

"I've got to go... Suguru?" He blocks your path down the hallway, his silhouette giving hint to his serious frown. It's dark in the hallway, but not darker than his eyes.

"You're not gonna let me leave, are you?"

"No." He admits heavily. "Come on, don't look at me like that; I love you. You'll be safe here. You know what, tomorrow I'll make you your favorite for breakfast, doesn't that sound nice?"

— All these sweet words are said in a smooth, murmuring voice... while his veiny hands firmly plant on the front door and force it shut with a startling bang after you attempted to open it.

"Stay." he demands in a threatening, low voice. "Please?" he lightens it at the end, aware of how scary that probably sounded.

— He's wrapping you around his finger like how he did in the beginning. You coil around his life until, without realizing soon enough, you're back in it.

— Just like that, his love ensnares you once more, and you're happily trapped in his big strong arms.

#♥️ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 — 夏油傑 #geto #geto suguru #suguru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto x reader smut #suguru x reader #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #jujutsu geto #hcs #headcanons #jjk headcanons

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ghouljams · 8 months

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not to be a voracious whore but like what if Witch tried to cast smt on Price n he clocks it ofc and it was v stupid of her to try. he teases her a little and he'd be such a menace all "darling if you wanted to know you could've asked." and "Such a bad little witch, casting spells like that." "Such a stupid witch." he really activates my daddy issues

(Also price is a little surprised bc she put effort in it and it was very very sneaky and almost made it into him but his magic caught it like the last moment. he's proud of his witch <3 )

(its obvs v early on but like probs after they've been talking for a bit, like witch knows being caught wont be instant death from price)

I am a voracious whore for Witch and Price so you're in good company. I'm thinking this is maybe after Witch makes Price his command spell cigars, and she realizes that he could use them on her. So obviously she tries to put some protections in place, and that means sticking a spell to Price. Easier said than done.

Price is at the bar when he feels the gentle stroke of magic wrap around him. Delicate as a rose petal, and scented with lilac. Sweet and bitingly intoxicating, it tries to settle invitingly over his skin, eager to fly under the radar. Someone else might have missed it, but to Price it's all too familiar. Nastier people have tried worse spells on him. This one is too entreating, too cunning, not to know who it's from. You think you're so clever trying to wind your magic into his, as if he wouldn't notice.

He snaps the soft spell with his fingers, feels the lingering smoke of it --that was smart of you, to burn something, to meet his element-- roll across his palm. It drips like dew onto the lacquered table, inert. You should know better.

Price pushes back from the table, his chair scraping the ground loud enough to silence the conversation in the bar. His boys look at him with confusion and concern. The dew on the table fizzes and steams, boiling itself off.

"Just a little business to take care of," He tells the table before walking out.

You count through the contents of your bag, making mental notes on what you still have to restock. Mustard seeds, poke berries, snake ribs, raccoon baculum, a few shed skins, cat whiskers, you always feel a little bad about the animal curios. You try not to use them too often, but some spells call for it. You stop dead, look up at the empty street in front of you. You close your eyes to steel yourself against the presence you can feel behind you, try to keep a pleasant smile when you open your eyes and turn to face him.

"Price, what a pleasant surprise," You smile up at him, he doesn't look pleased to see you.

"Is it?" He asks, his voice painfully even. He takes a step forward as you take one back.

"Always," You respond easily.

"Interesting," He tips his head, looks down his nose at you with hard eyes, "do you know what I find surprising?"

You feel the spikes of his magic, the thorns that ripped your spell to shreds. Lying isn't an option, he's not asking because he doesn't know. He's asking so you'll admit your guilt and face the music. You don't think he'd kill you, but fae are unpredictable. Your best bet is distance, get some space and keep it before you try any more magic on him. You dart from him and Price's arm snags you around your middle, stopping you dead as he pulls you back. You drop your bag as you grab his arm.

"Oh sweetheart, you have been naughty, haven't you?" Your stomach drops at the suchor in his voice, the gravel that rumbles so promisingly.

"It wouldn't have hurt you," You try a different approach. His hands are so distractingly present against you, his touch spreading warmth through you even over your clothes. You're not used to being touched like this. You're painfully aware of the dull throb between your legs as his body slots behind yours.

"If you want something darling, you have to ask for it," He purrs, his voice low against your ear, "No spells, no tricks, just your pretty pleas." You swallow, resist the urge to lean back into him. He's so solid against your back, broad chest and thick arms keeping you held tight. Had you even thought about escape since he'd caught you?

You don't think he's working any sort of magic over you. It can't just be him keeping your thoughts vacant. It feels like your brain's poured out through your ears, you can't think of how to respond to that. How do you respond to that?

Price's hand catches your jaw, fingers digging ever so slightly into your cheeks, and jerks your head up from where you'd been staring at the cobblestone. "Say something pet, tell me why you needed to work your little magic on me," He all but commands.

"I gave you a powerful spell and needed a safe guard against it," You remember quickly. You won't apologize for taking precautions. Surely he understands that. You don't regret it, only getting caught. You'll be more careful next time you need to work any magic on this man.

"All this over a few cigars?" Price hums, drags his lips against the shell of your ear. You shiver and try to move your head away from the feeling. His grip on your face keeps you where he wants you. He chuckles against you, the sound dripping molten down your spine to settle between your legs. "I don't need to use magic on you, little witch, I have you exactly where I want you just like this."

You squirm, feel his arm tighten around you as you threaten escape. Your attempt feels pathetic even to you. You may be on par with Price in terms of magic, but in raw physical ability he has you beat. Isn't that intoxicating? Some small shivery part of you asks. That he can hold you like this, keep you in place with just his strength? He'd let you go so easily before, he didn't have the same compunction now.

"You don't cast spells on me," He tells you, speaks it into existence, a law between the both of you, "Got it?"

"Yes, fine, got it," You press, push your hands against his hold firmly. He lets you go and you stumble to keep on your feet as you scramble away from him, not for the first time.

"Good girl," His praise is buried under condescension as you pick up your dropped goods. You don't expect him to be there when you look up, and he isn't. At least the street seems to be coming back to life, unstuck from wherever he'd pulled it. He's gotten touchy recently. You wonder what that's about.

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prodbyblush · 1 year

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i have a request for the aib boys getting jealoussss, i love your workkk <3

ｎｏｗｌｏａｄｉｎｇ …

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 100%

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

・❥・ requested

→ gn!reader

No matter how hard he tries not to look jealous, he's bad at it. ARISU would look very sad from a far as he watches you get in touch with an old male friend of yours whom he's heard from you that left the country a few years ago and returned a few days ago, but before leaving, that same old male friend confessed his feelings.

"I'm back, Arisu!"

So now what becomes of him? Is he going to get disposed now that he's back? Is the feelings that were once dead coming back to life? Did they even linger while you were dating him?

"Arisu? Arisuuuu!"

Maybe he's just a rebound? A test of water to see if you could love again after his departure. Maybe, just maybe, it would be best to break things off now with you.

"Arisu!"

"Huh?" The raven haired male hums, snapping out of his reverie as he grounds himself back to reality, to you.

"You know I'm yours, right?" He hears you say, cupping his cheeks and squishing them together. "I may look happy seeing him but there's no one else I'll go home to but you!"

And there it is. The words of assurance he needed to hear that he still has you.

For as long as he lives, he'll never admit his jealousy. CHISHIYA would rather much die than show weakness. But sometimes, his own premise to himself falters when it involves you.

"Did you like that person's company at the bar?" He asks, hands tucked inside the pockets of his jacket, sitting atop of the high chair. "It seems that they are more than ready to keep the drinks going."

"The person at the bar?" You repeat. "I don't like their company neither the attention they give me." You say, taking steps closer to him.

"That's good to hear." He replies.

"Were you perhaps...jealous?"

"No I wasn't. I was just looking out for you."

"But that's practically the same."

"Just be thankful."

Even without the alcohol, NIRAGI always wanted to be by your side - morning til night.

"Niragi, I'm hot." He hears you complain, his arms draped around your figure.

"Of course you are." He responded, the scent of his cologne mixed with alcohol and gun powder wafting around him. "Look at how these idiots' look at you."

"But I don't care about them." You reply, pouting. "I want to go back inside the hotel and take a cold shower."

"Aw, but I kind of like the attention were getting here." He coos, placing a kiss on top of your head. "If were here, everyone knows were together." He adds.

"Should we take a dip in the pool instead? I'll get you more cold drinks." He compromises.

"Seems fair." You reply.

"Oi" Niragi suddenly calls out, voice deep as he stands on his feet, rifle always ready in hand. "Got something to say? I saw how you were staring at us."

"No thanks, I'm goo-"

"Fuck off, creep. Guys like deserve to get a bullet in the head."

Before things could even escalate, please control him. He only listens to you after all.

"Is your phone more important than me?"

As much as LAST BOSS doesn't want to admit too, the green feeling latched onto him ever since all this began.

Before even getting to how it is, he lays out all the movies the two of you promised to watch together along with the snacks and drinks of your liking; going as far as letting you borrow his hoodie.

But up to the second movie and you're still on your phone? What the hell is this?

"Who are you even texting?" He asks but it sounded more like a demand.

"Me?" You ask. "It's only my co worker. I'm actually-"

"How much do you two text in a day?"

"...A fair amount? But listen-"

"We don't even text each other like that. The casual good morning, good night and wanna come over texts is all we send each other."

"I know. But aren't we like that because we usually spend time each other than sending texts?"

"Why are you even asking me all this? What's gotten into you? Are you jealous?"

Not replying to the accusation, all he could do is look away to hide the tinge of pink splotching on his cheeks. When he couldn't control it, he'd bite his inner cheek.

"My co worker is a new hired. I told them to text me if they're encountering any problems that was beyond what we covered. But you have me!" You reply, straddling on his lap while wrapping your arms around his neck. "You have all of me."

He knows it's pointless to talk about a topic like this but what could he do when he's curious? KARUBE just wanted to know what your ex partners were like when you were dating them.

"Well..." You begin to say, racking up your brain to reminisce the old, deep hidden memories inside your mind. The ones you've managed to remember the last bits of memories you made with them.

"Some of them were romantic to begin, some of them not quite. Some were good in bed, but some aren't." You added, receiving a slow nod of head from Karube.

"Except this one person." You quickly took note, rambling how this ex partner of yours knew how to push your buttons when in bed.

And as you draw on and on, the jealousy begins to build up in him. His feelings and expression changed into a dark on.

"You can stop now. You lost me at the beginning already." He stops you short, finishing the rest of his beer.

"Are you...jealous? You know I'm yours, right?"

Karube makes a face, brushing off the jealousy he feels like it's nothing.

"Me? Jealous? Why would I be?" He asks. "Though you lost me in the beginning of your story, I can give you much more than them. There isn't anyone else in this world that can make you feel good except me."

TAGS: @aikerx @retrospacealien @chishiya-of-diamonds @boowoomuu @ang3liclov3ly @kenqki @shadowheads-shitshow @lunoxxy @supercoffeeblogs @laylasbunbunny

#imawa no kuni no alice #imawa no kuni no arisu #alice in borderland #alice in boderland x reader #aib x reader #aib x you #aib x y/n #arisu alice in borderland #arisu x reader #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #niragi alice in borderland #niragi x reader #last boss alice in borderland #last boss x reader #karube alice in borderland #karube x reader

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3ninth · 1 year

Text

Zombies aren't real, and yet Makoto is haunted by the dead.

It started off with nightmares about his bathroom being haunted.

It felt ridiculous, really, so he kept quiet about it.

The doorknob jiggles at night now. Sometimes he sees splatters of blood in the shower, that are gone in the blink of an eye.

Sayaka leaves him messages in the condensation on the mirror. 11037. 11037. 11037.

Some days, he's terrified that he'll see her corpse again.

The knife she used turns up at his door sometimes. It's always gone in the morning. He's woken up to his room in disarray, looking the same it did on the day that Sayaka died.

One night, there was a frantic knocking at his door.

It was Leon. Broken, battered, and bruised. He reeked of stale blood. His limbs were bent in ways that shouldn't have been possible.

Makoto let out a strangled cry and shut the door, and stayed under the blankets for the rest of the night.

Leon's visits became more frequent. He never said a thing, never moved, only stood at Makoto's door. He never left a trace.

When he's alone, Makoto sometimes glimpses Chihiro down the hallway. Despite the distance, he's always able to make out his caved-in skull.

He walks with a hand on the wall to balance himself.

"I'm looking for someone strong."

The extension cord remains wrapped around both his wrists, circling around his neck.

Chihiro's entire face is bloody. He's in his blue tracksuit. He shuffles along quietly, repeating those words to himself.

"I don't want to be weak anymore."

If he's not in the hallway, he's in the warehouse. There's always a trail of blood outside the door to warn Makoto of his presence.

Nobody else comments on it, so Makoto assumes they haven't bumped into Chihiro yet.

Mondo and Taka come in pairs.

Makoto won't ever grow used to the wailing he hears that comes from Taka's room. He won't ever grow used to the static-y feeling that makes his hairs rise when he passes by. The smell of ozone is always thick and heavy in the air.

"Does... anyone else ever hear someone crying and yelling from their room..?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Naegi. The dorms are soundproof."

Makoto didn't bring it up again after that.

Hifumi's presence lurks in the art room. Nobody else goes there.

He takes out the paints and brushes, but never makes anything with them. Makoto always cleans up after him.

He doesn't know if Hifumi's trying to make art like he did when he was still alive. All he knows is that Hifumi's efforts seem to be in vain.

The kitchen always smells like burning cloth and flesh. Sometimes Makoto can hear sirens, but he's certain he's imagining them.

Celestia doesn't show herself other than that, and honestly, he's afraid of what she'd look like if she did.

The ground seems to shake around the gym at all times.

Makoto peers inside, but it's empty.

Is Sakura's spirit still fighting? It's the only explanation he can come up with.

Sometimes, a pale green glow comes from the dressing room. Makoto can never find the source.

The light is soft and reassuring, though, and it doesn't bring the scent of death with it like all the others.

Alter Ego, he assumes.

Mukuro only started to manifest after the trial for her death. Makoto spots her in the greenhouse; a quick blur of dark hair and a white shirt, before she's gone.

She always hides when he visits. The only reason Makoto even knows that she's around is because even though he can't see her, her presence lingers.

And so does the smell of burning flesh, blood, and metal.

The worst comes after Junko's death. Her malice follows him everywhere, threatening to pull him down into the depths of despair, to drown him in it.

Sometimes he can feel her nails on his cheek.

Sometimes she wakes him up in the middle of the night, leaving him unable to move. He can see her shadow standing at his bedside, her eyes icy and cold.

All he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and try to ignore her whispering.

All he can do is remember that things will get better.

As the doors to the outside world slowly creak open, a gust of wind comes from deep within the school.

Makoto likes to think that it was the spirits of his friends, finally being freed.

Finally at rest.

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xxcallmemaryxx · 2 years

Text

Swiss/GNreader

Swiss is enchanted by you. So in return he decides to enchant you... just a little differently.

No smut but VERY NUDE GHOUL and very suggestive.

Today has been such a good day. The weather was perfect, you didn't have any chores to do, you relaxed with your friends in the church gardens almost all day. Just soaking up the sun and catching up on things you haven't been able to before now. It left you feeling refreshed and in a really good mood.

It's early afternoon, you say your goodbyes to your friends and head back down to your room. A nap sounds really really good right now. Just a quick one. Or maybe you'll just tidy things up around your room. You wonder what's happening for dinner tonight. You are hungry… perhaps you could have a quick snack… you're so lost in your train of thought you don't realise you've made it to the door that leads into the common room you share with Copia’s ghouls.

After swinging the door open you let yourself in and start to think about what you're going to eat before you're forced to stop dead in your tracks.

Your eyes go wide. Your blood freezes in your veins. Your heart stops beating.

Sitting just opposite you, on the other side of the room is Swiss. Sitting pretty perched on the bench… completely naked.

Your eyes meet. He cocks his head to the side and breaks out into the cheekiest smile you've ever seen. You have no words. Was this on purpose? Have you walked in on something that was meant for someone else? The door is still wide open. You could just slip back through it and pretend this never happened to save yourself a world of embarrassment.

But god…. He's so pretty. Putting himself on display. Legs open, hands on either side of his thighs, with the most cunning look adorned on his face. You're using every single ounce of self control you could possibly muster, forcing your eyes to stay on his and not flick down just slightly…

“You gonna close it or you want the whole church to see what belongs to you?”

Oh.

Oh okay.

You slam the door shut behind you. But keep your feet planted on the ground.

“Mine?” you ask him.

“Mmmhmm” he hums back at you. He can't seem to wipe the grin off his face. Clearly pleased with your reaction, and very smug that his little plan worked so well.

But he can tell you're a little unsure…. Not for long though…

“You wanna play with me?”

You start to take small steps closer at his question. Finally letting your eyes travel down… down ….down. Ohhhhhhhhh my god.

