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[utilitycaster]

can't believe I'm saying this but while the We Must Have a Roaring Rampage of Revenge For Caleb people were unhinged, at least they were placing Caleb's suffering at the hands of the actual perpetrator, and just had a terrible idea of how it should play out narratively. I feel like for a lot of the Bells Hells' Revenge Fantasies the fandom is spinning around blindfolded with a baseball bat and taking a swing at whichever NPC (or...in some cases, PC whom they don't like) they happen to be pointing at when the music stops.

[lazy4honey]

Butterfly

Contains: a technically biologically female butterfly mothman-type monster, female reader, dub-con, fingering, ovipositor in v, belly bulge, cervix stimulation, pain-numbing aphrodisiac, brainwashing?, breeding with eggs, NSFW & MDNI

Recently, you’ve been having strange dreams. In these dreams, you see a pair of large butterfly wings whose colors and patterns obscure the figure they are attached to. Their psychedelic glow draws all your attention, making you admire them every time you see them.

With each dream, this butterfly person has come closer. After a few times, you can vaguely make out their shimmering eyes, just as enchanting as their wings, and you can plainly see their curiosity in them.

And this night, you see something additional.

Something… addictive.

The butterfly person has once again appeared in your dream. They are so close you can reach out and touch their wings, gently stroking the fragile yet strong surface in adoration.

The butterfly person seems to like this, staring at you with eyes full of desire.

They grab your hands and press you onto your bed. Then they gently nibble on your neck, rub their fuzzy body against yours, and let one hand wander down your body to your crotch, pushing your panties aside to feel your pussy.

You hum quietly, baring your neck and hugging them as you enjoy their tingling caress.

They pinch your clit and rub it back and forth, only stopping once they have elicited enough sweet moans from you and move on to your vaginal lips to pull and spread them. The soft fingers are soon coated in your fluid, easily slipping into your pussy and stirring your insides with their slow, exploratory thrusts.

You squirm beneath them and your shirt rides up from your clumsy attempt at shoving their fingers deeper inside, revealing your breasts.

The butterfly person keeps stimulating your vagina as they let off your neck. You can feel them raise themself slightly to stare at your nipples, then lower their head to sniff and lick.

But compared to your wet pussy, your dry nipples sadly seem to hold no appeal to them.

They resume nibbling on your neck, this time the other side, and you hug them tight to pull them closer, allowing your nipples to brush against their fuzzy chest every now and then. The slight, ticklish feeling mixes well with the heat pooling in your abdomen.

The butterfly person doesn’t care about your little moves. They stroke your inner walls, crooking their fingers and dragging them along the soft tissue until they suddenly find a rough patch amidst the gummy softness. You yelp as they poke at it, unsure whether you like this strange pressure or not.

The butterfly person however appears to find your reaction awfully interesting.

They prod the rough patch a few times and lightly scratch at it, but quickly move on again.

The fingers are pulled out, drawing a string of clear, sticky fluid. The butterfly person looks at their fingers and first sniffs, then licks them, and finally sucks them clean, as if the fluid were some kind of delicious snack.

Their fascinating wings sway as they reposition themself above you. You feel an erect, hot, phallic object slide between the folds of your wet pussy, moving back and forth between your ass cheeks and over your stomach, as if meticulously coating it in your fluids. It drags against your clit every now and then, causing your empty vagina to twitch with the desire to be filled.

Finally, they seem to be ready.

The butterfly person draws back a little, and the tapered tip of their girthy phallus slowly sinks into you, perfectly filling you up. By the time you feel their crotch press against your vulva, you can also feel the phallus’ tip tickling your cervix.

You gasp when they start to move. They pull out and then push back at an agonizingly slow tempo, making you clutch at their fuzzy back. Your pussy clenches around their length, causing the phallus to throb and coaxing a rumbly groan out of the butterfly person’s throat.

And then they suddenly speed up. Their wings sway as they plunge into you, almost desperate to cram their long, thick phallus inside your pussy and turn you into a moaning mess filled to the brim with their cum.

With each thrust, you feel their body hit your clitoris, and their tips push against your cervix, the pleasure eliciting one moan after another and making you unable to close your mouth. The incessant pounding, almost as steady as a machine, creates a bulge in your belly every time they fill you to the hilt. It makes you a little nauseous, but more than that, you feel your vagina pulse with pleasure.

After an unknown amount of time, the butterfly person’s wings tremble and their phallus grows even harder, throbbing as their hot cum spurts against your cervix and pumps you full until it even spills out of your vagina. The sensation induces you to come as well, your pussy fluttering as you cry out in bliss.

By the time you return from the high of your climax to the present, your cheeks are wet with tears and your crotch wet and sticky with the cum that gushed out of you once the butterfly person pulled their phallus out.

But you’re still aroused.

In fact, you might be even more aroused now than you were before.

Your pussy feels terribly empty, contracting around nothing and producing quiet squelching sounds.

Thankfully, the butterfly person understands your plight. You once again see their fascinating wings unfold above you as they directly slam their hips down on you, their phallus wonderfully ramming into your cervix with every thrust. What made you uncomfortable before is now sublime pleasure, even making you regret that them cramming their entire phallus into you doesn’t make your belly bulge more obviously.

Then, amidst the enthralling rapture, you feel a very thin thing penetrate your soft cervix. It should have filled you with dread and pain, yet now, in the middle of that unprecedented, bone-deep yearning to be bred by the butterfly person, you are elated to feel the thing slowly expand the opening in your cervix as they continue fucking into you.

Gradually, your cervix opens enough to take in the tip of their phallus that somehow seems to have gotten even longer. With it, their warm cum is worked into your womb and coats its walls, as if painting you with their scent. Wherever it touches, it ignites desire, close to inducing another orgasm, yet still missing something.

Finally, with one last, deep slam that makes your entire body tense, you feel their phallus throb again.

But this time, it’s different.

The base of the butterfly person’s girthy phallus swells like a knot, first pressing against your vulva and then entering you as their wings flitter rapidly. Guided by the phallus’ rhythmic throbs, the “knot” wanders through their length, stretching you wonderfully as it makes its way to your cervix and falls into your womb after a bit of nudging and pushing. This is soon followed by the second and third “knot”, the speed of their release steadily increasing until three eggs at once are being shoved through your pussy into your womb and you can’t stop coming.

They fill you up so nicely, cramming your womb with their seed and stretching your belly with their numbers.

You are so caught up in your stretched out orgasm that you barely notice the butterfly person’s slowly pulling out. Their psychedelic wings oscillate as they walk away and disappear from your view.

But you are not sad to see them leave.

After all, your belly is still stuffed with their eggs, and once the caterpillars hatch, they will bestow you with a new round of exhilarating pleasure.

