Ninjago scene reanimated!
I had this one in my WIPs folder for a while, but decided to go back and complete it! This was honestly a challenge, but hey that's what makes the learning process fun! xD Enjoy!
Ninjago scene reanimated!
I had this one in my WIPs folder for a while, but decided to go back and complete it! This was honestly a challenge, but hey that's what makes the learning process fun! xD Enjoy!
✫ incurably watches you sleep. you get used to waking up to it eventually. maybe.
✫ neck kisses all the time
✫ his communication skills are shit. you feel like a kindergarten teacher explaining to his expressionless face how to talk about our feelings
✫ he keeps a hand on your back or your shoulder or in your hair when you’re together, absently keeping track of you
✫ “you’re cute when you’re scared.”
✫ warm ass hands
✫ he definitely has a weird and scary thing for pain. “you want to touch the staples? yeah, you can touch them. you can rip them out of my face with your teeth if you like.”
✫ dabi doesn’t do nicknames. pet names are once in a blue moon.
✫ driest texter to walk the earth
✫ the self deprecating jokes are actually mad funny. sir please stop calling yourself crispy
✫ gets very um. creative about degradation.
✫ it’s all “come get in the shower with me” and then you stick a toe in and the water is two degrees away from freezing to ice. sorry not all of us have fire inside okay
✫ he doesn’t like you cautious around his injuries, even treating/tending them: “stop being fucking gentle with me.”
tags: platonic! batfamily/reader, romantic! bruce wayne/reader, fluff
author’s note: just a small filler that i’ve had in the drafts, i’m still sick at the moment so updates won’t be often, sorry! - vlc
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Tim was the easiest child to catch. He’d be sitting on the couch, practically catatonic from sleep deprivation, staring at the tv as you sneak up behind him. Ever so gently, your fingers slide into his hair, sifting through silky black locks. The only sign of life your child lets out was a slow exhale as the pads of your fingers rub his scalp. “When was the last time you slept?” You murmur. You can practically hear the dryness of his eyes as he blinks. “Dunno.” Tim yawns, slumping further back into the couch as you continue your inspection. He wouldn’t say it vocally, but he enjoyed when his hair is played with. “Well, get some sleep after this.” You reply quietly, pushing apart strands of hair to inspect his scalp.
It was routine. Every month, you’d check their heads. You’d done it since all of them were small… and it had become a habit, even as they grew up. Within the mere minutes of you checking him for lice, Tim had already fallen asleep, slumping into one of your hands. With a small, warm smile, you lower him so he’s resting his head on the arm of the couch, tucking a comforter around him so he could sleep. One child clear, three more to go.
Jason was your next victim. He’d been sitting in the library, reading another one of Jane Austen’s novels, although you’re convinced he’s read all of them multiple times over. Wordlessly, you slipped up behind him, hands settling into his hair. This time, your subject winces, a small huff leaving his lips. “Scared me, ma.” He murmurs, squirming a little in his seat. “Aren’t I a little old for this?”
“Never too old, Jay. Now sit still.” You chide gently, feeling him melt ever so slightly into his chair again. All it took was some motherly talking and he’d be all soft and pliable; ever a mama’s boy. Jason continues his reading as you inspect his hair, your motions slight and gentle. He doesn’t miss the way your thumb lingers on a faint scar on the back of his head, you don’t either as you stroke it softly before removing your fingers from his hair. “All clear.” You murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. You don’t have to look at his face to know he was smiling slightly as you left him to read.
Damian was the third child, only because you had found him before Dick. He’s in the garden with Titus, the dog sprawled on the grass as Damian strokes the great dane’s side; soaking in the sun.
You kneel behind him, wordlessly grasping his head, even as Damian tilts his head forward a little. “Sit still, I’ll be quick.” You tell him, keeping your voice gentle as you pull him back. Damian lets out a grumble, a frown growing on his face. “I am not a child anymore, mother.” He huffs out, refraining from squirming away again as you search his scalp. “I know. But you are in school, Damian. I would rather be safe than sorry.”
Your youngest continues to grumble, his fingers stroking Titus a few more times as you quickly check over his scalp. It’s like trying to bathe a cat… purely because Damian wants to be seen as a grown up. This was humiliating…! but… he didn’t like the idea of having lice. So, he sits with a frown, letting you do it. “You have to search Titus for fleas, then.” He bargains, hearing you laugh warmly. “Of course, Dami. I wouldn’t want Titus having fleas. Even though he’s on the most expensive treatment.” You reply.
After searching Titus’ fur, you’d finally caught Dick. He’d just been coming out of the kitchen, drink in hand, when you’d badgered him into sitting down at the table. As soon as his ass is in the seat, you went to touch his hair, and Dick’s hand files up to grab your wrist. “Woah, mom- what’re you doing?” He narrows his blue gaze, watching you carefully.