Every inch of him is absolutely perfect. So handsome yet so fucking pretty. Your knees are weak, your mouth is dry. You're struggling to find words.

When you finally reach him. You reach out and let your hands feel his skin. Dragging them up and down his flexed arms, down his chest and across his stomach… then down his muscled thighs stopping at his knees. He hooks a leg around your back and slowly pulls you closer into him. Now you're stood between his legs staring up at him as he smirks down at you.

“Hmmmm? You wanna play with me? Because I wanna play with you…” he whispers into your ear. Your breath hitches in your throat and your cheeks flush at how forward he is. He is utterly intoxicating.

You bring your hands up again, letting them linger on his bare chest. His muscles twitch at the contact your cold fingers make with his heated skin.

“Mine…?” you ask again. You need to make sure you're not hallucinating this. You can't be. His scent, the heat radiating off him, the way his voice… as smooth as honey, confirms to you that you are indeed his….

“Yes sweetness…all yours” and at that he dips his head down to let his lips latch themselves onto your neck. Your hands grab hold of his shoulders to hold yourself up. You can already feel your legs giving out on you.

When you release a breathy moan at the small amount of pleasure he has awarded you… he pulls away and rests his forehead of yours.

“Lets go bub… i'm all yours until the sun rises” he whispers to you again. He doesn't want to ruin the mood, he doesn't want to rip you out of the blissed out state you seem to be in already. And fuck he has barely had you yet. You don't even realise how tightly you have him wrapped around your little finger. The things he would do for you. The feelings you unknowingly pull from him, he has yet to understand himself.

The two of you will sort that out another time. But for now.. He has a promise to keep up.

So he hops off the bench, takes your hand in his and leads you, still with a fuzzy mind from a simple kiss on the neck, into his room and straight into his bed. Where he keeps you for hours.

Even after the sun rose.

#the band ghost #ghost band #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #marys musings

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brighteyedbushybrowed · 9 months

Text

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝟐.𝟎

Made some Mary headcanons a long while back but for some reason the link doesn't work anymore and no matter what I put in the search bar on my blog they don't come up? So idk if they've been deleted without me knowing or what. But oh well, at least we're getting new and improved ones this time! These will naturally include spicy headcanons so minors DNI thank you!

A he/they king (thank you Tobias, you will always be an icon)

Doesn't feel any desire to have surgery or go on HRT. They're comfortable in their own body and with being AMAB; they're just not always male

They're an undead creature that's probably the closest to a vampire you'll find outside of Ghost and the Ministry

He doesn't really talk about how he became what he is now. It's not that he doesn't want to tell you, he's just not ready to talk about it in detail to anyone outside of the band

He started learning the guitar as a pre-teen when his parents saved up to buy him a guitar in the hopes that it would give him something to focus on instead of getting into trouble

And oh boy did they underestimate how much he'd love that guitar and how passionate he'd become about playing

Mary does sing and he has a beautiful singing voice

Much prefers growling and screaming however, so they don't sing often

Gave himself his own ear piercings using a sewing needle that he sanitised beforehand

His other piercings he had done professionally because he didn't want to risk it going wrong and not being able to play with the band for a while

Their first tattoo is one they got on their left ass cheek of a zombie bite mark surrounded by blood and torn flesh

Swears like a sailor constantly

Customised their own battlevest and has even made some for his bandmates too

Very tactile and affectionate towards you and their bandmates. Hugs from behind, kisses, lingering touches, holding hands or linking pinkies, they love it all and more

A generally very horny person

Regularly gets used by his bandmates

They joke that they're the band's cum slut (they're not wrong)

If you wanna date Mary, you'll have to be okay with them fucking and them being in somewhat of a relationship with their bandmates too

Will happily share you with them, but only if you're okay with that

Has a blood kink (obviously) so if you ever nick your finger or hurt yourself in a way that produces blood be ready for him to be all over you, desperate to lick it up with their dick straining against their pants all the while

Also has a necrophilia kink. He loves the fact that because he's technically dead he's always taking part in that kink and that just makes him even hornier

Absolutely steals your underwear. They either cum on them while they touch themselves or they'll breath in the scent and stuff them in their mouth while they fuck their hand or a nearby sex toy

Speaking of toys, he has a variety of them

Keeps his toys properly and thoroughly sanatised and clean because he shares them with you and his bandmates

If you were able to magically summon tentacles to fuck him with, he'd be in heaven. The thought of an otherworldly apendage greedily fucking and sucking at him in multiple places at once is one of his greatest fantasies

Will choke you and also enjoys being choked in return

Generally, he's a switch

If they bottom, they're likely to be a brat and you'll need to put them in their place by any means

They don't have many hard limits apart from non-con. They refuse to take part in rape fantasies and non-con and they won't budge on that. They tried that kink once and it freaked them out badly

Other than that, Mary is pretty open to trying anything once. Cutting him? Go for it. Cock cages? Baby, that's tame to him. Wanna make him piss on you then use his tongue to clean you up? Whatever floats your boat, he won't judge!

No matter how intense or calm a scene is, they very much need aftercare afterwards. If you refuse to give him aftercare, that's it you've blown it. They need to know that you care about their wellbeing and will look after them just as much and thoroughly as they'll look after you

#spicy content #mary goore #repugnant #headcanons

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voltstone · 21 days

Text

scav·eng·er | TWDG Retelling | 4

HEARTH pt.1

why can't she feel like she used to?

[9,591] [May.09.2024]

— — —

There's a tag (#twdgscav fic) for if you want to follow this story and not my whole blog.

But, as a swift note before this chapter, while I'll maintain that this fic is unhinged, and shall get progressively more so as it goes on, it's also a crack taken seriously kind of thing.

Meaning, the cannibalism and the reverse-bite(?) is allegorical to a loss of innocence, and it's an exploration of a survivor after the trauma itself. And the psychology behind it. And like. You know. The horror. So turn to this chapter where it's the first that directly addresses it, and Clementine. I know this is dead dove, but I figure I'd preface what this fic gets into since that wasn't something I thought to do initially, but here we are.

Somewhere down the line I'll probably either reorganize these posts, delete them all together (and replace them with one collective post), or something like that. This fic will be posted on Tumblr regardless, though. Rest assured.

Anyway. Hope you enjoy!

— — —

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

[Previous] | [Next (TBW)] | [First Chapter]

A dying man was still clung to her, in nicotine's breath, upon her return to the cabin. Pete still is.

And she stands here, in the kitchen, with an awkward lean against the counter peninsula. Clementine wonders if the stale tobacco is as strong as she thinks, or if it's just how the scent matted her nose, obscured the citric orchards. A wince irks for her face. She swallows it down.

Turns out, a mauled arm isn't something to lean on.

Not now, in company of a man with a voice like his, and the words crafted by a canniness, a wit, suited for nightmare.

He was coming in either way.

He looks like every other man. Heavy brow. Overgrown in both hair and face. Dark on him, and lined by steel. In all, he wasn't someone she'd pay any mind to in the world before—back when the country was thriving, and she wasn't starving.

Until his eyes.

It's always the eyes.

"Bloody arm there. That's a real dark stain, don't you think?"

"Hunting accident."

"You don't say."

Except for when it's the words, suited for nightmare, clothed by a witful generosity.

Clementine knows better now.

Even if that generosity is a nonchalance in this man, she knows.

Her arm is biting when the man decides he's spent his time in the kitchen, and he stalks down into the living room. He remarks a flannel of Carlos'. Murmurs over a chess game in pause.

White's in trouble.

She pangs to know how to get this man away.

Only for a door to close, and for the man to find a polaroid.

Clementine feigns her indifference. It doesn't sway the man. His glower gleams canny.

"You don't know who these people are, do you…?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Let me ask you this, what do they think of your appetite?"

Deadbolt.

She twists from the inside. Squirms in her eyes. It takes everything to stand firm. Clementine doesn't budge. Refuses it.

"Oh, you haven't told them. "They don't know, do they?"

He lingers. Before he parts, and he's down the stairs.

Clementine watches him. Doesn't say a word. She only glares, and when she bites, her jaw aches. An agony finds a blade. It strikes.

When the door closes after him, and he disappears into the woods, there's Sarah beside her. Where Sarah quivers, Clementine hums beneath her skin. It pricks, so she works her jaw. Finds the blade again. Winces.

It takes too long to lumber down the stairs, and onto the couch. Sarah soothes the flannel's sleeve. She absentmindedly toys with one of the black pieces to the board—hers, with whatever game she had with Luke. The piece tips over. She doesn't bother to find it beneath the armchair.

And Clementine sits all the while, as Sarah's vacant onlooker.

Because her thoughts are winding. His voice echoes. Like gravel. Deep in the earth, enough for the cabin's mass grave.

"You have a real nice day now."

. . .

THE HUNGER WAS EVERYTHING

. . .

The dog bite heals swifter than Carlos first estimated.

It doesn't smooth over. Clementine doubts it ever will. Yet, in time, she figures it’ll be a meager blemish and nothing more.

And, she figures the way she's been parched for blood by the hour, and starved for flesh, has everything to do with the dog's lasting remark.

She needs to feed. Her jaw aches as well.

They've been walking for too long. Rebecca is drained. Sarah teeters her weight into Carlos from time to time. There’s wary eyes on Nick, and what he might do now, after Pete.

Clementine burns in her soles, and her eyes are drawling for shade; the sun pricks them until the world numbs, whenever there isn't the shade to find. Every time a noise cleaves her—an odd bark of laughter between Luke and Nick, or gunfire, or a whistle of Carlos' for an all clear—, Clementine feels an agitation rupture down her back. She toys with the hammer whenever it happens. And it is dangerous, given the urge to strike it down on…whoever, really. Whoever's unfortunate enough to be a little too close, and a little too loud.

It's as if there's a nail lodged through her ear, or a needle. Whatever it is, everyone has nudged it at least once, and its pike has seized her mind.

Everything whirls for a moment.

She's grown a habit to snap her eyes at whoever's laughing, or with the smoking gun, or Carlos and that damn whistle.

She bites her tongue often. Buries her nails through her jeans and their denim.

And toys with the hammer.

Gnaws on its handle, even. Until the seizing stops, and the world is what it once was again.

Clementine needs to eat.

She can't stomach their rations anymore. There's granola, and beans, and the last of what Pete hunted.

Yet here she is, around the…third fire, is it? The fourth or fifth? Clementine's lost track. Every day, there's at least one. With Rebecca, and her unborn son, maybe two. They're tired. They're panicked as well.

Rebecca above them all. Clementine sees the way she glances at her, and there’s a burden in her eyes. Alvin seems to be her anchor; he’s a good husband. Still, there’s a trace of… Not fear. It’s not quite that, though she does wear a shade of it too. Just…not in her eyes. Not really. Instead, it’s a nervousness—cold and bitter to Clementine’s nose. She suffocates in it, whenever Rebecca decides to stray over and talk to her. Make amends. For being a close breath away from shooting Clementine herself. Then, for the shed.

And then dinner. Where Rebecca apparently cussed her out while she was face-deep in soup, without a damn to give.

There’s no knowing, no understanding, when and how time escapes her like this. Nor every last thing around her because she has, and will, watch the trees drown, and the earth beneath her shoes fade. Her ears swarm. There’s a fog to trudge through. Words refuse to bile.

Clementine knows her mind is slipping between her fingers. She’s well aware, in fact. She just hates how her very mind likens itself to sand leaking from one glass into another. Grain by grain.

She doesn’t have the patience for this.

Not that she has the say. Clementine’s found herself drifting towards the woodland on occasion. With her absent mind, she doesn't mean to. Honest. She really doesn’t.

She still scares them though. Luke paws her shoulder to snap her back, or it’s Nick who does. Or Alvin. Or Rebecca.

Just about everyone, actually, the more Clementine thinks.

It's after they ask her to climb something, or help lug a log out of the way. They've realized she's strong for her size. Impressively so. Because they are all same: nervous, burdened, and outright strange in ways she’s never been. However, she nods along. Tries to fix on a smile, or something like it. All while swallowing down this…temptation. A trepidation. It reeks all around Clementine. When she warns them of the walker struggling low to the ground, they chuckle, compliment her prowess, when it's really just that temptation trying to guide her teeth.

She just wants to rest. For an hour. Long enough to slip away.

It's getting difficult. Her hands fidget before she realizes. And Clementine's snapped at Carlos twice now, then Nick. Even Sarah. Not with her eyes, but her words.

She leaves the woman and her baby alone.

Doesn't understand how she knows the baby is a boy.

Clementine keeps that quiet though.

Now when—? When…did this fire go out…?

Is she the only one left awake?

Clementine salivated at the last walker. A couple days ago, she did. They had to pass it on their trail, and it was one Nick had the aim to shoot. The walker was waterlogged. She may have not cared in the moment, about the waterlog. Because Clementine would've taken anything in that hour. Even a scrap. A lone finger. And she still is salivating. She's empty. Her stomach churns, and it teethes at all other organs. So she salivates, and it's to that walker's mere memory. Clementine smells rain now. It's enough to recall the lakewater and moss dripping off the thing…

She staggers from the rock she sat herself beside, when the sun was still crisp above the horizon. The fire now isn't out entirely. There's still a few embers going. But, the smoke is gone.

Enough of them are snug in their tents—aside for Nick, who's taken to watching the stars, blank in the face.

Her feet drag at first, before she stalks across their modest camp in the night. Someone else is pacing. She’s not alone. It’s Luke, if she has to guess; he does it whenever he's on watch. Clementine takes note. Has enough of a mind to avoid him best she can. Her eyes scour. They blitz across the woodland.

Her jaw aches. Anytime she tries to rock its pain, it throbs. The pain is sharp.

Sometimes she'll massage it in whatever reflection she comes across. The water likes to tell her the most about her eyes.

The color in them is vibrant. More than they should be. And she's been paling a bit too.

Clementine. Needs. To eat.

There's a groaning somewhere. A lone orchard's rot. She's called to it. To the camp's outskirt. It's a rough murmur between the trees, and she echoes it, to herself. Feels it harrow up her throat. There's a congestion to this. Tastes like… Like all the meals she's had, except it's sludging, and it's not from her stomach. It's— This is her, and only her.

Her voice gravels.

Sarah…

Clementine hears her. Sees her shadow lurch close. Sarah screams. It isn’t loud. There’s no true voice to her. None, because she’s out of breath. Can hear her heart. It thrashes. Stumbling now— Sarah’s flailing. Trips over something. In the dark, the shadows are painterly, and the dirt billows off their heels.

She’s lunging. There is a violent blur of momentum, and Clementine’s lunging.

Because this is Sarah, and Sarah's a friend. She is. And she sounds pained. Clementine will help her. Has to. She's a friend, so that's what they do.

They’re friends. Sarah said so.

Clementine knows only hunger, however.

Despite the shadows, Clementine finds where her nose guides her, and where her eyes acclimate. There’s a rotting hand. It swipes violently after Sarah. Doesn’t have the time to twist itself around—bite Clementine instead. She hurtles. Its groan is a winded snarl. Hers has more weight; it barrels from dearth's basin. And they're rattling down a decline, together. Her and this dead, with the live behind. It's not far. Hurts though. She grabs one of the rocks she's shouldered into, and Clementine bludgeons. It takes a few swings. Brainmatter flecks. The smell revolts her. It's nothing like the marmalade. Instead, it’s too much. The acid. The citrus. It’s too much.

Behind her, Sarah fights for her breath. She whimpers something like a name.

And Clementine does not hear her. She’s scraping at its stomach, before the chest. This is made difficult without a knife. She doesn't have the hammer, nor its claw.

"Cl-Clementine, what are you—?!"

"Come … the fuck on already…"

She's seething. The sludge in her words, it's coarse. Clementine can only scratch so deep.

This one's fresh. God, it's fresh.

"Cl-em…?!"

It's fucking infuriating how fresh it is—

She just wants. To eat. One fucking full meal.

For. Fucking. Once.

Clementine clasps her hands together. Her teeth are bared. Agitation seethes between them. She socks both fists into the walker—aims for the ribcage. Twice. Feels bone snap the first time. Break through the second.

She's smiling.

It hurts how much she is.

Her fingers dig for the shards, and she uses them, leverages them—pulls the walker's chest apart. (Someone screams without air.) Skin frays with muscle, but that's not quite what she's after. Clementine brings some to her mouth anyway. Her hand closes around the chest's marrow. The center of it all. Clementine pulls. (That someone is whimpering now.) Her shoulder burns from the ferocity. When the vessels snap, and the tendons rubberband, she tears the heart free. (Hysterically. Silent, but hysterically.)

It's a pound of blood, and muscle, and fat. All in her one hand.

(She can hear Sarah's heart rocket up the girl's neck and pommel behind her ears.)

Clementine bites.

If a granola bar could be a dream, this is yearning reaped like pure treasure.