[lambilegs]

ᯓ ᥫ᭡ SEVIKA x FEISTY!READER HEADCANONS (PT. 2)

contains: both reader and sevi being assholes, kinda toxic at times, mentions of sevi and reader visiting brothel (not actually, though, but mentioned sarcastically and vaguely), cursing

I could see something like her her getting your name being this little game between you two. at first, she's not interested in you, but then, during your first meeting, you spit something out at her, and she reels back, eyebrows arching up in what seems to be... admiration? she's frankly impressed at your quick comeback, and the fact that you even have the nerve to say it to her. that's the first thing that piques her curiosity.

she leans on the nearest wall, her eyes scanning you before asking, "what's your name?"

you scoff and say, "none of your business," before turning and walking away.

sevika's lips part in surprise as your form gets smaller. it's not like she's a huge flirt or anything like that. she's usually too busy running shit for silco and making sure jinx doesn't screw up. most of her free time is spent in rubbing her fingers against the soothing paper of a card desk as she plays poker. that, or drinking. intimacy is usually reserved for babette's, and while there are some praising words involved in that, it never really amounts to anything serious, nor any flirtation outside of those walls.

so, it's not like she's surprised that she didn't woo you or something, since frankly, it had been curiosity pushing the words from her mouth above all else. but, she is, on the other hand, once again shocked at just how much courage you have to bite at her like that.

when you guys are forced into proximity again, maybe being crushed together when a stall opens for fresh fruit you're both in need of, her eyes widen before softening into her usual stone hard expression.

"you gonna tell me your name now?"

"hm, let's see..." you tap a finger on your chin, and sevika nearly grits her teeth at the doe-eyed look of false pondering that overtakes your features.

"no," you finally say with a flat expression, turning back to the seller and placing your order.

she rolls her eyes, placing hers right after. as you both wait, side by side, she casts you a sidelong glance. "why exactly do you dislike me?" her voice is hard with the question. she knows tons of people have reasons to vehemently hate her and want her dead -- but, you're a complete stranger, so it's hard to precisely account for your disdain.

you practically squint at her, eyes flashing with incredulity. "you kidding me? you think I want to get mixed up with one of silco's henchmen?" your voice cracks into a heavy chuckle as your head shakes. "yeah, I'm content with my life being boring just as it is."

"so, that's all there is to it? you're too scared?" there's a sharp edge of condescension to her words, and she hopes it's enough to hook into you and lure you into the trap.

your lip twists in clear contempt, and sevika tries not to give into the urge to grin in success.

"yeah, I'm a pussy. great work."

she nearly fucking splutters at your reply, watching with wide, bulging eyes as you nod and give the stall owner an almost sickeningly sweet smile before grabbing the bag and leaving her with a playful curtesy that's nothing short of being completely drenched in mockery.

it might've been perfect exit on your end if it wasn't for the fact that right as you're pacing away, a name is suddenly called and your body goes whirling around in recognition. you seem to realize your mistake a beat just past the nick of time, your head darting to sevika, whose chest is practically swelling in pride and satisfaction. when your eyes narrow into a sharp glare, she tips her head in your direction as though she's the perfect gentleman.

you seem to know better, though, grumbling and marching to whoever called you in order to quietly scold them away. sevika can only watch from afar in completely amusement.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

not that she even gets your name right. your eyes slide to her menacingly as she, yet again, gets it wrong, drawling it out obnoxiously as she stares down at you with that shit-eating grin. you hate how it makes your stomach flip. it really shouldn't, considering she's behaving like an overgrown twelve year old boy.

she does it all the time, any opportunity she gets. when she calls out for you when you're out, she'll change at least one syllable or one letter of your name. when you and your friends hit the last drop, and you approach her, very apprehensively, to say hi, and some of the men surrounding her coo and ask after you, sevika pats your thigh and with crinkled eyes, boasts out a name that's decidedly wrong.

that, or she calls you by an annoying nickname, having settled on the fruit you bought at the market that one day, which results in many nonchalant slips of the word "lemon" from her mouth.

you know you shouldn't like her attention this much. but, it's hard not to. especially when the more time you spend around her, the more you figure out that she's not just some senseless brute working for silco. no, she's calm, she's levelled, she's more intelligent than people suspect her to be. just because she fights, and does it well, doesn't mean it's her immediate strategy to dealing with people. when guys at her gambling table make comments to prod and poke at her ego, almost as though she's a sleeping bear they want to watch roar to a brutal awakening, she simply smokes her cigar and simpers in clear amusement.

and you can't deny just how handsome she is. rough around every edge, paired with sharp, stern eyes that observe everything. you're convinced that's how she always catches sight of you in crowds.

part of you hopes it's because she's seeking out, but you'd die before admitting that to her.

something she, unfortunately, is probably able to detect, considering the first time you smile upon her approaching you, and she says, "someone missed me," you immediately scoff, spitting out, "oh, yeah, nearly as much as I miss a piltie."

she releases a low whistle. "wow, must've struck some nerve."

you smack her arm, something in you cracking at how steady and strong her bicep is under your fingers. "yeah, it's the same one you manage to get under every single time."

"at least I'm consistent."

"oh, nice, one redeeming factor."

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

but, sevika never lets anyone but herself get your name wrong. hypocrite she is, just as you accuse her of being all the time, whenever someone else gets it wrong, she immediately corrects them, her voice cool and collected, all mirth drained from it. it's a tone that says she's not kidding this time, that she earnestly wants people to know your name. this automatic, instinctive defense of you occurs whether or not you're in the room.

oh, and if someone tries to fuck with you? maybe make a rude comment about you? yeah, no, she won't even blink twice before sending them a pointed look that leaves absolutely nothing up to questioning.

and if someone dares to proceed anyways, spluttering out, "but, you do it, sevika--" she cuts them off without hesitation, her voice unflinching and hard as she sharply says, "yeah, and that's me. doesn't mean I'm gonna let other people walk all over them."

the first time something like this happens in front of you, you wait until everyone leaves before saying with a chortle, "so, is this some kind of possessive thing? you're the only one allowed to bully me?"

"oh, yeah, that's exactly it," she dryly responds, shooting you a half-hearted glare. "I'm just so obsessed that I can't stand anyone else tormenting you." she ignores the part of her brain that itches with the hidden, tucked away knowledge that while her words aren't entirely accurate, they hold some truth. at least a little.

despite the sarcasm coating every syllable, your mouth turns up into an infuriating grin. "you know, it sure sounds like it when you put it like that."

"good to know that beneath being a bitch, you have a sense of humour."

"just as spectacular as knowing beneath being a musclehead dick, you have enough brains to manage lying to yourself."

an amused huff flies past her lips at your harsh words. from any stranger, she wouldn't give two shits hearing those words. from you, she only cares so little because she knows the words are said with no intention other than to get under her skin. the knowledge that you're just trying to bug her as much as she does you is directly what prevents your words from being effective. it's only more laughable when you get so clearly frustrated at her lack of reaction.

"so, you think I'm a musclehead?"

you grunt. "you're a lost cause is what you are."