Ah, yes... Dick Grayson. Your most difficult child to check for lice. “I’m doing my lice check. I’ve already searched the others.” You respond, but he doesn’t let up, standing from the chair and practically wrestling your hands with his own.
“Mom- no! I don’t need to be checked.” He practically complains, “I wash my hair every night. I know I don’t have lice.” He adds; you tut. “Dick, I do this every month, now sit down. It won’t take long.” You urge, but he shakes his head with a weak laugh. “I’m not a kid anymore…! I don’t need this…!”
“Dick, you know what I’m going to say.” You quirk a brow, listening to the sigh that escapes him. “I’m still your baby, I know…!” He bemoans. “But, mom… really? Can’t some habits just… stop…?”
“Absolutely not…! I have done this with you since I got you-“
“Hey, don’t speak about me like I’m a pet-!”
“And I won’t stop today because you want to be a big boy. Now sit.” You order. Dick lets out a dramatic groan, sitting down once more. “Well, have you checked Bruce?” He grumbles.
The man himself, passing by into the kitchen, hums. “She checks me every three weeks.” He murmurs. “Tim is asleep on the couch, by the way.” Your husband adds in your direction, and you nod. “I know. I’ll wake him up soon, but he’s exhausted.”
Dick is agape, his head whipping around to look at his father’s back as Bruce disappears into the kitchen. “Three weeks?!” He cries out, turning to look at you.
“Everyone gets lice, Dick, now sit still!” You respond, grabbing both sides of his head so he’s facing forward. Your eldest groans again, slumping back in his chair dramatically.
“Mom, I don’t get why you still do this. When have we ever had lice?”
“Never. But it doesn’t hurt to check. Can’t have bugs eating my babies’ scalps.” You shrug, beginning your search, fingers parting his dark hair as Dick huffs.
“This is ridiculous. I don’t get why you wanna do this so bad. It makes sense for Damian, but we don’t need it to!” He continues.
You hum, not stopping for a split second, continuing your inspection. Once satisfied, you smooth his hair down, continuing to pet his soft hair. “I suppose… I just miss when you all were little.” You admit softly. Dick pauses for a second, but you continue. “You’re all almost grown. Damian, he’s already prepared to fly the nest. I suppose I’m just not ready.” You shrug slightly.
Eventually, he sighs. “Mom…” he starts, “sorry…” he adds quietly. You smile quietly, continuing to massage his scalp. “Don’t be. I’m just being sentimental. You’re a grown man. You have a good job, you’re your own vigilante… I’m proud of you, Dick.” You croon, pressing a tender kiss to the back of his head. “You don’t have any lice. As expected.” You add on, finally removing your fingers from his hair.
Dick hesitates, but quickly turns to look at you. “Can you search again? Feelin’ kinda itchy today.” He quickly requests. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, we can’t have that, can we? Turn around.” You respond, your hands returning to his hair to search for these non-existent lice.
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This fanfiction was written by VanillaLoafCake, all rights reserved. I do not consent to people reuploading my fics, feeding my work to ai, or stealing my work. If you wish to translate my work, please give credits, but getting in contact is not necessary so long as I am tagged appropriately. Thank you.
⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.
hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!
thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏
also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.
MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭
┊͙✧˖*°࿐
The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.
Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.
The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.
It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.
Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.
You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.
Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.
Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.
"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.
"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.
"Why? Is something wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."
The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.
The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.
As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.
He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.
You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.
"Is it bad?"
"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore."
And that was that.
You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.
Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.
Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.
"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"
"Yeah. I like this one."
"A little somber, isn't it?"
"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."
Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.
"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.
He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."
"What will you be wearing?"
"What I usually do."
You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."
"What about you?" He asks.
"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."
Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.
"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.
"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."
"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."
He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."
"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."
A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.
"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.
You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.
"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.
All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.
"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?
"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.
"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"
Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.
His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.
"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"
"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.
It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.
Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.
Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.
"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"
He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.
"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.
With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.
Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.
"Only for a few minutes."
You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?
That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.
You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.
You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.
Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.
And that's when you hear it.
Soft footsteps.
You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.
Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.
The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.
Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.
"I won't ask again."
Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.
"I-I'm sorry. Please."
And he smiles.
Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.
You don't understand why he's giggling right now.
He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.
"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.
As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.
Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.
"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.
"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.
"What did you do?"
"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."
Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.
"It will be okay. I love you."
You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.
"I love– I love you too."
He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.
"This does not mean I forgive you, though."
Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.
He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"
You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."
"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.
Disgust registers for only a second.
Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.
After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.
"You will not bite me this time?"
Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.
Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.
Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.
Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.
Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.
Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.
While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.
Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.
Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.
Maybe he'll get lucky again.
Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.
The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–
Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.
He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?
Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.
And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.
"Bed– B-Bedroom."
A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.
Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.
You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.
Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.
The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.
That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...
Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.
Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.
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