The meat to a heart tastes raw, and like iron. It's firm from the years of flexion. Rich in blood. So, so unbelievably rich in blood. The clots molt to her tongue. Its muscle begins to fray the more she works through. Her hands tear it apart. She will eat this. Clementine will devour this organ in its entirety.

Her breaths are rabid.

Her own heart—alive, or not—, it thrashes behind her ears.

Does so to the muse of this meal splitting in her hands, the leakage as well, and does so in harmony to those rabid breaths as they fog. It's cold enough tonight—for those breaths, and for the lukewarm meal to scald her.

She will sleep well.

Clementine will evade nightmare, not quite dream though. Her stomach shall anchor her to the earth.

A rifle tilts.

The safety is pulled, and the barrel finds company with the air right behind her neck, then her head.

Clementine may have just been a bit dramatic with this meal. Or this is just how it is, blossoming in the grey between bitten child to bitten adolescence.

She cranes a glare over her shoulder. Looks Luke dead in his eyes while he…tries to hold her dead to rights. To…this. Whatever this is. Luke visibly struggles to understand why, precisely, a kid has half a walker heart in her hands, and the other half swallowed. Then a corpse eviscerated at her feet. A corpse that was just walking, mind. And truth be told, Clementine can hardly blame him. She doesn't really know either, won’t ever know, just that it is vile. This is degenerate.

Somewhere down the line, she doesn't quite know when, she's stopped questioning it.

This…was something to welcome.

Because once there was a time when the dead didn’t walk either, and Clementine as a monstrosity is reality’s mere, feeble mirror. At least, that’s what she’s decided for herself. She decides a lot of things this way.

…losing Christa, it might've done something. Clementine hasn’t really acknowledged the void left behind, how it’s in the shape of her.

Their last attempt at a dinner was lousy. And the rabbit she caught, strung above the fire, thought the same. Reminded her too that it was no walker. It would've never satisfied her like what pounds in her hands now.

Not that night, where she fell off cliffside, found a river to drown in—only to not, because damn humanity.

Clementine was able to bite back the taste for it, a mere week ago. Or however many days it has been.

For Christa's sake.

She can't now.

With much of her life, she doesn't understand.

"I know. I get it. This is really bad."

She doesn't understand.

She will still try to brush it aside, however, because she just can't swallow the urge anymore.

Not tonight.

She—

Clementine needs this.

Sarah has gone rigid. She's huddled by a trunk, with the tree’s roots swarmed around her. And her doe eyes are strained to the ground. Her mouth’s skewed shut.

Scared again. Sarah’s scared—horrified, even—, except this isn’t Clementine wandering off. This isn’t Clementine with a likewise fragile mind. Or, it is fragile, yet rather than collapse, her mind splits like glass. It shards whoever offers their hand. Nobody likes the reality; they’d rather not learn what it is they find. Omid died to it. Christa deteriorated right with her.

And now Sarah…

She’s horrified of her. Clementine’s done the one thing nothing else has: rattle her to an absolute silence. She doesn’t even rock herself.

Her doe eyes are not to the ground either. Not anymore. They’re watchful. She doesn’t allow Clementine to sink away, out of sight.

Luke as well. He stares, wildly, with the rifle poised. On him, however, Clementine doesn’t know what it is that locks her in place, ebbs some of the euphoria. There’s fear. There’s also confusion. He wears the one with a pale face. But he…festers in the other—the confusion. Which plagues him. Refuses to leave him.

He wears confusion like his body has failed him, and there’s nothing to do but walk into the night. Without a rifle. Without his blade strapped across his back.

"Wh-What— What are you doing…?!"

"Just let me have this… Please, Luke. I've been starving. "I need it. I-I need this."

The flesh wilts in her hand, then it throbs. Clementine's grip is ironclad.

So as her heart begins to pound through her palm, it almost gives the thing a new life.

And that new life dwells in her hand like slaughter. It cries in blood.

"You… You eat them?!"

"Y— Yeah…"

He sounds as desperate as she feels. Rather than desolation, however, Luke strains denial. He still sees a little girl. The same he plucked off the forest floor; a little girl weary with a walker loomed over her. Or, the one in the shed, backed into a corner—eyes ignited, because she can take care of herself after all.

Clementine nods. Slowly. Ignores the disgust as it sinches down his nose. Tries to. Can’t, really. Climbs to her feet though.

The heart stays in her hand.

"Yeah. When they're dead like that, yeah."

She wonders if he’s realizing what happened that night. Why the walker was splayed the way it was, and why she backed away from it—the farthest she could. This may be the paranoia, however. Logic isn’t the kind to sprint through moments like these. It likes to fall behind and wait for revulsion's spire to bolt down a backbone.

Clementine eyes the barrel. Wishes, again, that it shot her.

Before she finds Luke. He’s soft. The rifle sinks in his hands. It mouths into the earth.

"I was bit, Luke. Just … a long time ago. H-Honest, I'm not lying. "It did something to me. I can't— I can't control it anymore."

He believes her.

Whether it be her words, or the fact that this is the most coherent she’s likely been, it doesn’t matter. Luke believes her. The sky, the ground, and the trees between begin to warble. A bleary haze, now. She doesn’t hear the words he murmurs, barely sees the hand that reaches out. Because her skin is teeming. Her wet mouth pounds for her to return to the body and feast again.

Clementine blinks the blear away.

Revulsion does loiter, and in his eyes, there’s still the body at her feet. He doesn’t have his hand offered anymore. Luke doesn’t know what to say.

Leaves bristle, and branches snap. Moonlight glimmers before Sarah nudges her glasses by their frame.

"Y-Your mouth…"

"You're bleeding, Clem."

Blood is pooling on her tongue.

Clementine swallows thickly. She’s dumbstruck as her tongue massages, before a hand feels instead.

A gap. A hole in her mouth.

Clementine just lost a tooth. Luke is guiding her away. The heart is dropped, somewhere. Clementine still thumbs where the blood leaks. Her jaw croons, and it’s numbing. The pain doesn’t think itself a knife. The serration is lost.

She just—

Just lost a tooth. And Sarah is still rattling, but she’s almost smiling. Chirps weakly about this…milestone. Luke pales the more he hears about a tooth fairy because now is not the time, yet it is, because Sarah’s rattling, almost smiling, and… And Clementine knows how often his eyes snag on her skin—how it’s entrenched by blood. Not red, aside for what’s twined from her mouth. Black. Almost an oil.

He’s about to vomit. Can smell it on his breath.

Sarah too. Yet, somehow…, she finds a way to bite it down. She’s instead brimmed by a fairy, and milestone, and— And something… Something about a— A-A hero. Rattling. It’s all she can do.

When Clementine doesn’t answer her, and instead stalls to thumb along her teeth again, Luke mutters about money, and how they’d need the tooth anyway. Looks like he just about dies when he says it. The words crawl before they croak.

It’s not the time. It isn’t. This tooth fairy died with the country. Supposed to stay rotting.

Half of Clementine is standing beside the walker. Begging for Luke to understand. She really…, really wants to go back to that walker now. Dig around for the heart. Brush away the mulch. She draws the line with dirt; a rotting human is one thing, dirt is… Is another…

She’s walking away. Luke’s practically herding her. But no. No, half of her is—?!

Clementine was hardly done. She’s still…

Still hungry. It’s never enough. Her mouth is a pain, but it’s numbing, yet it’s bleeding.

What.

The actual fuck.

Nick is the first to ask why the hell they’re all so twisted around for.

Clementine doesn't answer. Doesn't dare unveil the rot bathed in her mouth, though perhaps the fresh blood is enough to charm her way out of—

Well. No. There isn't charming her way out of cannibalism. It's a thought spurned by losing… Losing a tooth. Her canine. On the right, her canine.

That shouldn't be. She—

Clementine has already lost this one…

Sarah exclaims about a walker, a tackle, then the stupid fucking tooth.

Luke just vomits horror. He also cries.

And she never thought she’d see the day.

When Carlos nudges past Nick, Clementine is thankful. There’s words to eat. She’s thankful to hear his voice, and to watch as his eyes dart between the three. He doesn’t think to chastise Sarah. Luke is hurling the rest of his stomach—enough for the doctor to grimace.

So he finds Clementine’s bloodied mouth.

Can’t answer.

Sarah does instead.

Goes on about a hero again. Like in a comic book, the one Sarah wishes she had the chance to read back at the cabin.

Clementine only thinks of the river. How this is the same. Plunging off a cliffside, straight into water—the half of her who lingered by the corpse, it has found her again. And down her hand is static. The blood is cracking where it’s dried. She’s been wrenched from a freefall, a euphoria, right into a frigid current.

Her eyes dart. There’s whiplash. Her mouth doesn’t feel like her own anymore. Lost something… She lost—

Why is he looking at her like that?!

Carlos watches her. He isn’t a man of words, come to find. At least, not with anyone aside for his daughter. He saves them for Sarah to savor, and Sarah to cling for.

He doesn’t smile at Clementine. Instead, Carlos squeezes her shoulder. The bite itches. That’s all.

She…just did something. Clementine did good.

A tenderness finds her. It’s warm—mouths like praise. Except this muses to Clementine something she already did learn. Once, in a time forever ago. It was already ingrained. The warmth is a haunting that shouldn’t be. Whatever this is she basks within, it should’ve come to her like an old friend. Not this. Clementine doesn’t know its name. Doesn’t know when it was lost, just that…it died, somewhere. In nightmare. And it still rots.

Yet it flails now. Like the dead around her.

And herself, if only Clementine would find the time to be honest with herself.

There is no nightmare. She doesn’t sleep for any to find her. That hour alone was nightmare enough. She doesn’t need the slaughter within haybale. Nor does she want to be slug around again, to the whims of her life’s malice evermore.

Instead, Clementine stares at the stars. She decides Nick has the right idea.

Her tongue grazes along her foreign mouth. There is no cease.

Maybe she is dead after all, and her body is what remains. This body.

Citrus is a mellow blanket from whatever lurks in the dark. There is no warmth, because all it does is whisper to her. And it whispers that the walkers have it better. The people they once were, they are not who stay behind.

None know the mute agony of fading away, only for their body to brew a vigor like nothing else.

Clementine does, for she’s been left behind to rot within this body of hers. Her heart has been silent. It’s caged by her very bones, and she’s mindless in her yearning. All she wanted was to feel a heart. It wasn’t her own, but it was enough. It bled, at least. She still tastes the scrap of what she once felt lurch within her by every passing day…

And her body bleeds beneath those stars. Enough to choke her. Like it finds this funny. The way her frenzy lost Clementine a tooth already matured—already the most human it can be—, it’s funny. Apparently.

Or it's not at all, nobody thinks that, and Clementine has just lost another thing she once had.

She doesn't understand.

Clementine doesn't. It becomes a mantra. And she never does find that musing's name.

"A pinky swear is forever."

Just an echo to a night's rain, and the promise therein.

The rest find the walker when morning comes.

Alvin is the first to comment. He’s the one who drops his flask by accident, and watches it topple down to the walker’s feet. And it’s a joke that comes to his mind first, something about having to watch for a worse thing than one of them.

Before he stalls. Looks at the crater in its chest, then abdomen. Realizes the skin stuck to his flask. And, with a sheen across his glasses, he scoffs and whistles at the gore left behind. It carpets the dirt. Because the body…is not a good spectacle. Not as it is, in this light.

Rebecca murmurs about a bear. Nick palms down the rifle.

Luke and Sarah are dead silent, and they keep themselves on the road they’ve been following down. Neither dare to witness.

Clementine plays onlooker. She watches Alvin hold Rebecca, who’s mildly curious despite it all, Nick with the rifle, pacing…

Then Carlos. Who surveys the body, just to assure Rebecca that, no, the bears are not what hunts them now. Another man is, and true to his name, he has a way in carving his eyes to memory.

They're a dark shade of hazel, as though the sun could rot before her eyes, and fester within the dirt to a fresh grave.

Clementine tries to bury his voice, and those eyes, and the words he snaked to her. She had been exhausted. A dying man was still clung to her, in better memory, upon her return to the cabin.

He is the reason why they walk. He’s the reason why they talk in hushed, nervous breaths, and why Rebecca dwells to herself more often than not.

The man gave rise to something within her… Ignited a fire, and it was the very same that she evoked from Luke with a walker’s heart at hand, and blood on her words.

The very same that struck Clementine, the moment she was bit. Because that man with the radio…

He had the same kind of eyes too. Except they were…pale. A weak, erratic shade of yellow.

And it is the same now, the longer Carlos studies the body. His brows are furrowed deep. He is far too engrossed to hear Rebecca, and the questions she asks of him. There's many questions. They don't so much as fall as they do plummet onto deaf ears. Carlos digs for something. Clementine sees a precision in his hands, and they're strung by a fervent loyalty to his eyes.

He digs through the chest in particular. Massages down the patterns of— Of teeth gouged into the skin and meat.

She feels cold. It burrows down her spine. It claims her throat, and it gifts her the worst knot to swallow.

Fear.

It is fear which crawls beneath her skin now. It was fear she evoked from Luke, fear in those pale yellow eyes…

And there is William Carver.

He pries from them all the same, except where they’re nervous, and they’re burdened, Clementine grows a famine. There is only her mouth now, and her stomach.

…she doesn't understand. She can't. Except that Clementine may have lied to herself, or her mind has refused to tell all.

The dog bite has gnawed at her to eat, and to replenish.

His dark, hazel eyes, and his snaked words—they've gnashed at her, for Clementine to devour.

Carlos snaps his own. Lands them on her.

He knows.

She rolls her tongue over the gap in her mouth. Watches him, and then one hand as it closes, because he's captured something. And she jolts. Tastes blood.

Fumes from her tongue. Hurts.

Clementine may have been more polite with her teeth than the dog had been.

Because Carlos knows her bite now. He knows.

. . .

HE SAID OTHERWISE

. . .

"What's the most important thing in this world?"

"Food."

"Listen, what's the one thing a guy would walk hundreds of miles to get back? Something you can't just find."

She's the cleanest she has been in a few days, and it's only now when Luke decides to pull her aside, away from the rest, to…have a talk. On the way to a bridge. And he continues to be cautious of her. Even now, when he… After he’s pulled her aside. For this. A talk.

It feels like he's urging her. He's desperate for Clementine to tell him the right answer—which there is one, apparently.

Clementine doesn't know it, though. She's the cleanest she's been, all to keep his eyes from being struck by this fear.She doesn't want that fear. Doesn't, but she's hungry. Needs to heal. She smells the citrus all around. Sweet. There's plenty of fresh ones roaming in the trees, just out of arm's reach…

The rations they have are enough. For the time being.

They just…don't sit as well as they could. And her tongue rolling where her tooth had once been doesn’t help.

"Come on. Clem, it's family."

"It's a tough world out there without people you can trust."

There's a stray hint of disappointment in his words. Yet, at the same time, a knowing, and then a caution. Because this had been a test, a gage, and Clementine has failed bombastically, but she'll still maintain that it is food, in fact, with every morsel she comes across. She longs for a mouth that waters like it used to, she does. She wants to perk to the sound of a crisp can, or the sweet aroma to Mom’s baking, or a homely dinner. Sometimes she does that too. To the cans or dinner—like the warm bowl, in fact. Yet. It's not the same. Not when blood soothes her skin the way it does, and flesh pulls apart to her mouth's desire.

Walkers have this tang… A tang that animals don't have. In their hearts, and their stomachs, their muscle—the muscle especially. Her mouth only waters to that tang now. Truly waters, because…it's the only ounce of satiation she can find.

And, quite honestly, family rings sour now.

Her bite was in a family's name.

It's what brought her to this. It's what brought a man to bite a child.

And family… That's what led her blindly to him in the first place.

Clementine will answer food, however. She will. No matter the lesson Luke intends.

It's easier to think it is. Finding a home requires an odyssey. It requires a gambit to embark, and its trial to writhe through.

And she knows, deep in her gut, that these people will not be that for her.

. . .

YET THERE A BREATHING MEMORY WAS

. . .

Nick just killed a man. The bullet threw his body over a bridge. There are lights in these woods; they're the eyes of who follows. There's a lodge too. A ski-lift.

It all…sloughs away, however. It takes one held breath, and the deck to whirl beneath her feet.

Sarah grazes her arm. Murmurs anxiety.

Clementine shrugs through Luke and Nick anyway.

She rolls her tongue again. Gashes another line, and the heartbeat bled is ruin. Half of her is still above the land, lingering in a breath shy from clouds. And the landscape is there as a canvas to forge behind her eyes. The pine vista. A sheer drop to water. A red bridge.

It begins to decay, however…

Clementine sees him. And only him. There's the trucker's hat, the same beaded necklace, then the brown of his eyes. He blears to focus.

Doesn't know what to say. Neither do, but she— She really doesn't. Doesn't know what to do either, aside for a careful step, and another, to the man.

Kenny.

And he wipes a tear.

He kneels, looks at her with a smile like no other, and it's for her. Only for her.