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

and you're convinced that every now and then, she ogles girls just to piss you off. she'll bump your shoulder as though you guys are fucking comrades, nodding to different figures and saying, "pretty, hm?" eyes honed in on your face as though she's a predator just waiting for her prize to make the wrong move.

sometimes, you manage your feelings, shooting a compliment right back about the girl in question, flashing her a tight-lipped smile. other times, there's no getting around the jealousy, and you snap at her, saying things like, "you're a complete pervert," or, "what are you, in heat?"

sometimes, she barks out a laugh. other times, she shoots back a smart quip of her own. and on the rarer occasion, she'll say something in her gravelly voice that's more steady, more gentle, like, "c'mon, what do you think I am? I'm here with you, aren't I?" (which, yes, infuriatingly gets your stomach fluttering)

it all started after you slipped up -- once. just once. that's all it took for her to find something you dislike, and latch onto it without wavering.

you couldn't help it that first time. you and her had been spending back-to-back days together due to silco sparing her from tasks that took her outside of zaun. so, you had slipped all too easily into the shared routine of meeting with her after work, and going to her apartment for shared meals, or at the very least, taking a walk around the block.

so, when the weekend reaches, and babette off-handedly mentions sevika visiting the night before, you nearly see red. maybe you just got used to being the only one she's been giving attention to this week, maybe you had gotten too in your head and had stupidly convinced yourself she actually wants you like that. maybe all her words had been buttered up with teasing playfulness rather than genuine romance and affection.

but, either way, it pisses you the fuck off. you know you two aren't official, nor even possess a romantic status or title, so jealousy shouldn't be making a home in your chest. but, you can't help it. the teasing remarks, the ceaseless banter, the occasional flirt -- you want to be the only one on the receiving end of that.

which is why when sevika is grumbling about her arm as she twists a screwdriver in, you feel justified in saying in the most snarky voice you can muster up, "awe, things got a bit too crazy at babette's last night?"

your tone is practically seething, bitterly cut in with faux concern, and sevika's eyes immediately raise to you, narrowed.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

you shrug, teeth clenched together. "well, I heard you paid the brothel a visit."

she snickers softly, shaking her head slowly. "you think babette would know to be more discreet."

you shrug. "she knows I can't do shit about your salacious little visits."

"except glare daggers into my head." almost as if to emphasize this, she tests out the blade component of her arm, your body jerking back in surprise as it shoots out with an egregiously scraping noise that sends your ears thrumming. "the only thing I can't figure out is why."

"why what?"

"why you're acting like me going to babette's is a bad thing. why you're acting as though I got someone waiting up for me at night who I have to return home to."

you bristle at this. you shouldn't have to be her official partner in order for her to have some respect for the flirtatious, and apparently now misleading, back-and-forth thing you guys have going on. "oh, yeah, trust me, all the singletons in zaun are lucky for that lack."

her mouth twitches, the corner of it quirking up. "well, if I'm that bad, then why are you making such a ruckus about babette's?"

"I'm not!" you snap, shoulders stiffening from the weight of the truth in the accusation. "I'm just asking about it!"

"what, so you can find a girl to go to?"

you can hear the sarcasm in her voice, and the irritation in you only flares up further. does she think that after today's revelation, you're going to be one-sidedly devoted to her or something? "maybe I will. why, who did you see last time?"

her smirk falters, softening at the tips. "no one. I went for intel. nothing else."

you look away, feeling your face run hot, burning and burning. fuck, ugh, how pathetic. "oh."

"yeah, 'oh.'"

you blink hard at your knees. okay, well, this took a sudden, abrupt turn you hadn't anticipated whatsoever.

after the humiliation thickens, seizing at your throat too tightly, your body prickling with the awareness of her gaze, you mumble, feebly, "okay, so, um... I should head home."

you just need to get out of here.

"you sure? was just about to pull out some tricks and tips you could use for your visit."

"yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself," you grumble, yanking your bag from where she had slung it on her shoulder when you guys had walked to the last drop.

she chuckles, her arm going slack to make it easier for your bag to slip off. "what a zinger. I'm impressed."

right as you turn to leave, she grabs your wrist. you nearly gasp at the feeling of her warm, dry palm planted against your skin. it makes you feel like something is sizzling right up your arm from the point of contact.

"you know..." she mutters, her broad thumb rubbing along your vein, right where your thumping pulse is.

you hold your breath, eyes wide with the anticipation that shoots through you. "what?"

"if you want..."

you release an exasperated puff of air, your patience waning. "yes?"

"mention my name at the front when you go, yeah? babette will you give you a discount."

you rip your hand from her grip, spluttering at the wide grin that splits her face open once her words finally settle on you. "god, I hate you."

"yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow," she tosses through her deep, rumbling laughter.

despite how badly you want to look back at her before leaving through the towering doors, you resist. you've exposed a bit too much today as is -- you're not exactly eager to bare more of yourself.

at least not today.

[xichilie]

Mydei x (fem) reader (3)

Mydei’s secret friend

Part1 Part2 Part3

Y/N moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, setting out ingredients and lighting the stove. The warm glow of the flames flickered against the walls, casting a cozy light over the small home. As she worked, the scent of sizzling meat, fresh herbs, and fragrant spices gradually filled the air, wrapping around them like an inviting embrace.

Phainon sat at the table at first, lazily leaning back in his chair. Mydei, meanwhile, remained as he always did—silent and observing, arms crossed as if he had no interest in anything happening around him.

But after a few minutes, Phainon’s fingers started tapping against the table. Then his legs bounced a little. He glanced around, looked at the food, looked at Mydei, then back at the food. Finally, with a groan of impatience, he stood up.

“Alright, I cannot just sit here doing nothing,” he declared, rolling up his sleeves. “Let me help.”

Y/N raised an amused eyebrow. “You cook?”

Phainon scoffed, placing a hand on his chest as if deeply offended. “Of course I do! I’m a man of many talents.”

Mydei snorted. “I’ve seen you cook. It was a disaster.”

Phainon shot him an unamused look. “That was one time.”

“You nearly burned down the barracks.”

“The fire wasn’t my fault,” Phainon huffed. “It was the stove! Clearly defective.”

Y/N chuckled, handing him a knife and a bundle of vegetables. “Alright, let’s see if you’re as good as you claim.”

Phainon grinned and got to work, chopping away with enthusiasm. His technique was... passable at best. His slices were uneven, and his movements a little reckless, but at least he wasn’t entirely useless.

“So,” he started, casually sliding some diced onions into a bowl, “since Mydei is acting all mysterious about you, maybe you can tell me—what’s your story?”

Y/N stirred the pot on the stove, adding spices as she considered her answer. “That’s a broad question.”

“Fine, I’ll make it simpler,” Phainon said, pausing to dramatically wipe his imaginary sweat. “Where are you from?”

Y/N hesitated for only a fraction of a second before replying, “Here and there.”

Phainon stopped chopping. Squinted at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She smirked. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes! It’s exactly the kind of vague nonsense Mydei would say.” He groaned, running a hand through his white hair. “You two really are alike.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re friends.”

Phainon gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. “You admit it!”

“I never denied it.”

Mydei, still seated, smirked slightly. Finally, someone who could match Phainon’s energy.

Phainon, recovering quickly, grinned. “Alright, fine. If you won’t tell me that, then how about—”

“Don’t,” Mydei cut in, already seeing where this was headed.

Phainon turned to him with an innocent look. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t start prying into things that aren’t your business.”

“Oh, please, Mydei.” Phainon rolled his eyes. “I’m just trying to get to know our dear new friend.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to interrogate her.”

Phainon smirked but didn’t deny it. He turned back to Y/N and leaned against the counter. “I mean, you do have this whole ‘mysterious traveler’ thing going on. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

Y/N chuckled, flipping a piece of meat in the pan. “I don’t mind a little curiosity.”

Phainon shot Mydei a smug look. “See? She’s fine with it.”

“But I mind,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon sighed dramatically but didn’t push further—for now. Instead, he focused on helping with the cooking, sneaking in smaller, more casual questions whenever he could.

“So, what are we making?” he asked, watching as Y/N mixed ingredients together.

“A little of everything,” she replied. “Braised meat, some roasted vegetables, stew on the side.”

Phainon whistled. “You really know how to cook.”

Y/N shrugged, stirring the stew pot. “I like good food.”

Phainon nodded approvingly. “I respect that.”

The meal came together quickly, the flavors blending into something rich and savory. Mydei had remained mostly quiet, watching from his seat. But even he had to admit—the smell of the food was tempting.

Eventually, Y/N turned around, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Alright. Let’s eat.”

Phainon grinned. “Best thing I’ve heard all day.”

And as they sat down to share the meal,

The meal was nothing short of a success.

The rich aroma of the braised meat mixed with the savory warmth of the stew, perfectly complemented by the crisp, roasted vegetables. The food was flavorful, well-seasoned, and filling—something Phainon had no problem voicing.

“This—” Phainon took another bite, nearly humming in satisfaction, “—this is amazing. Y/N, you might just be my new favorite person.”

Y/N chuckled, sipping from her bowl. “Glad you like it.”

Phainon turned to Mydei, jabbing his spoon at him. “How come you never told me she could cook like this?”

Mydei sighed. “Because it’s not relevant.”

Phainon gaped. “Not relevant? Mydei, this is incredibly relevant.” He turned back to Y/N with a pleading expression. “If you ever need someone to taste-test your dishes, I volunteer.”

Y/N smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Phainon took another bite, visibly savoring it before looking at Y/N again. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit defeat. You’ve won me over with food.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Now, let’s get back to the important part—you and Mydei.”

Mydei groaned, already regretting staying.

Phainon grinned. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t keep dodging forever. You’ve already fed us, so why not throw in a little storytelling?”

Y/N tapped her fingers against her bowl, pretending to consider it. Mydei, sitting across from her, narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew she was enjoying this more than she let on.

After a few moments, she sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. Since you’re so curious.”

Phainon beamed, leaning in. “I am.”

Y/N placed her bowl down, glancing between the two men. “It happened at the ruins of Kremnos.”

Silence settled over the table as she began.

“I was exploring the area out of curiosity,” she explained. “The ruins are fascinating—old, crumbling, but still standing. I wanted to see what secrets they held.”

Mydei huffed. “Reckless.”

Y/N smirked. “Says the man who practically lives in battle.”

Phainon snickered. “She’s got a point.”

Y/N continued. “Along the way, I ran into some Titankin. Nothing I couldn’t handle. A few fights here and there.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “You took on Titankin alone?”

Y/N shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time.”

Phainon let out a low whistle. “Alright, impressive.”

Y/N nodded. “But then I spotted him.” She tilted her head toward Mydei. “At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. He was moving through the ruins like a ghost—silent, purposeful. He didn’t seem like the usual treasure hunters or ruin explorers. There was something… different about the way he carried himself.”

Phainon grinned. “Creepy.”

“Focused,” Mydei corrected, rolling his eyes.

Y/N smirked. “Creepy and focused.”

Phainon burst out laughing. “I like you.”

Y/N chuckled before continuing. “I didn’t approach him at first. Instead, I watched from the shadows, keeping my distance. I wasn’t sure if he was a threat or not. But then…” She glanced at Mydei. “He noticed me.”

Mydei crossed his arms. “Of course I did.”

Y/N hummed. “But you didn’t know who I was. I had my hood and mask on, after all.”

Phainon’s eyes widened with amusement. “Wait, so Mydei was paranoid?”

“Agitated, more like,” Y/N corrected. “Neither of us knew who the other was, but we both assumed the worst. One wrong move, and suddenly—”

“A fight broke out,” Mydei finished, smirking slightly.

Y/N nodded. “And it wasn’t a small one, either.”

Phainon leaned forward, very invested now. “Tell me everything.”

Y/N took a sip of water before speaking again. “He was fast. Strong. He fought like he owned the battlefield, like nothing could stop him. I held my own, matching his attacks, dodging when I could. But Mydei…” She exhaled. “He doesn’t go down easily.”

Phainon grinned. “Trust me, I know.”

Mydei remained silent, simply listening.

“I realized something was off about him as the fight dragged on,” Y/N continued. “Most people—no matter how skilled—slow down eventually. Their stamina wears out. They make mistakes.”

“But he didn’t.”

She turned to Mydei. “You didn’t falter. Not even once. You just kept going.”

Phainon smirked. “Yeah, that’s the annoying part.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “You sound bitter.”

“I am bitter.”

Y/N chuckled. “Eventually, I reached my limit. I wasn’t exhausted yet, but I could tell if the fight kept going, I’d lose. And then—” She glanced at Mydei again. “You won.”

Phainon clicked his tongue. “Of course he did.”

Y/N smirked. “You say that like it bothers you.”

“It does.”

Y/N laughed softly before continuing. “After that, I expected him to finish me off. Or demand to know who I was. But instead… he just stood there, looking at me. Studying me.”

Phainon turned to Mydei. “So? What were you thinking?”

Mydei shrugged. “I was curious.”

Phainon blinked. “That’s it?”

“There aren’t many who can match my strength,” Mydei said simply. “Besides the Chrysos heirs, most people don’t last long against me.” He glanced at Y/N. “But she did.”

Y/N smirked. “And so, instead of enemies, we became…”

“Rivals?” Phainon suggested.

“Friends,” Y/N corrected.

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “That’s a weird way to make friends.”

Y/N chuckled. “Maybe. But it worked.”

Phainon leaned back, arms crossed, clearly intrigued. “Huh. And here I thought Mydei was incapable of making friends on his own.”

Mydei groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“I try.”

Y/N laughed softly, enjoying the banter between them. The conversation continued, shifting between jokes, light teasing, and small stories.

For once, Mydei didn’t mind the company.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind sharing this story either.

The meal was nearly finished, but the conversation carried on, the air warm with lingering laughter and the scent of spices still thick in the air. Phainon, still savoring the last bites of his meal, leaned forward with his usual mischievous grin.