She may mirror him. She may not. If there is a smile, it's cracked across her numbing face. He's a comfort. And another one in life's comedy. Kenny should be dead, yet he's not. Looks very much alive. Breathes that way in what fogs in this cold.

His words are cradled by hearthfire. There's a homely timbre, and it doesn't crackle as much as it should to her ears, despite teary eyes. There is only flame. A warm bask in yellow.

Clementine strays away with him. Kenny leads them all—her and the cabin, him and the lodge—around the corner.

There's no words between them. A giddiness, or disbelief, radiates off him.

Her strides are pounding however.

Because Clementine hears a saltlick. It echoes, somewhere. And the skull it married after that too, before the flesh trodden by their union.

Kenny makes a joke, or something like that, which… It actually rises a chuckle from her. Scathes up her throat, but it is one none the less. Feels…nice, even if not a moment later, she's rattled again. Kenny is a haunting reminder of Lee's patience, and how much he spent it on the man. Caught in a crossfire.

It takes everything to remember how she used to laugh.

And how Lee meandered down the line between one and another.

Clementine murmurs to Kenny that her people, they're fine. Sure her head was almost blown off at one point, and she still kind of wants it to, but, really. They're…

They're cool. Haven't made her laugh really, but they are.

The fireplace is grand.

In its mouth, a vast fire.

He comments about the ballcap. She could say the same.

The cold in her bones, winter's breath in her hair, remind her how far Savannah is. As a distant nightmare. A long, winding road down her life's broken spine.

"You know, I half-expected to see Lee walk up next to you…"

That nightmare flares. Life's broken spine rattles in her ears.

She's cold in her bones. Winter's breath feels too, too close to the tub's ceramic.

And there's Lee again. Spoken into the world. There is no grave for him to roll; he may twitch where she shackled him by his last wrist, however. Clementine doesn't know what Kenny sees in her eyes.

He panics though.

"Oh, shit, I didn't mean to… "It's just hard not to think about it, you know?"

It is.

It— It is.

Clementine swallows. She fights the bile.

She's desperate to know if he smells it off her.

Guilt. Rather than the degenerate.

"Aw, hell… I'm sorry, darlin'."

She answers everything he asks when she can. Silence permeates best, however.

They slink away from Lee. Catch up on things. Not many. There's no good memories left, and none of them breathe in their time apart. They're stained now. Corroded.

Like Christa. All of her.

"She's gone…"

Clementine doesn't know when she accepted it, the fact that there is no finding Christa.

The days have blurred together. Her famine has never ceased. It's only cannibalized. She eats away. Time smears in her split mind's wake. And between that, famine claws at memory and corrodes it all. Stains them.

The bite…

It gnawed Omid to an obscurity. Christa's next.

Kenny was too, once. Before life's gnashed smile brought him to her.

Why—

Why not Lee?

Or is he to be her last memory before blank moon eyes…?

"I am! This is all a dream!"

She flinches at first. His hearty laugh thereafter is unnerving—it snaps at her, wrings her from thought. This isn't Kenny. Not really. He's never done that, and the longer the laugh barrels from his chest, Clementine finds herself longing for the swift chuckle and clap on a shoulder.

They are not the people they once met. Neither are who they know by memory.

Kenny, the one in Savannah—Clementine laid him to rest, left him behind, the moment she was lured, and the moment the man's teeth found her shoulder.

And she's been rotting all this time. Not of body. In mind.

Gradually, because the days and weeks and years since have been a plodding agony.

The last Kenny still corrodes after all. This Kenny, however. He will never know what she's become.

Clementine's decided to mimic memory. He will not lose another child.

"Sorry. Bad joke."

Clementine finds herself wishing it wasn't.

. . .

AND SHE HERSELF WAS LOST

. . .

"Show me the bite."

"The other one, Clementine. You know what I'm talking about."

Carlos manages to snag Clementine from the Christmas tree. He herds her away, quietly, with the same hand on her shoulder. It doesn't feel warm. The scrap of whatever she still can't name, it's gone. There's no salvaging it.

And he's sat her on the furthest booth, beneath one of the overhangs.

Light is scarce here. The tree, and the fireplace, are one collective haze.

She hesitates, before grasping the shoulder.

He waits. Clementine should've known he expects to see the bite itself, so she works her shirt's collar open. Unveils where the man bit her: along the clavicle, dead between her neck's crux, her shoulder's point. Carlos studies it. Like before, his hands are loyal to his eyes, and there's precision. Nothing else.

Carlos murmurs about how it's scarred over. Asks if she was attacked.

Clementine wasn't. Not really.

A confirmation more than an answer—he knows from scar alone. The bite didn't tear. It's the perfect shape. There are no abnormalities. Yet, the clear indentation is what rivets the doctor so. The identity of a strange man. His lasting print. Had Carlos been in dentistry, this would've been something to diagram.

Clementine only hears that the man left his mark, and did it well.

Her grave, however shallow it shall be, will bury both her and this part of him.

There is no escape. Even now.

He asks if this had been a man, or the dead. His eyes want to know if she knew the intention. The depravity behind it.

The man had yellow eyes. He just wanted a family again. Until Clementine shot him, that is.

He's dead and gone. Never knew his name.

If Carlos thinks the worst of her, he doesn't say. His face doesn't flicker at least, and he leaves her to cover again. Which she does. Swiftly. When Clementine looks back to face him, she finds Carlos…pained. His face doesn't flicker; it yieldsinstead. Like something's dawned on him, so his hands come together. They're kept to himself. Whatever he knows, or assumes, Clementine can't fathom.

Just that there's an odd nausea, it coats him a blooming complexion, and he's angry. Cold, though. This is no fire. More like a man about to beat another, only to leave that man behind to bleed.

Lee had the same nausea. She saw it one night, with a hand twisted into her hair.

And he did just that—broke a man's face, left him behind to his welted eyes.

"There are men, Clementine, who aren't right, and they look at little girls all the wrong ways."

That was how Lee started a long, agonizing conversation. His words were coarse. There was conviction, however. She needed to know. It took a night. Then the week after curling herself deep in blankets, washing away the memory of the brother's twisting hand…

Then the other.

The one with dark eyes and a twitched smile.

She never met those hands. Nor saw what they'd do in light of the evil in his eyes, because it was only that light there. The evil.

"You bite if you have to. Do everything you can to get away."

Duck… He tried to do just that.

Did, almost, before Clementine was thrown off the patio, and Lee was slung over the St. John's shoulder.

She hopes he did. Duck's dead, but. Well. She hopes.

The memory of him settles whenever she believes so.

Clementine realized in the few weeks thereafter how glad she was that Lee killed the brother. And grateful, because there was a gratitude.

A world where that man walked with her, somewhere in the shadows, was worse to her than hearing the pitchfork run through ribcage.

She feels a lurch in her throat. She wants to assure Carlos that the man who bit her, it wasn't an evil in his eyes. He didn't want the same. He sought a daughter in her. Only that.

He did trap her by words alone, of course. His mouth. But not once did Clementine ever mistake him for the St. John brother. Not once. Still hasn't.

It's the thought of describing the brother, however, which keeps her silent. Because to explain him would means to speak gore.

Carlos preens away the nausea and watches Clementine. He then murmurs about her skin. The way that she's waned before his very eyes. In a mere matter of days, or something like that. Her aggression as well. Wandering off wherever they walk, or in the night. She's had a scarce portion of their food. None of them know a habit of hers—the one where Clementine pulls her ballcap over her face, just to sleep.

"There are many peculiarities with you, and I've kept my eye on them."

"You're not going to put me down, are you?"

"Of course not. I realize you don't have any interest in us."

Carlos speaks to her like she's something else.

As though Clementine is another being. No longer human.

Yet, this isn't the same as talking down to a dog either. Far from it. She's not an animal. Instead, he speaks like she understands every word, and knows them in his eyes—down to the grain. He's careful. Articulate. Above all, however, Carlos is guarded.

She's beyond his understanding. Something to behold. Perhaps study. And to revere.

A threat.

Clementine is a threat, but not quite the danger she could be.

Not an animal, but a walking dread.

He unfolds a hand.

There in his palm, a tooth. Hers.

"You are going through a metamorphosis, Clementine. "And so you feel like you're starving despite being fed not long ago."

Carlos has met a person like her before. He knew her. Married her. Had a child.

She got bit. A mere matter of days, and she was…fine, but not. He kept Sarah away. Did everything he could to console.

His wife, however… She was lost, but she was there. And she asked what Clementine craves. A gun. A ledge. A river.

Sarah found her writhing. Strung from a fan.

He does not know what would happen if Sarah is ever bit. What she would become. How coherent she would be, if at all.

And if she would feast like his wife did. Or if she would only walk.

Carlos doesn't say it. Clementine smells it off him anyway.

He doesn't want to be the one to pull the trigger. Not again.

"No bite is anyone's fault. But you do anything to Sarah, and I will put you down like you are one of them."

"She's my friend. I won't do anything to her."

A frenetic storm builds.

The same he discovered of her, nights ago. Her tongue's wit and mind's hemorrhage—neither have left Clementine, and Carlos sees them within her still. She is something to revere. Walk tepidly around, should he be a little too close, a little too loud.

And should Clementine be just hungry enough.

He sees it in her eyes. She isn't mindless…

Carlos knows the dwelling monster.

It wears her skin, calls herself Clementine. Debated whether or not it could lick its maw in the time Pete fermented, and citrus throve.

She just…cannot, for the life of her, tell if he knows the monster only.

Wonders why Sarah sees beyond that—if she truly does—, and if it's something inherited from a mother, not the doctor.

Sarah is…different that way. Another for Carlos to behold.

"Do you understand now?"

She does.

No answer crosses her lips, but yes, she does.

Clementine nods. It is a vow to never bite Sarah.

When silence drawls, and there's nothing more, Clementine breaks away. Carlos lets her. The tree evokes for another time. The lights glimmer. Sarah's dawned it an angel. It's all a shard to her very eyes. The tooth in her closed hand bites. The floor rocks with every stride, and the lodge is swaying to the fireplace and its restful flame, and the shadows birthed.

She snags his silhouette through the windows.

Kenny's.

That alone keels everything in arm's reach.

Clementine shambles for solace. Finds it in shadow.

Cliffside again. Where the air was brisk, and the river beneath her was a frigid havoc to her body.

It's found her. Laughs like life's miserable parody. Harkens to its thrashing well, where copper lathers down her throat, foams like river's whirlpool. Momentum to gain, everything to lose—how it's happened again, and the world's racing to snap her neck, she doesn't know. All it took was falling off that fucking cliff.

And the water didn't feel like concrete, so she calls bullshit on that.

She knocks into a door. One of the lodge's restrooms. The women's.

As the door closes, Clementine is abandoned to the blood throbbing in her ears. Static is a balm down her skin. When she reaches beside the door— clamps upon an old, old habit of hers—, Clementine doesn't fathom why, not until she finds the switch, and a lone bulb springs to life.

Clementine recoils. It's loud to her eyes, and her ears. Buzzes worse than the static. It's callous as well. She's forgotten just how much everything was before. There was never a gradual passage between these lights and not. There was only ever onslaught, and the overbearance.

When her eyes adjust, she lumbers across the restroom tile. The stalls are wooden. There's clutter, everywhere, to meander around. Her nails rake across the counter. The mirror is wide.

To her nose, there's only must, grime, and neglect's spillage.

Clementine glares into the light's reflection, then the bulb itself. It hangs close to the mirror, incased within a flowering glass.

She has half the mind to throttle it before ripping the damn thing from the wall.

The other half reminds her that, well, she did just turn it on herself. So. Her fault. What didshe honestly expect? And Clementine doesn't really want to lug herself all the way back over.

She's also not that kind of guest. …even if she did rip open a hole into a crawlspace not a week ago.

Great. On top of losing her mind at the ripe age of still a child, she's now acquainted with her first very own paradox. Which is vandalism.

Second if Clementine counts the cannibal tendencies.

Mulling over the logistics of her wellbeing while glaring holes into her reflection, with her own tooth burrowing into her palm… It doesn't feel great, for some reason.

Who would've thought?

Clementine seeps into the aches of her body. Her exhale is withdrawn. The tooth rattles over the countertop granite when she clasps for balance. Burdened by her joins, there lies a call for sleep, to rest her weary head and heal these wounds. And her lungs are clawing for air the more she gasps. Every swallow is reticent. With them bolts another ache, and they're piling now. They settle where she doesn't want them to. Not her stomach's basin. Instead, these aches char within heart's cage.

They spurn her. Like embers, or the falling ash to a fire deep within pine vista.

And they've clogged her jugular. Clementine's mouth froths for words she cannot find. There's only smoke, or it's the thrashing frigid waters, or those coin spiral wishing wells. A blaring arcade. Claps of a storm.

There's too much. It's all too much.

In this… This body of hers…

She rocks her jaw again. Stares at the lone tooth.

Carlos cleaned it. There's not a red left behind.

Her eyes follow down a ravine in granite, and it splits into the wall, cracks the mirror. Weblike—it doesn't go far in reflection.

Clementine meets herself by her eyes. Finds a stranger. Wearing her skin. Hiding behind her name.

She's narrower than she once was, in the face. Her eyes are a striking shade of yellow. Not gold though. More… They're more lupine against her complexion. As in spitfire. Blinding in their own right. Spat from the end of a barrel, to scream a bullet's remark.

She leans to the mirror. Works her jaw, thumbs where the tooth once was, and by the pad of her finger, Clementine feels her skin abrade. A flinch later, a hand pulled away, blood beads close to the nail. Clementine leans again.

Another tooth. Knived, though… Its crown is knived. There's no other way to explain. She scrounges through smog to find better. There just isn't.

A thought pangs her. An inkling.

Clementine tries the opposite tooth. It's loose. So's another on the other side. Too many. She's already lost them. There's no reason. Her breath is rattling. The reflection is blearing, eyes burning.

Her nails grate into the granite. Chips wherever she scrawls, before she grasps, and tension shivers through bone.

"Sweet pea…"

The granite seethes into her palms. Lacerates one. Pricks the other.

Clementine jolts.

She staggers away. Holds herself.

The blood is dark. Seeped from her hands, stained into the counter, it's of wine. Dark like wine, raw in glass.

"Another … daymare, Clem? Which one?"

"The— The one you killed…"

She hears— H-Hears it fall.

Enamel chimes across ceramic tile. Cracks at the crown.

This blood, the wine, strings the counter. It leeches deep within grout.

Spitfire glints from shadow. Doesn't realize where she herself stands, and that it's the mirror. Her reflection. A stranger.

Clementine buckles. She chokes for air. Her ribs spine into her heart. Closes in. Blood smears down a stall door. Her hand's shape.

She seethes through her teeth. Air swells in her mouth. Can hardly swallow. Wood, tile, granite—the restroom whirls together. Agony gnaws her bite. Clementine's floundering. Her hands skate across tile. The grout is coarse. It cleaves whenever her palm's heel catches.

This isn't her mouth. It longs to shed its human shape.

A girl's lasting print.

"You bite if you have to. Do everything you can to get away."

"What i-if I can't…?"

Lee— He never did answer her.

So the world swam the way it does now.

All Clementine knew was his face.

"What do they want from me? "L-Lee?"

Not her mouth. Not her blood. Not her eyes—

None of this is hers.

Where has her body gone…?!

"The only thing a child has to themselves. Your … innocence, Clem."

Was he right…?! Had Carlos been right to look at her with this— This burdening nausea?!

Did it only take that one fucking glance at her bite?! Did the doctor know from her eyes alone?!

What— W-What did that bite do to her?

What did it take?!

"And men like that will steal it, just because they can."

. "They give reasons that don't ever make sense, because those reasons are for themselves to think."

Clementine smacks into a stall door, and down her spine, she nails into its frame. Her heart is hammering. It seizes down her veins. Sirens in her ears. She feels it pang behind her eyes. Or it's all her head, writhing in static.

Belting the moment when the saltblock drops.

Smells it. Tastes the flesh, ever brackish, on her tongue.

Her mouth's dry. Throat's raw. Air is clawing.

She can't breathe.

The air is clawing, yet her lungs scream for it.

"Because I would rather be the one to ease it away from you than to have it torn from your hands. "I'm sorry."

What kind of world is this…?

For the mercy of man to take anyway—if by a tender, wary gesture in remorse's name.

Clementine shudders, and her chest swells for that air.

Agony finds her jaw for another time. It strikes when she bares her teeth, when Clementine coils into herself. She grapples her head. Her fingers lace through hair. And… And she weeps. There are no whimpers to croon, for she is an orphan with no one to hear. The cold flogs across her bloodied tongue.

There's no granola to soothe this.

Lee's voice will be a mere ghost forevermore.

She is alone. Will only ever have the bite to take with her.

Clementine n-never asked for this. She never asked for his family. She wanted hers. Mom and Dad—th-that's all she ever wanted. She got Lee instead. Cherished him. Abandoned him. Got bit for it.

Left Omid for citric orchard.

And then lost Christa. In the woods.