“So,” he drawled, tapping his fingers against the table, “you and Mydei. Fighting, exploring, being all mysterious together. That’s nice and all—but surely, surely there’s more.”

Y/N tilted her head. “More?”

“Oh, don’t play coy now,” Phainon said, grinning. “You must have some good stories about our ever-serious prince here.”

Mydei sighed, already regretting not leaving earlier.

Y/N tapped her chin, as if considering it. “Well… there is one thing.”

Phainon perked up immediately. “Yes. Spill.”

Y/N smirked, casting Mydei a glance. “Did you know he likes baking?”

The room fell silent.

Phainon stared. Then he slowly turned to Mydei. “What?”

Mydei, who had been drinking water, exhaled sharply through his nose and set his cup down hard. “Y/N.” His voice held a clear warning.

But Y/N only smiled, resting her chin in her hand. “Oh, did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

Phainon blinked, as if trying to process what he just heard. Then, a slow, delighted grin spread across his face. “No. No way.”

Y/N nodded. “It’s true.”

Phainon pointed at Mydei, barely holding back his laughter. “You—you bake?”

Mydei scowled. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Phainon let out a short laugh. “You, the Mydei, Crown Prince of Kremnos, warrior of Okhema, immortal being rejected by death itself—stand in a kitchen and bake?”

Y/N chuckled. “And he’s good at it too, i love his honey cakes.”

Phainon gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in exaggerated shock. “I—I don’t even know what to say.” He turned to Mydei, eyes practically sparkling. “Why have you never told me this?”

“Because it’s not your business,” Mydei grumbled, shooting Y/N a look.

Y/N just smiled innocently. “You never told me to not mention it.”

Phainon was clearly enjoying this revelation far too much. “What do you even bake?”

“Does it matter?” Mydei snapped.

Y/N, still unbothered, answered for him. “Mostly cake. Sometimes pastries or bread.”

Phainon’s mouth fell open. “You bake pastries?”

“… Occasionally.”

Phainon nearly collapsed in his seat. “This is the best thing I’ve ever learned.”

Mydei groaned, rubbing his temples. “I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

"can I try some...." phainon ask but mydei cut him off "NO!"

Phainon ignored him, still grinning. “So, what else? What other hidden talents does our dear prince have?”

Y/N hummed. “Let’s see… Oh, sometimes we go on walks together.”

Phainon blinked. “Walks.”

“Mmhm.”

“You mean like, patrolling ruins? Training?”

“No,” Y/N said casually, “just strolling around.”

Phainon looked between the two of them. Then, with an absolutely incredulous expression, he burst into laughter. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied, still amused.

Phainon turned to Mydei, who looked deeply, deeply (very deeply) unamused. “You—you take walks?”

Mydei scowled. “I don’t see the issue.”

“The issue is that you don’t even like talking to most people, let alone casually strolling with them!” Phainon exclaimed, still grinning. “Yet here you are, taking relaxing little walks like you don’t have the reputation of a battle-hardened warrior prince.”

Mydei exhaled through his nose, clearly trying to contain his irritation. “Are you done?”

Phainon smirked. “Not even close.”

Y/N chuckled, continuing, “Sometimes he even accompanies me when I explore ruins.”

Phainon shook his head, feigning shock. “Mydei? Voluntarily exploring with someone else?”

Y/N nodded. “He’s surprisingly good company.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow. “Surprisingly?”

“Well, he still complains sometimes,” Y/N admitted.

Mydei huffed. “Because you get distracted.”

“It’s called curiosity,” Y/N said with a smirk.

“It’s called reckless wandering.”

Phainon was absolutely thriving in this conversation. “Wow, this is so much better than I expected.” He grinned at Mydei. “And you always act like you prefer being alone.”

Mydei shot him a glare. “I still do.”

Phainon just grinned wider. “Sure, buddy.”

Y/N, watching the exchange, only smiled. She had no regrets about letting a few things slip.

If anything, she was enjoying it as much as Phainon was.

Phainon sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples dramatically, as if he were trying to process something impossible. He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief before turning his sharp blue eyes back to Y/N.

“I just… I don’t get it,” he said, voice laced with genuine confusion. “You. Friends. With him.” He gestured toward Mydei like he was pointing at a wild animal rather than a person.

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Watch it.”

Phainon ignored him completely, leaning toward Y/N. “You do know who you’re talking about, right? Mydei? Crown Prince of Kremnos? The guy who treats most people like an inconvenience? The same Mydei who barely tolerates me—and I’m fantastic!”

Y/N simply chuckled, amused by his reaction. “And?”

Phainon threw up his hands. “And—how did this happen? How are you still here? Why haven’t you run off like every other sane person he’s scared away?”

Y/N only smiled before turning toward Mydei, her expression warm. Then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle, familiar embrace.

Mydei froze.

Phainon’s jaw dropped.

Y/N didn’t seem to notice their reactions—or if she did, she didn’t care. She rested her head lightly against Mydei’s shoulder, speaking softly. “Because Mydei is an amazing friend.”

Mydei remained stiff, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. His mind immediately jumped to retreating—he wasn’t used to people being this open with him. But Y/N’s embrace was warm, steady, completely unafraid.

Phainon, meanwhile, looked like he had just witnessed a divine revelation. He pointed at Mydei in stunned disbelief. “What. The. Hell.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet Mydei’s gaze, her eyes filled with warmth. “I mean it,” she said gently. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

Phainon gawked. Mydei stared.

The room was completely silent.

Y/N, as if unaware of the sheer shock she had just sent through them, continued smiling. “Sure, he can be a little grumpy, and he acts like he doesn’t care—but he does.” Her voice was soft but firm. “He always has my back. He listens, even when he pretends not to. He’s reliable, strong, and even if he won’t say it outright… he’s someone you can always count on.”

Mydei swallowed, his jaw tightening slightly. There was something unfamiliar twisting in his chest—something he didn’t quite know how to handle.

Phainon finally found his voice, pointing at Mydei in absolute astonishment. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Mydei?”

Y/N laughed. “Oh, he’s still the same Mydei.”

Phainon shook his head, still completely thrown. “I refuse to believe this. You like him?”

“Of course.” Y/N gave Mydei a small squeeze before pulling away fully. “He’s my friend.”

Phainon dragged a hand down his face, muttering to himself, “This is insane.”

Y/N chuckled, watching as Mydei exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to shake off whatever strange emotions had settled over him.

“…You’re both insufferable,” Mydei muttered at last.

Y/N just smiled, her expression knowing. “Sure, Mydei.”

Phainon slumped in his chair, still staring at them like he had seen a ghost. “I think I need to lie down.”

Y/N laughed again, and just for a brief moment—so brief it was almost imperceptible—Mydei’s lips twitched upward, barely a ghost of a smirk.

For once, he didn’t entirely mind the company. (Except for phainons)

Phainon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at Mydei like he was trying to solve some impossible puzzle. His blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, darting between him and Y/N.

“I’m leaving,” he finally announced, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that this was real life.

“Good,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon ignored him. Instead, he pointed dramatically at Y/N. “But you. You’re strange.”

She simply smiled. “I’ve been told.”

Phainon exhaled heavily, raking a hand through his white hair. “I need—” he paused, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what I need. To think maybe. To lie down. To question reality.” He took a step back. “This isn’t over.”

And with that, he finally left, muttering something under his breath about "needing a drink" and "Mydei being secretly replaced by a doppelgänger."

Silence filled the room.

Mydei let out a deep exhale, rubbing his temple. “Finally.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “You say that, but you know he’s going to be losing his mind over this for weeks.”

Mydei just grunted. “Not my problem.”

They sat in a comfortable quiet, the golden evening light filtering through the window, casting a warm glow over them. For a while, there was nothing but the soft sounds of the city outside, the occasional distant chatter from passersby.

Then, Mydei spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“…You meant all of that?”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him. “Of course.”

His crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable. He stared at the floor, his fingers idly tapping against his knee. “…Even the part where you said you wouldn’t trade me for anything?”

She smiled. “Especially that part.”

His jaw tightened slightly, as if the words were settling somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere unfamiliar.

Y/N shifted closer, resting her head gently on his shoulder.

Mydei immediately stiffened. His entire body went rigid, like someone had just dropped a battleaxe in his lap. His first instinct was to move away—space, he always needed space—but… he didn’t.

He let out a slow breath.

“You don’t have to overthink it,” Y/N murmured, voice soft and reassuring. “I like you just the way you are, Mydei.”

His breath hitched.

“I adore you,” she added. “Grumpiness, sharp edges, and all.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He knew it. He felt it. His entire face was burning.

“…You say ridiculous things,” he muttered.

“And yet,” Y/N teased, “you’re still listening.”

He huffed, scowling slightly. But he didn’t move.

He let her stay, resting against him, her warmth a quiet comfort.

For once, he didn’t feel the need to push it away.

Meanwhile, outside, Phainon had barely made it five steps before stopping in his tracks. He placed his hands on his head, eyes wide, staring at nothing in particular.

“This—this doesn’t make sense.” His voice was hoarse, as if the very fabric of reality had just been torn apart before him.

He turned toward the nearest street vendor. “Hey, hey, quick question—what do you do when you see something so impossible, so unbelievable that your brain refuses to accept it?”

The vendor blinked. “…Uh.”

Phainon grabbed his shoulders. “Do you—do you just pretend it didn’t happen? Do you try to rationalize it? Or do you just—accept it?”

The vendor nervously handed him a roasted skewer of meat. “Uh… here. Have this. You seem… unwell.”

Phainon took it but barely noticed. He turned back toward Y/N’s house, eyes still wide in disbelief.

“I need to sit down.”

And with that, he promptly collapsed onto a bench, skewer still in hand, questioning every life decision that had led him to this moment.

_______________________________________

Well here's the 3rd part XD

If u have any wishes or scenarios u wanna see, feel free to ask XD

[c00lestkiddaround]

“He…?” Kidd quietly questions, mostly to himself. Not sure he’d even want an answer to who he was talking about.

So he jumps to the second question, “New family?” He does his best to look more curious about this question than the other. But just ends up nervous-smiling.

Somewhere in (or near) the place most of the C00lkidd Clones stay, a portal opens up briefly. A young Robloxian is thrown out of it, landing quite hard on the ground. The portal closes.

“Oww…” he groans, slowly getting up. And looking at his surroundings… He’s not sure what he was expecting to see.

(Hii! I’m the one behind the Burnt-Pizza guy, but this isn’t directly related to them—@c00lestkiddaround would be a hint of who this is! When I reblog, I’ll leave some photo’s for reference as to his height/a bit of his appearance! though he isn’t very different tbh- :3)

(Also, I’m curious what the place looks like, and whether it’s crowded in most places?—or whether there’s some empty/hiding spots?)

(sending this before my procrastination winssss.. pls forgive any errors in the text xd)

It was Yorick's Resting Place. Clones were scattered everywhere, seemingly performing multiple jobs-- Scavenging, scouting, maybe just wandering around, but they seemed docile. A portion of the minions around the area the portal spawned in turned toward the familiar voice. It was C00lkidd! Instinctively, the non-sentient ones started flocking toward him. It looks like he was injured. Who did this to him? Aside from the non sentient minions, 2 other minions remained in the distance, watching the crowd from afar. Seems like they couldn't make out what they could possibly be flocking around.

(This flock is in Yorick's resting place, but with occasional decals of c00lkidd on certain objects!!! They travel around in basically a group, enough to fill the grave yard. There definitely are places to hide!!)

[vieoeil-riae]

how good it feels

steb/gn!reader

warnings: masturbation, masturbation in shower, guilt, minor gill play, pining, steb has a hemipenis, steb cranks it despite feeling morally dubious about it, 18+ MDNI, 1.5k words

synopsis: the thought of you is enough to make steb break his own unspoken rules

read on ao3 | ao3 profile | ao3 collection | masterlist

Hot water poured over his head, it didn’t compare to the heat simmering in his gut however. Shame and need rubbed up on each other, a grinding, churning mix that stuck heavy in his throat — too much to be swallowed.

Steb’s shoulders shook, hesitant and staring at the bottom of the tub but imagining you, reasoning with himself. Talking very little tends to make a person good with internal debates, but now Steb finds himself cursing the fact he couldn’t find the key to stopping himself toying with the idea of your eyes lustily taking him in and your hands lovingly sweeping his skin.

It was wrong, to imagine you as anything more than just a colleague, to imagine you so lewdly. It was disrespectful, you probably didn’t even like him like that if he was reading you right. But the thought of your hair clinging to the nape of your neck, damp with sweat, the imagined sound of you panting and groaning in his ear — clear with the recent memory of you straining to move filing cabinets at the station — made his cock pulse inside him.

He shouldn’t, but quietly as if he were afraid of being caught, his hands drifted over his hip and dipped between his thighs. His cock throbbed at the barely-there feeling of his fingers skimming over his slit with ease, slick arousal already eagerly leaking out. His ears drooped with guilt, but his gut tugged with pleasure. A blush prickled across his face, frills laid flat against his cheekbones.

With a raspy gasp, his fingers dipped into his slit, feeling himself grow harder with each swipe. Steb bit his lip to silence the building whines in his throat, he must look pathetic furiously rubbing at himself with his cock still tucked away — too embarrassed for it to come down.

What would you say if you saw him in this state? Would you laugh, sharper than your usual giggle, tease him backhandedly as you refused to take your eyes off his shame? The train of thought made him slow down, disgust aimed at himself weighed heavily on his heart and brought him to his knees, shower water pounding off of his back.