Blood twines from her mouth. There's salt in her tears. They bathe her tongue, an open wound, in daymare.

She chokes.

"A metamorphosis, Clementine…"

Her nails dig into either arm when she hugs herself. She keeps the cloth tight on her body. The bite agitates.

"A metamorphosis…"

"So you feel like you're starving despite being fed not long ago."

Did that little girl die in a nightmare?

She doesn't know. The monster doesn't know.

There will never be clarity.

For that is a fabled dream.

— — —

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

[Previous] | [Next (TBW)] | [First Chapter]

#twdgscav fic #volt's library #twdg #twdg 2 #twdg fanfiction #fanfiction #twdg clementine #twdg kenny #cannibalism #gore #violence #horror #body horror #psychological horror #trauma

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ataviisms · 5 months

Text

@am4zon said "She's back." The holder of truth rarely must ask for clarification. She knows Barbara Ann, the Cheetah, has returned, just as she knows the layers of her own soul. There was a time when she loved Barbara Ann with everything in her, and that is a time that has yet to end. Di tries for a smile, but sadness weighs it down. "Cleo is happy." Another statement; she's not asking. Of course the girl wants her mother. Diana sits next to Waylon and offers him her hand. "But how are you feeling, Waylon?"

cheetah is back. cheetah is back and the scent of her fur lingers on his scales; vaguely he wonders if diana can smell it. despite everything, they always reunite like animals --- carnal, primal, hungry. maybe it's fair to call them the creatures they so resemble. he hardly feels like a person when he's with her and, sometimes, he hardly minds. other times, he feels half-sick afterwards. like he's just a pathetic beast that can't let her go no matter how much she hurts him. a dog begging to be kicked again.

waylon can't meet diana's gaze because he feels too guilty. he can't bring himself to take her hand because, once again, he doesn't feel that he deserves the extent of the kindness she shows him. instead he simply sweeps his tail around his ankles, curling it tightly as he tends to do when he's nervous or upset. his hands are fists that clench and unclench repetitively in his lap, like he's trying to grasp any one of the hundred thoughts in his brain that flee before him like silver fish in a muddy pond.

" cleo idolizes her, " he finally replies, letting out a soft rumble. cleo admires her mother more than anything. it's an almost blind devotion that she inherited from him, and he knows that one day it will upend their daughter's life the way it had upended his. he can only hope that she'll learn from it where he did not. " she don't listen to me anymore. "

waylon turns his head towards her, even if he still won't look her directly in the eye. his rumble turns into a heavy sigh; it drips from his jaws like lead, a weight that he keeps trying to carry even though his arms have long since grown too tired. " i feel the way i always do when she comes 'round. hurt, sad, hopeful. i dunno, di... " i don't know how i'm supposed to feel. i don't know how i want to feel. " i think it'd be better if she killed me, sometimes. like bein' dead would be easier than lovin' her. "

#am4zon #verse tbd

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vrishchikawrites · 3 years

Note

You know what would be interesting?

JC never lost his golden Core.

And Wei Wuxian did not lose his.

But he still gets dropped into the Burial Mounds. And like I dunno how, but he comes out of there having mastered the new form of cultivation.

Jiang Cheng acts like a dick that's par for cannon. And this Wei Wuxian who has survived the burial Mounds with his golden core intact has no time for his drama.

He definitely confesses to Lan Wangji o ce he is out of the burial mounds.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in the Sunshot campain would be brilliant. Cultivating and * *wink wink nudge nudge* * dual cultivating.

JC is seething with jelousy. He has everything. The gentry name, the money and sect leadership but the whole world is only speaking about Wei Wuxian and his like awesome cultivation. Both the sword style and with his flute.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning- Wen Ning convinces his sister to join the war. Wen Ning wants to be on Wei Wuxian's side.

What would JC throw a tantrum over if he doesn't have anything to throw a tantrum over??

Like for example he blames Wei Wuxian for Lotus Pier burning. Obviously it's not his mistake. But one day he is yelling at Wei Wuxian about it and sect leader someone maybe XiChen, maybe Sect leader Nie. Whoever. Comes and like defends Wei Wuxian.

What would he do then faced with the facts? Cling all the more to his warped world view? Or apologize?

It will be interesting to see.

You don't have to take this prompt if it's too messy or whatever. I love you and your writing.

Also, thank you for choosing to write my previous prompt.

XOXO.

(this is a little similar to trapped and patient but also quite different. Hope you like it! The format is a bit different because this is a lot of time to cover in a short prompt)

When he stumbles out of the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian is stunned. He can't believe he made it, that he was able to survive it, without his sword.

Wei Wuxian walks forward shakily, one unsteady step at a time, putting distance between him and that wretched place.

He feels weak, drained, devastated in small ways.

But he is free.

---

Yiling offers shelter in unexpected ways. He's able to hide in a temple to recover. His condition is wretched enough that he's mistaken for a beggar. A few people take pity on him and offer fruits and buns.

It takes him a week.

That's all it takes for him to recover.

Wei Wuxian washes all traces of Burial Mounds off him, soaks in icy river water for hours on end until he feels purified and reforged.

Now, he's ready for revenge.

---

Wei Wuxian has only tried his cultivation method on the dead. He has used it to repel the fierce corpses, fierce ghosts, and spirits soaked in resentment.

When he tests the method on the Wens, it proves to be even more effective. They scramble like mindless beasts, driven by fear and confusion. The sounds of his Dizi pierce the air and induce madness.

He watches from a distance, indifferent as the Wens turn on each other, swinging their swords, shouting at phantoms, all sense and intellect gone.

He turns away.

---

Jiang Cheng's arms wrap around him and the fog around his mind starts to slowly recede. He stands stiffly, blinking a little before looking beyond his martial brother.

Lan Zhan is there, staring at him with wide eyes. There's so much open concern on his usually stoic face that Wei Wuxian wants to turn away.

"Wei Ying,"

It is only then, under the power of that golden gaze, that his fugue state dissipates. He sees Lan Zhan step forward, almost reaching out only to pull back at the last moment.

Jiang Cheng pushes him away and punches his shoulder, "Where have you been? How dare you abandon us and just frolic off somewhere?"

Wei Wuxian swalllows with difficulty and answers their questions with his habitual dismissive charm.

But that honest expression of open concern on Lan Zhan's beautiful face doesn't leave.

He meets those golden eyes and feels something shift within him.

Shaking his head, he dismisses the feeling. There's no time for sentimental reunions. He turns his attention towards Wen Chao, unsheathes his sword, and kills him in one clean strike.

There. Done.

---

The war is already in full swing by the time he joins it. His martial brother and Lan Zhan are quick to take him to Qinghe, not even letting him ride his own sword.

"Wei-gongzi, I'm happy to see you safe," Lan Xichen greets, running a discreet eye over him. The older Lan brother's concern is well hidden but Wei Wuxian senses it nevertheless.

The man looks like he's just about ready to banish him to the healing halls.

He opens his mouth to reassure Lan Xichen but Nie Mingjue intervenes, slapping his back solidly, "I hear you're responsible for the devastation at Yiling. Good work!"

Wei Wuxian smiles brightly, hoping to banish that increasingly familiar look from Lan Zhan's face. "Thank you, Nie-zongzhu." He smiles up at the man, "I can give you a full report of what happened if you wish it."

The Chifeng-zun's expression shifts into one of approval and he nods, "I do wish it."

"I would like to know as well, if you don't mind," Lan Xichen says and Nie Mingjue nods before he glances at Lan Zhan.

He chuckles, "Lan er-gonzi can join us as well."

---

Wei Wuxian doesn't realize he's been spending more time with the Lan brothers and Nie Mingjue until Jiang Cheng angrily points it out.

"You're too good for us, are you?" He demands, "Abandoning us in favor of your new friends! Even in the battlefield, you and Lan Wangji are inseparable! Have some shame! How dare you abandon your responsibilities and mess around with that man?"

"a-Cheng," Shijie reprimands gently but her voice is weak.

"Aiya, Jiang Cheng, who keeps track of such things amidst a war? They're all our allies. It's not like I have abandoned everyone." He still trains with the Jiang disciples and leads them in battle after all.

"Wei Wuxian!"

"Jiang Cheng," His voice makes his irritation clear, "Is this really the right time to worry about such trivial matters? Who cares about appearances during war? Are were not all one when on the battlefield?" He asks, narrowing his eyes on the furious Jiang, "We don't know whether we'll live or die when we ride out and you're concerned about who fights alongside me? Just who are you speaking of?"

"Who I am speaking of?" Jiang Cheng snaps in return, "Your obsession with that man is unseemly and reflects poorly on the sect! You know it and yet you carry on shamelessly-"

"My obsession?" He demands, "Just what are you trying to imply, Jiang Cheng? You're going to be a brat just because Lan Zhan happens to be the only one able to keep up with me?" It is no secret that his three month stint sharpened his cultivation in ways people find hard to fathom. He didn’t just develop a new cultivation method, he grew. Surviving the Burial Mounds is a feet beyond the skill and endurance of most cultivators.

Wei Wuxian has earned his already formidable reputation.

Jiang Cheng reels back at the reminder, his face twisting with rage.

Never let it be said that Wei Wuxian takes things lying down. He has spent a lifetime appeasing Jiang Cheng and dealing with his insecurities.

He no longer has the patience.

---

He reaches out instinctively, pulling Lan Zhan out of a blade's path, spinning around to block the strike with his bare arm.

His thick leather brace manages to minimize the damage and he doesn't lose his arm but it is a near thing.

With a hiss, he crowds against Lan Zhan and brings Suibian down in a sharp slash, cutting the Wen before him from left shoulder to right hip.

"Reckless." Lan Zhan says later as he carefully stitches the cut.

"I couldn't let you get hurt." Wei Wuxian says softly, peering down at the kneeling figure before him. He has seen Lan Zhan in various states of indignity, covered in blood, robes soaked in the disgusting sludge of a war-torn field.

Nothing diminishes his beauty.

Wei Wuxian's heart races, his head spinning as he smells the scent of sandalwood. He swallows as Lan Zhan shifts closer, carefully snipping the excess thread and studying his neat stitches.

This close, he feels overwhelmed and realization dawns.

"I love you," He breathes, stunned.

He loves Lan Zhan. The knowledge strikes him now, suddenly, without warning. "How did I not know?" Wei Wuxian feels strangely dazed. How could he not know? It is so obvious to him, his constant need for Lan Zhan's attention, "I hate it when you ignore me." The feeling of those snapping golden eyes on him when he finally manages to gain Lan Zhan's attention, "It's thrilling when you don't."

He has never met anyone more beautiful, "I find you better looking than any maiden." Lan Zhan's proximity now makes him feel-, "Breathless," He says, "When I'm close to you I feel- how did I miss-"

Lan Zhan grip is like vice around his wrist.

Wei Wuxian stops, going pale as he realizes how brazenly he had just confessed love to a man. If Jiang Cheng were here, he'd definitely gut him with Sandu, "Lan Zhan, I-"

Lan Zhan surges forward, eyes blazing and expression dark.

Warm lips slide over his and his mind goes silent.

He doesn't think a single thought that night.

---

War doesn't wait for anyone and Wei Wuxian doesn't say anything in protest when Lan Zhan pulls away from him. He watches with heavy eyes as Lan Zhan shrugs on his discarded outer robes and glances at him.

"Is your body alright?" He asks and Wei Wuxian feels a blush crawl up his neck.

“No! Of course it isn’t,“ He complains even though his body is buzzing with lingering pleasure. He pouts up at Lan Zhan, who studies him with careful golden eyes, “Really, going on and on, taking your pleasure without any care for my virgin body.“ Lan Zhan’s ears are delightfully red, “Who knew er-gege could be so bold?“

“Wei Ying,“ Lan Zhan’s expression is flat but his voice carries a hint of a waver. Wei Wuxian just grins in response, “Be serious.“

In all honesty, his body is already back to its regular state of being. His Golden Core is still spinning furiously and the lingering energy from Dual Cultivation has healed any aches and pains he might have.

“Fine,“ He says in a petulant tune, inwardly delighted that Lan Zhan is now his, “But er-gege must kiss me to make me feel better.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t hesitate, leaning over him and gently tipping his chin up for the demanded kiss.

Wei Wuxian sighs, sinking into it as a curtain of silken black hair forms a private cocoon around him.

---

The war ends but Wei Wuxian’s problems don’t end with it. Three issues stand before him; helping the Wen remnants, helping rebuild YunmengJiang, and figuring out how to marry Lan Zhan.

One obstacle stands in the way of two of these three goals. Jiang Cheng absolutely refuses to lift a finger to help the Wen remnants, even though Wen Qing’s assistance helped them win the war. Jin Guangyao may have killed Wen Ruohan but Wen Qing prevented thousands of casualties.

Wen Ning was also responsible for rescuing Jiang Cheng from the Wen capture before he lost his Golden Core. It was fortunate that Wen Zhuliu had been called to visit Wen Ruohan and Wen Chao had to wait to enact that punishment.

Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian managed to steal Jiang Cheng away just hours before Wen Zhuliu returned.

And yet, Jiang Cheng chooses to side with the Jins on the matter instead of listening to Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue. Wei Wuxian knows it is partly because their sister is marrying into the Jin clan and they can’t afford to make things difficult for her, but still.

Jin Zixuan will obviously protect shijie. There’s no need to be so cautious, especially if three out of four sects oppose imposing any sort of punishment on innocent people.

On a personal front, Jiang Cheng’s disapproval of his relationship with Lan Zhan is blatant.

Jiang Cheng can’t really stop Wei Wuxian from marrying whoever he wishes. He doens’t need the sect leader’s permission as he’s not really the member of the family. But his shidi is making things difficult with his sneering disapproval and contemptuous comments in public.

He has already alienated Lan Xichen completely by calling Lan Zhan’s honor in question (boy did he earn the punch Wei Wuxian had leveled at him - sect leader or no). Nie Mingjue will never side with some upstart over Lan Xichen.

Lan Zhan himself doesn’t care. He has never liked Jiang Cheng and he never will. He only retaliates when Jiang Cheng tries to attack Wei Wuxian.

His protective er-gege as no tolerance for anyone trying to harm him.

Which is what, ultimately, breaks Wei Wuxian’s ties with YunmengJiang.

The confrontation is embarrassingly public. He doesn’t mind Lan Xichen or Nie Mingjue being present but feels upset about Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao being there as well.

“Twin Prides of Yungmeng, isn’t that what you promised me?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “Where will your pride be if you break all of your promises and get into...” He waves his hand at Lan Zhan in disgust, “Is this how you intend to repay us? My father raised you to be the Head Disciple of the Jiang Sect and you would rather be some sort of deviant?“

“Jiang Cheng-“

“And you would side with the Wen dogs too! Was this always your intention? Did you always want to bring down my sect and support its enemies?”

“The Wen remnants have helped us. They’re not our enemies.“

“They’re not our enemies now,“ Jin Guanyao interjects calmly, his voice soothing and patient, “But surely you see that it may not remain so? We cannot risk another war.”

“They’re barely a few hundred people and we have already taken most of their resources. They’ll live as poor peasants. How can they be a threat to us?“ Wei Wuxian asks.

“You’re indeed naïve, Wei-gongzi,“ Jin Guangshan says in a gentle, placating tone, “Perhaps your fondness for Wen-guniang is making you turn a blind eye. Beautiful women have a tendency to do that.“ He chuckles indulgently.

The sly implication in his tone isn’t lost on anyone. Lan Zhan’s expression turns frosty and Wei Wuxian feels a surge of fury strong enough to make his blood boil. There are so many things wrong with that statement that Wei Wuxian, for once, is rendered speechless.

“You question the honor of Wei Wuxian of all people?“ Nie Mingjue demands, taking a step forward, “I have stayed silent because Jiang Sect business isn’t my business but I will not have you slander and belittle a proven warrior in my presence!“

“Indeed,“ Lan Xichen says calmly but there’s no mistaking the sharp look in his eyes. Lan Xichen rarely reacts to provocations or interferes in sect matters that don’t concern him. But he’s not going to let anyone upset his younger brother carelessly, “The matter of the Wens is easy to resolve. Let us give them a small piece of land, let them set up a village, and forbid cultivation among them.“

“Er-ge,“ Jin Guangyao begins but Lan Zhan is out of patience.

He steps back and bows to all assembled before placing a hand on Wei Wuxian’s back, “Wei Ying will choose his own path. Wens will remain free. Wei Ying and I will marry.“ He meets Jiang Cheng’s furious gaze, “Jiang-zongzhu must decide whether his brother’s happiness matters to him.“

Wei Wuxian winces.