No, you were too kind for that, he thought, he’d seen the way you regarded him with a sense of wonder; staring at his fluttering frills and third eyelid with curiosity burning in your eyes. It was different to the way other people brushed him off, too quiet to be interesting, too vastayan, entwined with magic, to live without a mild fear of being shunned for the connection.

You peppered him with questions however, all unanswered by him but eventually figured out by you, waved at him whenever he walked past with genuine enthusiasm, spoke highly of him when you thought he wasn’t listening. 

Maybe you’d walk in and just watch, curious eyes peeled to the way his hand coaxed out his silky cock and stroked it slowly. Maybe you’d come closer, fixated on him so badly you got on his level, on your knees in front of him — still watching. Maybe you’d speak, in that lovely voice of yours, and tell him about himself.

What would you say? You were keen on praising him, sometimes it was a vague comment, but other times it felt like hearing about a completely different person; someone more competent, caring, gentle than he thought of himself.

Would you say any of that? The thought of you mumbling the words ‘good boy’ in his ear, your own hand coming to replace his own, drew a clipped groan from his lips. Would you tell him he had been doing good, that it was okay? You’d kiss him gently, treating him so preciously despite the way you would pump his cock, restraint cracking as you felt him melt at your touch.

Steb flushed at all the pretty words he wanted you to tell him; hot, pretty, good, yours. The tip of his cock met the rougher skin of his fingers, his mouth dropped open in a silent moan. It felt pleasurable, but your hands — ones he barely felt on him, stealing the barest of exposures from the times you’d tap the side of his head when he wasn’t paying attention — would feel much better.

Unpredictable, they’d skitter over his skin, less bashful than his own. His eyes closed, a pretty picture of your flushed face imagined behind them. The way your lips moved, talking to him or talking about him, was always enrapturing. The thought of huskily hushed compliments tumbling from then in a barely coherent string, too lost in watching his body react to you, made his hips jerk.

But maybe you would be a little teasing, you tended to be like that. Never mean, always careful, you’d draw him into little conversations and chit-chats with a teasing remark every now and again. Maybe the same clever, fond lilt in your voice would tell him to come to you when he was desperate and needing, that you’d be more than happy to help him out.

His cock slipped into his hand fully, thick slick slowly seeping through the cracks between his fingers as he fondled himself. How would you do it? Fast, almost feverish, needing to see him come apart or slowly, teasingly, denying him over and over with a purposeful smirk until you let him come but refused to let up? His cock throbbed.

Still, a sense of guilt stemming from what Steb saw as ‘ruining’ your image lingered over his mind. Abashedly, it mingled with thoughts of your mouth, how it would feel on him.

Hot, wet; you’d run your tongue down him, lather the frills lining his cock with your spit, look up at him with that damn ‘gotcha’ look when his head tipped back from the sensation of you around him.

Eager, you’d sink deeper and deeper, nose brushing the soft, smooth skin of his pelvis. Maybe you’d gag slightly, a glisten of tears welling in your eyes, and he’d have to pull you up to avoid bruising your throat with a violent buck of his hips. Your hair, twisted in his hands. He bit his lips hard at the thought.

He pumped his cock faster, thoughts turning blurry with the mounting pleasure, blushing all the way to his shoulders. You liked to push his buttons just a little, giggling at the irritated flick of his ear when you did, not the type to back down. 

Even if he came, in his mind that wasn’t a guarantee you’d stop sucking him, and you’d keep going until you heard a broken moan tear itself from his throat. The thought of his come dribbling over your lips made his pace stutter, the thought of returning the favour drawing out a quiet, utterly involuntary, whine.

You’d look ruined — such a departure from your usual appearance, so perverse, he thought guiltily — but you’d have gotten off on watching him squirm. Soaking with shower water, letting him mouth at you, take you. It was a greedy thought, one that had pre-come dribbling messily from his flushed head.

You’d sound so good, moans mixing with the pattering water, the pretty words tumbling from your lips garbled with pleasure. God, imagining you so lewdly was wrong but he’d never felt so sensitive, apologies spinning in his head wormed their way into the fantasy; you’d keen and gasp at the feeling of his lips moving over your skin, unaware of the chant-like praise and apology being muttered.

Sinking further into the hot, shameful feeling, Steb’s hand trailed towards his cheek. You were nice, you’d hold him, caress him, and he would give himself to you. It was downright weird, wrong on so many levels, but his cock jumped in his hands when his fingers slipped bare millimetres under his gill slits — imagining it was you.

It was a sting that sent him lurching over, a pain that clashed so weirdly with the fire in his gut, but he shivered at the thought of you being so delicate with him. Maybe it was unfair to think you’d pay enough attention to him to figure out the small detail of his rarely used gills, to think you’d know the weight behind the allowance. He still quietly gasped at his own touch, though.

But maybe you’d think it was too weird? Steb caught himself, no you wouldn’t, you were so kind to him that maybe he could just allow himself this, the thought of your warmth replacing the shower’s — all-consuming.

You’d kiss his neck and whisper so many adoring words while he took you with his cock, bite your lip in mounting bliss, clench around him. His cheeks have never burned hotter.

With a breathless gasp, he came over his hand, spilling over his trembling thighs in thick spurts. His brows pinched and his frills pulsed in time with the throbbing of his cock, more come, pearlescent and sticky, dribbling from his glistening tip with each sensation.

Softly, he thought, you’d kiss him while you came down, not rough and full of desire, but with care and contentment. He sighed into the damp warm air, you’d hold him close, warmer than the water.

Now, what was he going to think when he saw you tomorrow? Steb blushed down to his chest.

A/N: hi guys! i had to cut my nails in the middle of writing this :)

[writingduhh]

Hii, i was wondering if you were able to write something for hansumfella (tyler) ? I was thinking he talks about him having a girlfriend but no body believes him until he finally brings her into a stream and everyone is amazed because they thought he was joking !! but anything works haven’t rlly seen hansumfella content !! 😅😅

YES!!!!!! Hope this is alright! It’s my first hansumfella fic so I’m super new at this….

Hansumfella || Stream Surprise

You and Tyler had been openly dating for several months, thoroughly enjoying the simplicity and joy your relationship brought into your lives. However, as Tyler's online alter ego, HansumFella, began to skyrocket in popularity, it became clear that managing your private and public lives would need some recalibration. Out of mutual concern for privacy and the unpredictable nature of internet fame, you both agreed it would be best to keep your relationship out of the public eye for the time being.

During one of his lively Roblox streams—a session filled with laughter and playful banter—Tyler unexpectedly let a secret slip, a revelation that even surprised him.

“And yeah, for those wondering why I’ve been a bit off-schedule lately, I’ve been spending some time with my amazing girlfriend,” he mentioned casually, taking a sip of water as the chat erupted into a frenzy.

“You what now, Tyler?!” one viewer exclaimed, their message quickly engulfed by a wave of shocked and curious reactions.

“HE HAS A GF?!”

“NOOOO 😭”

“GIRLFRIEND REVEAL”

“I knew it Ong”

“Proof or it didn’t happen.”