“My brother’s happiness?“ Jiang Cheng demands, “All everyone has ever cared about is his happiness! What about me? What about our Sect? A sect he nearly destroyed because of his loyalty towards you.“ Jiang Cheng looks at him, “Did you forget my mother? My father? How do you intend to repay the enormous debt you carry, Wei Wuxian?“

Wei Wuxian stares back at him, “What is my repayment, Jiang Cheng?” He asks softly, “What will it take for you to consider that debt repaid?” It has been over five years since the fall of Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian has bled and slogged through war to restore that place to its former glory. He has kept Jiang Cheng safe, helped renegotiate shijie’s marriage, and used his name to draw skilled cultivators to YungmengJiang.

What more can he give?

“Loyalty.“ He stills, “You devote your life to YungmengJiang and nothing else.“

Lan Xichen makes a faint, alarmed noise while Nie Mingjue huffs in disapproval.

Wei Wuxian takes a deep breath, feeling Lan Zhan’s fingers flex on his back. He levels a flat look at Jiang Cheng and thinks on the matter of debts. He thinks about Madam Yu’s refusal to bend, of Jiang-zongzhu’s passivity and lack of planning. He thinks about the Wen’s unprovoked attack on Cloud Recesses and the inevitability of war.

He thinks of his Lan Zhan and shijie’s Jin Zixuan, without swords and facing an armed group of Wens under Wen Chao’s orders.

He thinks of love. Of what it means to be truly, unconditionally loved.

No sorrys and no thank yous. No debt owed for simply being a part of someone’s life.

He thinks of acceptance that comes with an older brother’s amused smile. He thinks of an uncle’s gruff admonishment to behave followed by a stiff reminder to eat, you’re skin and bones already.

He takes a deep breath and decides.

“No.“

#short prompts #Wei Wuxian #Lan Zhan #no golden core transfer #anti jiang cheng

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bruhstories · 3 years

Text

Fate

Summary: The Abduction of Persephone or how Levi couldn’t get you of his head.

Pairing: Hades!Levi x Persephone!Reader

Warnings & Content: nsfw, mentions of rape & incest (cause, you know, Zeus is a fucking entitled asshole and nobody fucking likes him), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, language, loss of virginity

Word Count: 5.1 k

A/N: literally the only thing I have to say is that for the purpose of this fic, Hanji has she/her pronouns, and the first few paragraphs are written in third person xD happy reading!

Help me...

Please...

Help... me...

Sweat drips from his forehead and his eyes shoot open. That damned dream again. That sweet voice again. Levi Hades can't comprehend why he was dreaming. Gods don'tdream. His bed seems empty, but he never needed anyone in it. For some reason, now he feels like someone is missing. He gets up, naked body and blank eyes watching over his realm from the balcony of his castle. Empty. Other than the souls of the dead that quietly dance around like little flames, it's empty. Other than Cerberus sleeping peacefully, it's empty. And so damn cold. Mortals mistaken the Underworld for a scorching hot place, but in reality, it's as cold as Levi Hades' heart. If he even has a heart.

He wraps his toga around his sculpted body, a wreath of laurels on his coal-black hair, donning his arms with silver bracelets and rings. Time doesn't exist in the world of the dead, but Levi Hades sticks to a strict schedule. He waves his hand and a scroll and quill magically appear on his marble desk. He can't trust Hermes with this message, and so he gives it to one of his dogs to deliver it to Hanji Hecate. Who better to interpret the meaning of his dream than the goddess of witchcraft herself? LeviHades surrounds himself in thick, grey smoke before he disappears from his bedroom.

Somewhere on Earth, Y/N Persephone is being watched by Zeus. The powerful god cannot resist such a beauty, and he is known for having his way with anyone, even his own daughter. But it's not her time, he thinks, not just yet. She knows this, she knows what will happen to her when she reaches the age of marriage, and at night, when not a soul is awake, she sobs and prays that someone will find her and help her. She is willing to do anything to escape her father's clutches and her dark future. And every night she cries, it rains — it pours.

At the outskirts of the Underworld, Hanji Hecate receives a message. She reads it carefully, and a knot forms in her stomach. The goddess heard the pleas of a girl, whom she believed to be a mortal, but if Levi Hades heard her, too, then it could only be another deity. HanjiHecate closes her eyes and performs a spell in the hopes of locating the desperate girl. It doesn't work. It doesn't work because, unbeknownst to her, Demeter is hiding her daughter from the preying eyes of Zeus.

They searched for weeks, mortal weeks, for the crying goddess, but none of them had any luck. Y/N Persephone is somewhere in the shadows of Demeter, but even she knows her mother can't protect her forever. Zeus gets what Zeus wants eventually. The sun rises over the meadow, but Y/N Persephone doesn't know that because she's stuck weaving in a cave, sweat dripping down her forehead, hairs sticking to her face. The drakons Demeter placed at the entrance of the cave followed Y/N Persephone outside, guarding her as she washes herself in a nearby stream. He isn't supposed to be there. Levi Hades isn't supposed to peer at her naked body and the way she splashes the crystal-clear water. He was supposed to meet with Hanji Hecate and take a walk. He was supposed to go back to the Underworld after that. Yet here he is, spellbound by her gestures, her face, her eyes. And then, she sings. Y/N Persephone begins to sing and all the flowers around him bloom. Levi Hades goes into a shocked state, eyes wide open, brows raised. He knows that voice. He knows it because he's been dreaming it. His scent is picked up by the drakons and he disappears, leaving behind a trail of smoke.

"I found her, Hecate. I found her, but I can't get close to her."

"What do you mean you found her? Just like that?" Hanji Hecate's fingers trace the bark of a tree.

"It was fate. It must be." Levi Hades is desperate now.

"Calm down, Hades. I've never seen you so... twitchy." She laughs, kneeling in the grass. The witch plays with some fallen leaves, brown hair flowing in the wind.

"That's because you didn't see what I did. She started singing and flowers bloomed! I don't know what kind of nymph she is, but she is beautiful. Nothing like I've ever seen before."

"Oh, I never thought I'd live to see the day Hades falls in love." Hanji Hecate laughs again. "So why didn't you approach her?"

"Tch, because she was surrounded by drakons. I don't understand why a mere nymph would need so much protection."

The goddess gasps, all traces of happiness gone from her face, replaced by disappointment and anxiety. Levi Hades takes notice of this and places his cold hand on the witch's shoulder, but she flinches.

"You can't have her."

"You knowher?" His voice is condescending, offended that his good friend hid something like this from him.

"Hades, she's Demeter's daughter, Persephone. She's not just some nymph, but the goddess of spring." Hanji Hecate brings her palms together, forming a triangle. "We can't talk here."

Levi Hades nods and lets himself transported to the Underworld, back to the familiar souls lingering in the air.

"Talk, Hecate." He is impatient and demanding, arms folded across his chest.

"Zeus wants her, and Demeter and I are keeping her hidden." The deity explains with pain in her voice.

"Yes, well, you're not doing a very good job, now, are you?"

"Oi, the drakons noticed you. You don't think they would notice Zeus?" She snaps back, traces of arrogance in her voice.

"Hecate... it's Zeus. What would stop that brat from turning into a drakon fool her?"

The goddess shivers, shifting her weight from side to side.

"Do you have a better idea?"

"I do, actually. I'll bring Persephone here." LeviHades proudly states, but his face is still blank, not once betraying his true feelings.

"You'll... what?" Her mouth is slightly open, bewildered by the god.

"It's the only place Zeus doesn't have access without an invitation. Face it, Hecate, it's a good plan. Better than yours, anyway."

Hanji Hecate is speechless, completely at a loss for words. She ponders over the idea, a hand brought to her chin to think better.

"Alright, but what makes you think she'll just stroll through the gates of the Underworld without a complaint?"

"Oh, you've mistaken my words. I'll forcefully bring her here." He tilts his head, a semblance of a smirk on his lips.

"For fuck's sake, Hades, she's not what you'd expect. And what about me? I promised Demeter I would protect her!" HanjiHecate throws her hands in the air, her shadow taking the form of a raging dog.

"Do notchallenge me, witch. You know I can destroy you in the blink of an eye." LeviHades growls and her shadow restores itself to its natural shape. "Besides, you would still protect her. The Underworld is where you abide."

She knows she shouldn't carelessly be out in the open one hour before her coming of age. But Y/N Persephone, with tears streaming down her beautiful face, embraced her future. She knows Zeus will come for her, and so she willingly gives herself to him. With poppy seeds, she put the drakons to sleep and left the cave, clad in a sheer toga, her body visible through the transparent fabric.

"If you want me, come and get me, father!" Y/N Persephone screams at the skies, the flora surrounding her slowly turning a dark shade of brown and dying, just like her innocence would die tonight. The earth shatters behind her, marigold flames and ashy smoke cracking open the soil. Shadowy figures emerge, grasping the young goddess' limbs and they drag her down, down, down to the Underworld. She is afraid, her heart beats faster as the moonlight disappears, and all she can see is darkness.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be gentler, but I didn't want Zeus to get the wrong idea."

"You're Hades, aren't you?"

"Yes, but please, call me Levi. Persephone, I presume." Levi doesn't smile, but his voice is warm, contrasting the cold that surrounded your body.

"Don't call me that." You spit back, confused as to why you were in his realm in the first place.

"You should be a little more grateful that I saved you, brat." He narrows his eyes down at you.

"Saved me? You abductedme. You're no better than him."

Hanji Hecate was right, you had fire in your soul, and an attitude that would drive Levi over the edge.

"Tch, don't compare me to that pretentious cock." The god scoffs and your expression softens.

"Zeus is a... cock? With a beak and feathers?" You giggle and he almost wants punch himself. How could he forget how innocent you are? Clearly, he's been spending too much time with Minthe.

"That's one way to put it."

"Is there another way?" You ask with your index finger brought to your lips, pure curiosity in your eyes.

"Forget that, you said you didn't want me to call you Persephone. How else should I address you?"

"Y/N." You tell him, eyes peering to the balcony of his castle and you skip to it. "Oh, this place is huge! What are those?" You point at the colourful flames dancing in the air.

"Souls." Levi joins you, resting his arms on the marble railing.

"They're beautiful!" You are in awe, and he is just as mesmerised by your beauty. Not one sane god or goddess would consider the souls of the dead beautiful.

"Look, Y/N, I heard you. In my dreams, I mean. I'm not going to hurt you, I brought you here to rescue you." He lies through his teeth. Levi did want to save you, he still does, but he can't deny the fact that he wanted you all to himself. "I'm gonna mind my own business, you mind yours. Try not to break anything. And don't, under any circumstances, make a mess out of my castle, or my realm."

You lean on the railing, nose scrunched and a hand on your hip.

"What am I supposed to do, then? And what about my mother? What about when spring comes and I have to bring it? What about Zeus?"

Levi grits his teeth, almost regretting his decision of saving you.

"Tch, I'll deal with Demeter. I'll tell Zeus I'm marrying you. You can go bring spring when it's due. Happy?" He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"And you won't taint my innocence?"

Oh, he will taint it, alright. But not just yet.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"You still didn't answer my first question. What am I supposed to do?" You shift your weight from one leg to the other, impatiently waiting for a proper answer from your captor.

"Anything you want, just don't get in my way when I'm dealing with the dead."

"You're an aggressive little man, you know that?"

Levi can feel a blood vessel bursting on his forehead. You were truly annoying, but he couldn't just sit around and wait for Zeus to have his way with you.

"Anyway, I suppose it is safer to be here." You rolled your eyes. "Got any books?"

"What, you read?" He snorts, a condescending brow arched.

"Don't patronise me. You're the one who abducted me, you could at least try to be nice to me."

Levi sighs. This wasn't how he imagined things would go. He imagined you'd make the perfect housewife and keep him some company.

"First floor. Just stay out of the restricted section."

"Why?"

"Because I said so. Zeus' beard, are you always this irritating?"

"Are you?" You chuckle, a hand hiding your smile.

With another sigh, Levi disappears, leaving you alone. "Great job, Y/N, you made the only person who took a crumb of pity on you to go away." You say to yourself, a pout on your lips.

The Underworld wasn't as bad as you thought. Sure, there was the occasional fire popping from the ground here and there, and you had to be careful not to burn yourself, but overall, it was serene. Some parts of it were scorching hot, but mostly it was cold, and you always brought an extra cloak with you when exploring the realm. Levi wasn't always with you, in fact you haven't seen him in days, but you met his three-headed puppy. Well, puppy wasn't the best word to describe the creature, and it did try to eat you the first time, but you stood your ground and tamed the beast with your singing and eager belly rubs.

"This is a sight I never thought I'd live to see." Levi is shocked, watching his raging dog so calm. "Cerberus never lets anyone but me touch him." He gives the dog a few pats on his back.

"Well, Cerberus likes me better, don't you? Who's a good boy? You are, yes, you are!" You kiss all three muzzles and hug the gigantic beast, the heat of its fuzzy body warming you up.

"Oi, don't get ahead of yourself. Come here, Cerberus." Levi extends his arms and the creature is confused. "I said, come here."

The dog stops wagging its tail and plops next to you with a groan, one head resting in your arms. The shit-eating grin on your face is enough to make Levi sigh.

"See? I told you he likes me better." You poke your tongue out in triumph. You wave your hands and the god watches how you place three daffodil wreaths on each of Cerberus' heads. "Much better!"

"Y/N, he looks silly."

"No, he looks adorable! Here, I made you one, too."

Levi takes the flower crown and inspects it, careful not to crumble the petals.

"What is this?" He asks, marvelling at the beauty of the ice-blue colour of the plant.

"Uh, a flower crown?"

"Yeah, no shit. I meant what flower is this?"

"Oh, it's a blue poppy. One of the rarest plants in the world." You smile. "I think it suits you."

"You're an oddball."

You sit in a lavish chair, all kinds of foods displayed on the table in front of you. Saliva pools in your mouth, but you decide to wait for Levi anyway. It's bad manners to start eating without the host, Demeter taught you that. Gods and goddess don't eat mortal foods, but sometimes they indulge in it, and tonight was one of those nights.

"Here, try this." Levi offers you a strange fruit, something humans have on earth, but different.

"What is it?" You poke your finger at the juicy fruit, sucking the sweetness from your digit.

"It's a pomegranate that only grows in the Underworld."

You pick at the seeds, popping one in your mouth. You couldn't believe something so good could grow in a cold place like this.

"So, what's the occasion?" You ask Levi as you eat three more seeds, the crimson juice staining your lips.

"Our wedding."

You accidentally swallow, choking on saliva and the pomegranate seeds, your fist hammering your chest as you gasp for air.

"What?"

"I told Zeus I'm marrying you and now he wants proof." Levi bluntly states, a chalice of nectar in his hand.

"No."

"You don't have a choice, unfortunately."

"But… I'm supposed to be a virgin. Marriage implies consumption of it." You slam your fists on the table. "My mother-"

"Your mother lied to you. You're a goddess of fertility for fuck's sake." He shrugs and you're shocked by how chilling his voice sounds. Sure, Levi was always brooding and silent, but now he was just inconsiderate. "However, I'm not a man who breaks his promises. I told you I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"Oh, how niceof you. I'm leaving." You stand up, pushing the chair away.

"And go where? Demeter can't protect you forever, and you don't stand a chance against Zeus."

"You know why I hate my name so much, Levi?" You growl, fingernails digging into the wooden table.

"Do, tell."

"Because it means destruction. A fitting name for a goddess of ‘fertility’, don't you think?" The table splits open and all the plates fall to the ground. Your normal, bubbly aura changes suddenly and there's a hint of red in your Y/E/C eyes. "You think I don't stand a chance against Zeus? I'm his offspring." You snap, and instead of flowers falling out of your hair, there's thorns, spikes and rusty leaves all over the place. The uglies, most poisonous plants sprout from the ground and you're no longer the goddess of spring, but the bringer of slaughter, and Levi is impressed. Now he really knows it was faith that brought you together, he knows your place is with him — with the dead.

"Marry me." He says, unmoved by your little show. Unmoved on the outside, because on the inside he wants to bend you over and fuck you silly. His words shouldfuel your rage, but you're too surprised by the fact that he still wants to marry you, despite your outburst.

"Why? Because Zeus wants that?" Vines protrude from your skin and your fingernails turn black. You were completely different than the helpless little girl he rescued that night. You were terrifying. But not to Levi — to him you were fascinating.

"Because I want that."

It was safe to say you had fallen in love with Levi in those nine months since you came to the Underworld. He accepted you the way you were, he accepted your darkness, something not even your mother could do, and that's what triggered your feelings for the god of the dead. You still didn't allow him to call you Persephone, because you still hadn't fully embraced that part of you. Spring was almost due, but you promised Levi you'd go to earth after your wedding. Everyone would be there, including Demeter, which you haven't seen in a long time.

A soft knock interrupts your thoughts.

"Y/N, are you ready?"

"In a second, Hanji!"

"Oh, thank the gods for calling me that. I keep telling everyone I'm tired of Hecate but they don't care." The witch scoffs from the other side of the door.

"Has my mother arrived?" You ask, concern visible in your voice.

"Yes. And she's not happy."

"Hey," you open the door, "thanks for taking the blame and explaining things to her." You hug the goddess and she holds you tight.

"Don't worry about it, kid. It's me who should thank you. I don't know what you did to Levi, but he seems happier. He won't show it because he's a prick, but I can feel it."

You flash Hanji a genuine smile and ask her to fix your veil, to which she gladly accepts before escorting you to the castle grounds. Your mother should do this, but she hated her future groom, or your father, but he was a sick man who only decided to leave you alone because he respected Levi.

Every god and goddess of Olympus is here, even your uncle Poseidon. You emerge from the castle, arm looped around Hanji's and you smirk at Levi's shock. He never thought you could be more beautiful, yet here you are, dressed in silk, flowers on your hand and a thin veil clinging from the peony crown on your head. You catch a glimpse of Demeter before drifting your eyes to your future husband.

"Ladies and gentlemen, gods and goddesses, we have gathered here today to witness and bless the union between Levi, god of the Underworld, and Y/N, goddess of spring." Hanji proudly declares. The ceremony doesn't last too long, and when Levi's lips crush yours in what is your first kiss, thousands upon thousands of plants sprout from the soil, colourful flowers blooming and letting out the sweetest smells known to mankind. Love, he thinks, that's what love smells like.

You're tired from the party, tired from all the talking and mingling, tired from your mother's lecture, and tired from avoiding your father. At least Hera was nice enough to wish you a happy marriage. You pace around your bedroom, sitting on the bed, then standing up again. Levi went to his chamber after the party, but you were expecting, no, you wanted to consume the marriage. You walk to his room, a toga lazily draped over your shoulders, and open the door without a single knock. He's in bed, the only light source being the colourful souls levitating outside his windows. You carefully push the covers and climb into the bed, gently scooching closer to him.

"Psst, husband, are you sleeping?" You poke his shoulder.

"Tch, not anymore." He sighs, not bothering to open his eyes and look at you. "What do you want?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked! Seeing as we're married now, I thought it's only natural for a wife to sleep with her husband." You roll on your side, propping yourself on your elbow. Tentatively, you tug on the fabric of the toga, exposing your shoulders and part of your breasts.

"So sleep." Levi finally lolls his head to the side, facing you. He did not expect to see you sprawled on his bed like that, in a lewd position and a playful smile on your soft lips. "You don't have to do this just because we're married.

"I'm doing it because I want to. And I know you want it, too, Levi." You purr, your fingers grazing over your collarbone.

"It's going to hurt." He warns you, but his hand is already on your thigh.

"I know. But you'll take good care of me, won't you?"

Levi has no idea which one of you is talking — Y/N, goddess of spring, or Y/N, goddess of destruction — and frankly he doesn't even care at this point. As long as he has your approval, he knows he can do whatever he wants. You pull him into a sloppy kiss, obviously inexperienced, but he likes it that way. He likes that you have no idea what you're doing because he can be in control. His hand runs up and down your thigh and you can feel heat building in your core.

"Tingles..." You mumble in his lips with a hazy smile.

"Have you ever touched yourself?" Levi pulls away and you nod. "Show me."

You feel embarrassed and small, but obey nonetheless. Your hand travels between your legs and your fingers touch your already swollen clit, rubbing it in circular motions. Levi watches you with hungry eyes, wanting very hard to abstain, but he can't, and so he takes your nipple in his hot mouth. You whimper at the new sensation, electricity shooting through your body as he snakes a hand between your thighs, two fingers diving into your cunt.

"Ah! L-Levi! So big!" You mewl and he throws his head back, releasing your poor nipple.

"That's nothing compared to what you'll get, you needy brat." He curls his fingers, hitting that sweet spot, and you buck your hips. Despite being a virgin, your body naturally knows what to do. Your spongy walls clench around his digits and Levi can already feel how tight you'll be around his cock. "You're so wet."

"Is t-that a good thing?" You're innocent and pure and you rock your hips back and forth, pathetic moans escaping your lips.

"Fuck, yes." Levi kisses you, and it's nothing like the kiss from your wedding. It's desperate and greedy, and he wants you all to himself. The pace quickens, he's pumping his fingers in and out of you faster and you don't know what to do, so you keep rubbing your clit and the familiar heat of your orgasm flushes through your body. You come undone on his hand, the sinful, squelching sound echoing in the bedroom.

"It didn't hurt at all!" You look at your husband, but there's a hint of mischief in your voice, a playful glisten in your eyes. Levi clicks his tongue, because the worst — and best — is yet to come, and you know it — you're no saint.

"Come here." Levi orders and yanks you by the hair, his aggressive gesture sending a shiver down your spine and into your cunt. "Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth for me."

You obey and part your luscious lips and then you see his cock for the first time — thick and veiny, it slaps your face as it pops out of his undergarments, the tip grazing over your cheeks.

"Levi that's... that's too big." You chew your lower lip and lean back.

"You'll be fine. You said it yourself, I'll take good care of you." He cups your face with one hand, thumb caressing your chin. "Now suck it. Make sure to use lots of spit."

You feel your cheeks hot and test the waters by giving the glistening tip a few licks, tongue swirling around it. It tastes salty, and you find yourself liking this. Levi pats your head, but you feel him tensing with each movement of your tongue.

"Shit." He curses under his breath and when you look up at him with doe eyes, his heart pounds into his chest. You courageously take the tip into your mouth, and with hollowed cheeks, you move further. "Yeah, just like that. Take it all."

Bobbing your head up and down, you try to take it all, but the girth and length is just too much, and tears pool at your eyes from the lack of air, but also from how good it feels to have a fat cock in your mouth. Muffled moans reverberate in your throat, and Levi can feel the vibrations tickling him. He firmly grabs your nape and holds your head in place.

"Trust me and relax, can you do that for me?"

You half-nod, anxious and somewhat excited for what is about to happen. Your husband rocks his hips back and forth slowly before aggressively fucking your poor throat, and you feel the arousal building in your core again. So much for promising your mother you'd always stay a virgin. You want to touch yourself again, but Levi slaps your hand away and thrusts into your mouth, holding your head still until you choke, your fingernails digging into his arm. The god pulls out and you gasp for air, and he almost feels sorry when he sees your pathetic state.

"A-again!" You flash him your pearls in a sultry smile, spit dripping down your chin. Who knew you liked asphyxiation?

"Needy brat."

"Please!"

"Tch, later. Right now, I want to fuck you." Levi growls and he already has you pinned on the bed, arms above your head and legs spread open for him. His cock presses against your slick slit and you brace yourself for the incoming pain. "If you want me to stop, tell me."

You don't have the time to nod when you feel a burning sensation between your legs. Squeezing your eyes shut, you bury the back of your head into the pillow and grip the sheets so tight your knuckles begin to lose their colour. Levi slowly pushes further, another inch buried in your cunt, and you bite on your lower lip. But you don't tell him to stop, instead your spongy walls clench around his cock and another inch gets lost in you.

You never thought gods could feel such immense pain, yet here you are, with a bloody lip from digging your teeth into it and a sore pussy. But the worst thing faded bit by bit when Levi bottomed out into your cunt. The two of you sit still, your husband allowing you to get used to his girth.

"Do you think I bled?" You ask, eyes filled with tears.

"Probably, but I promise it will never hurt like this from now on." He comforts you before licking the blood from your lips. The gesture makes your cunt flutter and Levi takes it as a sign to go on. Slowly, he rocks his hips back and forth, and the molten pain is replaced by tingles and arousal.

"You good?"

"Y-yes, oh, f- yes!"

"You can say fuck, you know?" Levi thrusts once, and it's so deep you feel his cock brush over your cervix.

"Fuck!" You cry out, legs wrapping around his waist to make sure he doesn't pull out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Good girl."

There's no more room for gentle touches and soothing words when your husband fucks you raw. Your hips buck against his to feel that sweet pressure you never knew you longed for. In and out, his cock makes you feel sore and hazy, and you want more. The sound of his balls slapping your ass makes your mouth water and your eyes glossy, and Levi feels selfish. He pulls out, turns you over and takes you from behind, like a rabid dog fucking a bitch in heat. And you are in heat — you love the way his thrusts make you feel dumb, the way his cock stretches you, the way he uses and abuses your tight little cunt. Everything is so new to you and you adore every bit of it.

"Shit, I'm close." Levi warns you, his fingers digging into your hips, and you want to be good for him, so you drag your hand between your thighs and rub your swollen clit in frantic motions.

"L-Leeevi! I think I'm-"

"Fuck!"

When you feel a hot liquid shooting into you, your legs begin to tremble and you come on his cock, head falling onto the pillow with a heavy sigh. He pulls out and you already miss the feeling of being full, your juices mixed with his own dripping down out of you, down your thigh. You curl up next to your husband, hand holding his arm before you drift to sleep.

A sweet smell fills Levi's nostrils and when he looks at your tired body, there’s flowers in your messy hair. He still can't get used to the way your divine, disorganised powers work, but at least now he knows what's been missing from his life, and the corners of his mouth slightly twist upwards into a genuine smile. The god of the dead, in love with and married to the goddess of spring. Order and chaos blending together in one beautiful, perfectly arranged mess.

It’s fate. It must be fate that brought you together — but it’s love that will keep you together.

tagging @starrynightlys @stolemyheart12

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wikluk · 2 years

Note

So...about that dead baby Mira AU. How did the funeral go? And the months afterwards. Juli lock herself in her room snuggling Mira's blanket i supose, sinking into deep depression.

The funeral:

So... There are silent girls who don't understand what exactly happened and keep on asking when Mirabel would come back...

There's baby Camilo that cries his lungs out, which makes poor Julieta flinch terribly because it's not her baby that's in distress but the instincts still linger...

There are Pepa, Felix and Alma who are heartbroken and seeing Julieta and Agustin in such pain hurts them too.

There's Bruno who kinda blames himself and wishes he never had this vision, hoping that maybe then Mirabel would have still been alive.

And there are grieving parents who see the tiny coffin and the tiny body clothed in a small, white dress with a butterfly hairpin on her head, looking unfitting and unnatural laying there, ready to be buried while she should have lived and thrived, crawling and slowly starting to learn her first words.

After the funeral:

Just like you said, I think Mirabel's blanket would be something that Julieta would cuddle for days, even weeks, and she would be devastated when her daughter's scent starts fading. (I talked about it with @adabofblessings and we thought what would happen if someone accidentally washed the blanket, how angry and sad, and mad, and hurt she'd by that.)

For days or weeks, they still have her cradle in the room, and sometimes Julieta would wake up and instinctively reach towards the crib only to be reminded her baby's dead, and break down, probably crying herself to sleep.

She'd avoid Camilo, because he's only 2 months older than Mirabel and seeing his milestones, and seeing him... It just hurts too much. She'd become paranoid with Isabela and Luisa too. She'd be extra worried every time she hears them coughing, she'd probably develop anxiety and be a bundle of nerves 24/7.

She'd have nightmares where she hears and sees what happened to her baby, and she'd wake up crying or thrashing in bed only to be woken up by Agustin. They'd probably cry together until they fall asleep.

There would be days when Julieta wants to be alone and the mere sight of children just makes her tear up, so then Agustin or Alma, or Pepa would take care of Isabela and Luisa, distracting them, so that they leave Julieta alone. She'd feel guilty about pushing her daughters away, but she can't help it, she just sometimes lacks energy and seeing them is too much because there's no Mirabel nearby.

Sometimes Agustin would join her, just as upset, and they would be each other's comfort. The loss of a child often tears the marriages or couples apart but in their case, I think, it would only bring them closer. They'd be inseparable and heavily rely on each other. Because they lost a child and nobody else knows that feeling, that pain, nobody understands their desperation like they themselves.

If you do the math, you'd realise Mirabel died being 7 months old, which means she died in October. Near the triplets' birthday. You can only imagine how hard it would be for them all. Then Luisa gets her gift... But there's no great celebration, they're still grieving. And then when Camilo turns one? Julieta isn't there. She locks herself in the room, Agustin comes to her after putting the girls to sleep, and they sit together, probably crying.

Then the day when Mirabel would turn one comes... And it's just the worst. Julieta doesn't leave her room at all. She stays in her bed for a whole day, hugging Mirabel's plush butterfly close to her chest. She can't bring herself to see her daughters because they had their first birthdays and they're alive but Mirabel isn't and it's so unfair, she thinks what would this day be like if Mirabel had lived.

I'm so sorry Julieta for hurting you so, you're a walking depression in three AUs of mine, the fourth's getting closer–

#wiktoria's fanfiction corner #encanto #dead baby mirabel au

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

SERENDIPITY.

(n), beautiful accidents turning out in beautiful journeys.

Nothing to explain, just Vampire!harry.

Smut, Smut and Smut.

Masterlist , Let's talk about more vampire H!

Author's Note: This's me just testing waters with my fantasy writing skills. It got deleted at first and I had to write everything again with fat sad tears. Tried my best hope ya'll like it. Reblogs are always appreciated and I kinda deserve it for this one *sheepishly*

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Y/N interrupts Harry amidst his meal and ends up him clinging to her.

Kittens. One hell of the beasty creatures they're. You'd give them your heart but they'll prefer their two hours sleep over it. Such type of beasty wee landed Y/N into such situation. She's been searching for Meowsie her cat for fifteen minutes now when she heard a feeble cry of an animal. The tall trees with it's roots snatching at soil - the moon at it's peek. Gasping she crouches down for the rescue of a deer with it's fur wrenched in blood.

When she does so her eyes struck at the sleekness of a pair of loafers stubbing yellow leaves under it. A groan of annoyance whirling in air and gulping she rakes her eyes to find a tall, swiney man staring down at her in offence like she disturbed him.

He's gorgeous. Features that of greek sculpture with silk kissing it, eyes –well she can't figure them out in her fear. "Who're ye'!?" He snarls and she toppled back on her bum with a squeak, "Aish. should be asking you the same." She shuts her eyelids. He thinks she's very stupid for leisuring in an abnomished forest at this hour of night when every creature's ready to strangle her alive.

"Who're you?" She emphasizes each word grabbing the broken branch and pointing it towards him mustering some courage not letting her brave cascade waver.

His first instinct was to say that he's vegan. But, why should he when he's not. He doesn't like lying.

He steps from under the shadows of trees rims glimmering under the beautiful moonlight, "Could be anythin' ye'r little brain's been thinkin' of." He smirks towering her and scrambles back. Her facial expressions blown out more from the fright he's causing.

Poor little thing.

Before, he could fill in her curiosity his prey escapes into darkness gaining his attention. He growls throwing his head at his shoulders — Harry isn't that of tantrum throwing person (a practice of one hundred year has taught him that bitterness brings you nothing) but he's been devastatingly hungry and the feeding clubs grossed him out.

The smell of grinding bodies, sweat and the combination of different human's blood makes him sick to core rubbing his appetite away. He's bored of them.

Her sweet glazing auroma calls him to trap her and take a succulent bite out of her but before that she benefited the opportunity running away from him exiting the dark forest only to find Meowsie snuggling inside her bed.

"You batty creature!" She huffs, "No wonder I'd be found – dead one day because of you."

With whoever; she bumped in the forest wasn't human at all Y/N thinks.

. . .

She's been fighting her sweet tooth for so long but it's not helping her. She muttered a fuck it before lecturing Meowsie, "No sneaking." When Meowsie meowed bobbing her head she cheered, "Good baby." Like a proud momma.

It was success. Reaching the nearest store and buying the oreo yogurt to savour it immediately. When she strolled outside gloomy vibe hit her causing her nerves to shudder winter chillness freezing her toes.

The cup hits the pavement and she emits a loud scream as a brutal force rams her in a brick wall.

A groan of pain rumbling in her chest and she shuts her eyes as a shadowy demon creeps up her calves agonisingly trying to pop her in two.

Counting on her death when it screeches in horrifying noises being ripped into bits and pieces mercilessly. When she squints her eyes open she finds the mossy jade eyes peering down at her more pissed than he was in the forest, "do ya humans don't sleep at night? Or are ye' a mouse that steals good-ys at night?" He traps her head with his hands on either side of wall and she grumbles at his insult of calling her human. But isn't it what she is? A human?

"I -- don't be mean." She pouts hissing at the dull ache in her legs and he sighs voice getting gentler, "Can ye' walk?" When she nods he scoffs with a thick accent lips quirking and nose scrunching. He wanted to leave her at it but the scared look on her tightened his chest and he felt his responsibility to walk her home safe and invest if she got hurt.

"No you can't!" He winds his arms around her encouraging her to put all of her weight on his side as he walks her. "Who're you. And how did ya do that?" She asks with a timid voice. He doesn't want to scare her away but the truth's he's been keeping an eye on her for days. Muttering a curse to himself whenever she'd have her nightly visits without a care for herself. Silly human.

"Harry." He replies without a care and if it wouldn't be for the pain she's feeling she'd have never let him inside her home. "I can't even eat my yogurt in peace 'cos of you Harry." She reproaches as he sits her on sofa taking her ankles and putting them over his knees.

[That's how I felt when you interrupted my meal you little pesty thing he wanted to mutter but held back.]

Taking out the potion Nana gave him that heals painful scars.

"It'll hurt a bit little mouse." He murmurs pulling out the cork of bubble shaped bottle she flinches, "Don't call me that!" Staring at the way her ripened gnashes disappears in beautiful spirals. "Then stop acting like a coward-y mouse." He stands up looking down at her slumpy with sleep. He shushed her, "'s okay. . ." with each dab feeling sorry for exposing her to his world and now the demon who was manifested without a precise spell thought they're co-related kept lingering around her and well he couldn't leave such an innocent girl to be harmed by evils.

"Not gonna tuck ye' in bed, now." He stands up chin doubling raising his hands in defence albeit he's privy for such actions. Too domestically affectionate for him.

"Please." She doesn't want to be here on uncomfortable sofa and wants to snuggle inside her blankets. "Fine." He rolls his eyes not giving heed to the angelic details of her home for that it'll create a soft spot in his heart for her.

His body swimming in her scent once stepping inside her room and he tucks her under quilts grabbing Meowsie akwardly and putting her beside Y/N so she could cuddle with her. He stares her for time and Y/N doesn't hear door shutting and he's out of her bleary vision in a tick

. . .

White swarms over the crimson in hues with yummy smell spreading everywhere along with the waves of Y/N melodic hum. Meowsie tries to rip the muffin batter and Y/N smacks her paw away ending up having a standoff stare competition with her in the kitchen.

She literally heard her saying mean mommy.

Y/N thoughts are all over the place. All she could think of is his's stupid beautiful face and they way his gentle touch made her feel floffy from muscles. He shouldn't pesk her like that. The white chocolate chip pops and she was about to see if they were done when a rasp crawled in her ear making her jump and causing the pyrx bowl to hit the oak counter, "Been thinkin' of meh, lil mouse?"

"What the fuck. Harry!" She spins sending him into fits of laughter with squeaky scream.

"Not funny. Don't you guys not go somewhere unless invited?" She gasps putting her hand atop her heart and Harry's eyes follows her commotion, "'course we do. Got some manners 'n shite." He scoffs with cupid bow quirked up and nose scrunched.

"Then where are your manners now?" He smirks at that leaning at her level, "You manifested me s' hard it broke rules." Heat splashes on her cheeks and she notices the intricate details of his features finding them dull and sick than his prior glow. She gasps in shock taking his hands leading him to sofa and sitting him with a push to his shoulders.

"God. You look terrible what happened?" He gives out a smile at her care throwing his head into headboard cushions, as she scrambles back to kitchen to take out muffins from oven she asks worriedly proper concerned for his health, "Would you like something?"

A warm mug of delicious bubbling blood thank you very much.

He wanted to mutter but his throat went dry from the headache making him all dizzy. He's been death starving for days now cause his appetite seems to vanish and tongue wouldn't accept any kind of blood since the day he smelled the gush of crimson running inside her veins.

"Can I bite you?" He regrets the moment it slipped from his tongue. Y/N doesn't seem to mind instead mulls about it for a moment putting two warm hot cocoa milk and red velvet muffins on the lil coffee table.

"Will it keep you alive?" When Harry closed his eyes in gentle affirmation she cranes her neck to side like she has seen in many movies. "Okay. Go then." He smiles weakly taking her fingers ever so tenderly in his hold and ushering her in his lap.

"If you wouldn't mind — it'll be more comfortable like this. ." She just nods knees bended on either side of his thighs and his mouth waters at her appetizing sweet smell. He rakes his nose along the curve of her neck swearing that she's made of puddle of how soft her skin's. His senses wrecking havoc as his fangs glistens at the surface grazing against the barrier of her sensitive spot.

"Aa-a!" She cries out and He pulls her back anxiously brows kinking, "Didn't even bit yet."

"Surprised is all." She confesses shyly and Harry shakes his head with a silly smile letting her fist the hem of his shirt tight as he wrapped his arm around her waist smushing her closer to him and keeping her head in one place stopping her from squirming..

"Ticklish baby mouse ye're." Saying this he pushes his fangs into her flesh and she created a mousey noise head lulling. He gives out a moan-y growl at the taste of first droplet hitting his tongue. He doesn't think he could stop from now on. She tastes like the nectar birds of heaven could feed on.

His body coming to life. Inners feeling fresh as ever again.

She feels float-y. Like taking a nap over clouds and letting the zephyr cocoon her and she stuffs her face in the crook of his neck breathing him happily with a loopy smile.

This's oddly satisfying and calming. He wants to take care of her. She's a beacon he always wants to keep protected from the storm. He gasps feeling himself nourished all over again after days of starvation. Lapping at the shiny drops of what's left making her giggle and he could easily recognize that smell. Of her arousal.

She's all worked up in his embrace snuggling closer to him. He has been in this position with many people before but once they serve his purpose they'd been walked away to take care of.

"Don't go lost on me little mouse y'need to eat somethin'." He settles her over his thigh taking the mug and muffins.

Tearing it in two and bringing it to her mouth as she lays her head against his shoulder. He sighs happily feeling full as she nibbled slowly, "Thank you." He wipes the crumbs from the corner of her lips feeling the petalness of them and wondering what he shouldn't be wondering at all. "'S okay." She quips with cracky voice making Harry chuckle and sipping onto his own warm milk.

. . .

Harry didn't know a human could attract him like a magnet to metal. She manifested him once and now he's always at her cosy home, he likes the radiance of sunshine that promises from her presence. They watch movies till the clock doesn't strike six in the morning, have secret rendezvous hidden from the eye of normal people at the places Y/N has never been, he has his weekly bites from her and in return brings her every Oscar Wilde's books from his shelf.

Biting her's the most pleasing yet excruciating part because the way she melts like a honey over him like she depends on him and the sweet smell of her wetness that billows in the room makes Harry gripe at her sides, sometimes drinking more than her petite body could handle. He feels awful after that.

Cuddles her to sleep and makes the walnut pie he learned from his Nana which apparently is a witch (she isn't actually his grandma — he has long forgotten about his real family).

Harry took her to the vampires museum and when her marshmallow lips baubled in astonishment at the wings of Angels displaying on the burgundy wall. He kept his arms wrapped around her waist the whole time eyeing anyone that would look towards her weirdly (humans aren't allowed at vampire premises, but who dares to point a finger at Harry? No one.) One of the reasons he hugged her in a smushing coddling suffocating way to lather his scent all over her leaving her flustered and confused. Y/N has finally met someone that shares the same sleeping schedule as her insomniac ass. "We better leave before they hang me angel here too." His breath was hot against her neck running shivers down her spine.

His words carrying amiability and seductivity causing Y/N to gape at him. Did he just call her his Angel? He definitely did. Annoying leech that's fucking up with Y/N's emotions.

They didn't talk about it at all after that.

Harry did with Nana. Freaking out to her how his emotions are always spiraling for her. That he wants her all to himself. Wants to feel her in ways that's beyond just the touch. Nana just laughed it off and made him eat his coconut pie. He almost choked on his bite. Adam apple bobbing in pain when she cleared to him – that; The they indeed have bonded to eachother.

Her blood runs inside him. His marks are on the most precious spot of her body. Where lovers claim their affection — how could he not feel like that towards her? She's sure that Y/N also feels the same for Harry.

Harry was getting done with some cluster of work when a stab of pain invaded his whole body prickling uncomfortably against his skin. Something's up. He could feel in his bones that his little mouse's not okay. When he goes her home he's met by pure silence making him more anxious than he already is.

He picks Meowsie from the floor rubbing her crown as he steps inside her bedroom. She's layered under many fold blankets in her bed shrinked into a pea and her head perks up when Harry's voice reaches her, "Angel. . ." She throws everything aside tackling him to mattress making him squeak.

He smiles petting her hair as she purrs against his chest fisting the hem of his shirt tightly. "One of those days?" He asks genuinely not stopping his gentle action and she bobs her head vigorously bottom lip wobbling, "Oh my little mouse – c'mere what happened?" His gaze flitting between her's as he cups her cheeks squishing them adorably.

She ignores whatever he's saying craving the overwhelming feel of stars and flowers when he bites her, "Can you bite me, please?" He startles at that brows skyrocketing.

Giddiness stirring in his stomach and how bad he feels to brush her off, he has to do it for her sake. "Now, that's not an escape ye' should seek fo' right?" He gives her a stern look when she whines throwing her head back, "Then can I bite you?" She just wants to distract herself from the unbearable headche of her history course.

He chuckles breathily at that sighing because could he say no to her? No. He smiles down at her dimples denting in his cheeks, "Kay. Go then." She stuffs her face in the dip of his neck sniffing the marbled beach fragrance of him that of summers I'm December's cosiness. Her teeth grazing at the curve of his pale skin and Harry closes his eyes in anticipation. He feels intimidated by this little human being like no other. His little human.

Her teeth grazing against his cold skin and Harry almost whined letting a moan slip his eyes rolling back into his sockets as she bites him. His hands on her ass twitching to grope at the flesh when his cock stirred with her heat leaking against it. She creates sweet filthy noises succling the mark and "Enough." Harry cleared his throat and the haze in his head bounding her wrists between them pulling pulling her away looking at her sternly when she whines.

"Baby. . talk to me." He caresses her cheek with his knuckles but she ignores his words floating in her all headspace staring the mark she created. Tracing the beautiful hue of love bite with her fingers, "How did it feel?" Harry's eyes flutter with charming smile as he kissed the hand which's not busy memorizing him.

"Like a lil mouse ticklin'" She leans at that kissing her work of art, giving wet little sweet kisses up his jaw palms running down his midriff as she whispered.

"This?" Her hips stuttering with his swell sitting delicious between her panty clad pussy lips, she peers up at him from her under her lashes as her lips rested against the corner of his pillowy full mouth.

"And this?" Test of his patience. "Like I've never felt before." Saying. He smudges his lips against her's in a succulent, sweet and affectionate kiss. Lapping tenderly with his pink wet tongue at her mouth to deepen the kiss squishing her cheeks in the process. Swallowing her whimpers and whines down his throat like she's most precious. She humps his bulging cock with erotic swivels of her hips and Harry griped at her sides to leave blue blemishes in some hours.

He closes his eyes still smiling foolishly resting his temple against her's – noses doing eskimo kisses.

"Can we talk now, what's disturbing my angel?" He tucks her hair back kissing her forehead and she bobs her head embarrassed at her tantrums. "It's silly. 'M gonna fail my history exam." His eyes twinkle, "Just havocin' your brain for this?"

"No worries. I gotcha."

. . .

This's how they ended up like this surrounded by notes and papers. Harry complaining with an unbelievable scuff, "What do they teach ye' kids now days? That didn't happen at all in history." Still ending up helping her with learning which ended up him giving her his slender fingers fucking her with them to let her work for her reward.

"No pet. Wrong answer." He tutted eyes still on the quiz card and it's the sight for sore eyes. She cramps her thighs around his wrist and he curled his fingers rubbing her walls in return as a warning, "Come on lil mouse ye' right there." He leans from the edge of his chair to snatch a chaste kiss from her parted ones.

"189-5?" She mewls not sure of her answer and Harry again pressed his lips against her's murmuring against them driving a third finger inside her and rubbing her clit in circles with his thumb, "such an intelligent girl. doin' s' good fo' me – wanna cum?" He bites at her earlobe gripping the quiz cards tightly.

"Yes. Please‐" He cuts her off taking his digits out making her whine and squirm loudly. Sage coloured panties clearly drenched in her slickness as Harry licks her sweet juices like a hungry kitten from his fingers wrapping his magenta lips till his knuckles — if it's a lollipop humming around them vulgarly.

"Harry No!" She huffs making grabby hands at him and he squeezes her bossom thigh to push her down, "Harry yes. Now -- tell me babe where Buddhism originated from?" He wets the pad of his thumb nonchalantly eyeing her playfully and Y/N just wants to kiss that pink pretty tongue as he turned the page around.

She grabs his hand moving them closer to her swollen pussy head falling at his mere graze, "Please." He gives love nibbles at her cheek flickering her clit to tease her.

"What baby?" He murmurs gliding them up and down her slit causing her to rock her pelvis against his touch his freezing fingers adding upto sensation. "Want your fingers." She gasped breathily because before her request Harry was stuffing her back with his fingers massaging the sweet shell of her g-spot.

Her tummy coiling with pleasure and she threw her arms around his neck parted lips pressing against his throat, "Last quiz and then ye' can come all over me fingers." He tells her pinching her thighs. His cock weeping in his pants. The world around them deafening to glitter noises and Harry puts his chin atop her shoulder raising the card infront of her shoulder as she thrashed in his arms.

It was for his last criss-cross of swipe when she gushed all over him with noises that stroked Harry's ego and this time he gave her a hickey coaxing her orgasm from her high, "Hmh. S' warm I could stay inside ye' forever." A sugary smooching voice echoes in room when he kissed the spot between her ear and neck.

Y/N thinks Harry has successfully made a nest in her heart.

. . .

They were flopped over quilts in her bed moon glowing happily in love with them together and Y/N turned in his arms admiring each glimmer of his skin with an awestruck puppy eyes, "You're such an Angel. . .so pretty." He chuckles softly bringing her closer to her chest to hear her heartbeats.

"People think otherwise my mouse." He gives out a 'oof' sound giggling when she climbed up his torso heels of palms pressing against his pecks. "You're for me resting in the depths of ye'r skin — that went through love and sorrows, nourishment and pains until god decided you were meant to be mine. . ." She sucks in a breath cupping his beautiful face to lull it side to side. Harry could bite her whole made of petals and honeycomb she is. He stares her zoning out for a moment.

"Sorry. But seeing ye' with my bites makes me s' hard. . ." He whispers. "Bite me again then." She nuzzles in the crook of his neck pressing her wet crotch down against his hard dick pressing against his zipper.

"So polite and carin'." He grins smacking kisses against the thin skin of her shoulder reaching the mark that's still pudgy and purple. She moans getting him out with shaky fingers and kissing him heatedly in full vigour making slick filthy noises. He slaps her bottom ripping her panties to throw them carefully rubbing his weeping blushed head in between her clenching pussy lips to smudge their arousals.

Whimpers of bliss whirling in air when he slipped inside her slick cunt filling her to brim his balls pressed against her bum, "Fuck. Just how I imagined — tight 'n snug. I love ye'r cunt baby." He gritted grinding his pelvis against her's in slow teasing motion hitting one spot continuously.

"Feels good. . ." She cries softly thighs quivering by his sides and he wrapped his hand around the nape of her to bring her down for another passionate kiss, "Would ye' bond to meh? Huh - lemme cum inside ye'r pretty pussy? Make it mine?" He mumbled wet-ly against her lips sucking her lower one to make it all plump and pinkish.

"Make me yours." She gives out a squeaky whimperish moan when at her words he licked his mark biting it. Her walls creamping around his cock to feel each, ridge and thick vein and she turned a loopy butterfly in his arms.

"Ye' can't cum unless I give ye' permission and I've had plenty to drink. . ." He growls grabbing her jaw eyes turning oyrx and she wipes her own blood from his mouth to press her thumb against his tongue letting him suck. Now, she doesn't have one mark only it's plenty that of flowers scattered on canvas.

He stretches his legs wide toes curling holding her down from her hips to fuck into her with rough mind forging thrusts, "Yes!" Y/N whispers with hoarse throat that she hasn't spoken from months.

"Cum fo' me. Over me cock baby wants to feel ye' Angel." He moans fondling her breasts in his large calloused palms smauching kisses at very skin he could find to shower his love to. Y/N comes a wave of shiver running from her soles to head as she just created noises straight out of porn.

Her creaming around him. Warm and slick cum dribbling down his balls didn't last Harry too. He came inside her in thick spurts of ribbons leaving blueprints at her arse.

They remained like this for some moments. Cacooned into eachother breathing eachother Harry memorizing her to memorize the memory he could never forget and caresses her cheek with the back of his hand.

He lays her on bed gently slipping out of her shushing her with pecks on mouth when she whined from sensitivity, "Gonna take care of ye' little mouse." He bends her knees kissing them stroking the insides of her shivering thighs to calm her down taking his discarded boxer from side.

"Want you to squeeze baby -— I came alot." She does as he said and he cleans her with his clothe showering her in kisses and praises.

Running a steamy bath with essential lavender and rose oils and bathe salts. Resting her between his legs to feel her skin everytime against his skin.

"I love you. Gonna keep ye' forever." He whispers in the silence of night and she smiled with fuzzy heart. Feeling good and fluttery. "I love you too."

Shrugging she retorts playfully, "I'd be all old and wrinkly but you'd be still this gorgeous now that's unfairrrrr." He just laughs at her cuteness creating obnoxious kissing noises while kissing her face.

"Gross." She mutters bashfully eyeing him and he fake offends tickling her sides causing the water splash from rims, "Wasn't gross when I was fucking your brains out—" She tries to smack him in between laughters.

"Heyyyy."

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