Despite the disbelief, Tyler merely chuckled and steered the conversation back to his gaming strategy, his relaxed demeanor doing little to stop the onslaught of comments.

“Alright chat, calm down I didn’t even say anything! You’re just imagining it! You’re gaslighting yourself. Let’s focus back to absolutely destroying children in best dressed” He jests in his usual dry sense of humor.

In the weeks that followed, each stream dedicated a few minutes to viewers probing for more details about you. Tyler kept his answers vague, strategically revealing just enough to maintain interest without confirming anything definitive.

“What does she look like?”

“Favorite thing about her?”

“I still think he’s lying.”

“Well she looks absolutely gorgeous. Absolute smoke show.” He playfully remarks before continuing.

“Favorite thing about her? Oo that’s a hard one, there’s so much to love. I’ll say sense of humor.”

The curiosity and incessant questioning from his fanbase eventually led Tyler to plan a significant reveal. On a crisp summer evening, his usual streaming time, Tyler adjusted his webcam to capture more than just his usual gaming setup.

“Alright, everyone,” Tyler announced as he started his stream, “tonight is a special night. You've all been incredibly patient—or incredibly nosy,” he joked with a wink at the camera. “I think it's time you meet someone very special to me.”

He reached out and extended a hand off-camera. After a brief moment, another hand appeared, and you stepped into view, your smile bright yet slightly shy as you waved to the camera.

“Hello stream! Is that what I call them?” You ask, a little overwhelmed with the situation

“You can call them whatever you like, babe.” He chuckles, pulling you to sit down beside him.

The chat paused for a split second before erupting.

“OMHH SHES REAL?!”

“She’s so beautiful!!”

“HE WASN’T LYING 💀”

“Literally how did he land her?”

“She’s ours now”

Tyler’s grin widened as he read the comments aloud, his arm comfortably encircling you as you sat comfortably on his lap.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s the reason I’ve been so distracted, so you can blame her for the lack of content.” He jests, earning a playful eye roll from you.

The stream proceeded exceptionally well. You were a natural, laughing and engaging with the chat as if you’d had been a part of the community for years. Tyler felt a mix of pride and relief; not only did his audience adore you, but him as well.

A few weeks after your debut on his stream, Tyler decided it was time to make your relationship Instagram official. He chose a candid photo of you two together, taken during a sunset hike. Both laughing, bathed in the golden hour light, capturing a beautiful moment.

Tyler uploaded the photo with the caption that simply read, “Mine ;)” and tagged you.

The post received thousands of likes and comments in no time. Fans and friends filled the comments section with hearts, congratulatory messages, and more than a few playful jabs at having doubted him in the first place.

Tyler leaned back, watching the notifications pop up one after another, you sitting beside him, head resting on his shoulder.

“Was it worth the wait?” Tyler asked, his voice a soft murmur.

“Definitely worth it,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

[yuoimia]

THE FIRST TIME I SAW YOU…

summary: their first impressions

ft: neuvillette, kazuha, xiao, cyno, kaeya, lyney, zhongli, kaveh, albedo, childe, alhaitham, diluc, wanderer, heizou.

...i was enchanted - neuvillette, kazuha, xiao, cyno, kaeya

people pass in a blur all the time, stored in memories in the back of their mind. faces vague, conversations hazy. they weren’t necessarily important, strangers after all. so, what would be different with you? a passer-by, another person saying a kind ‘hello’ as you momentarily cross paths, another person holding another conversation.

the conversation ends.

and how he wished he knew what was coming.

addicting or enchanting? or both, with a slight knowing smile?

so different and so interesting, he got lost within the words exchanged. mind whirling, holding a facade of utmost cool and tranquility onto dear life.

…i don’t want this to be a memory.

he wanted it to be more than that. he didn’t know what just yet, but he knew he didn’t want to forget you.

…i knew it wasn’t just a coincidence - lyney, zhongli, kaveh, albedo, childe

fate, he believes. such a blessing couldn’t have been a mere coincidence. coincidences can be suspicious; he knows all too well. besides, he’s positive you and the word ‘suspicious’ could never be mixed together. perhaps lightheartedly, but from first impressions, you were sunshine in human form, warming and lighting the atmosphere unknowingly. it’s deathly contagious, he notes. the smile hasn’t left his lips ever since you decided to sit beside him, draping the atmosphere in comforting silence, broken only occasionally by a spark of sudden ramblings he’d be more than delighted to engage in.

…i was dying to know more - alhaitham, diluc, wanderer, heizou.

though he’s the type of person to mind his own business, that doesn’t make him invulnerable to curiosity and its facets. it can be dull, something that could be quenched with a textbook, or something irritating, similar to an aggressive pull towards something. or specifically, someone.

it’s not you that he’s irked at. it’s what you’re doing to him. and what's worse, you’re not even doing anything wrong. plainly, he’s quite clueless. he wants to know why. why does he feel like all he wants is to know you? like, know know you. everything written on that pretty face that he’s so attached to. how effortlessly you grab his attention, how you flood his dreams like stormclouds in a drought, bringing back the life in him. explanations needed, asap.

[starlightguh]

Intertwined

Word Count: 4,655

Summary: Somehow Sylus and you have a strange bond from his Evol. Neither of you know the meaning of this or what exactly it is. After searching for some answers and ending up empty, you end up giving in to a strong temptation in the form of the tall and cocky Onychinus leader.

Tags: Smut, enemies to lovers, divergent from canon lore since we don’t have his backstory yet

AN: This is an 18+ fic, so MDNI! This is a multi chapter story that you can also read on my Ao3, I will try and post updates both on here and there, so please enjoy!

Being trapped in the Onychinus headquarters felt like a nightmare. It had only been a couple of weeks but I had been desperately missing familiar faces, sights, and sounds.

Since being trapped and forced to stay with Sylus as he tries to resonate with me, I’ve felt just like another bird trapped in his extravagantly large cage.

Recently, our Evols bounded us together in a way I never thought possible. When the red mist handcuffs appeared around both me and Sylus’ wrists the confusion and panic had settled deep in my bones and still hadn't gone away.

He even recommended cutting my hand off as a solution. Of course, he wasn’t serious, but the situation at hand caused him to briefly panic.

But no matter how dire the situation, that man gets on my nerves unlike anything else.

I currently lay in the large plush bed of my current living quarters in Sylus’s mansion of nightmares. The dark red silk sheets felt so smooth and luxurious against my skin, but my eyes were just focused on my hand. Nothing was there, but I stared at it as if to summon the answers to this mysterious situation into my palm.

Feeling a mix of frustration and boredom, I decide to go poke around Sylus’s lair and see if I can dig up any books or something that could lead me down a research path as to what’s happened between us.

Since the incident a few days ago, nothing has really changed, other than more heavy creases between Sylus’s brows. As of late he’s been more blasé about it and that’s just another thing about him on my long list of ‘things Sylus does to piss me off.’

I shiver as I step out of my room into the empty and echo-y dark hallway. Being barefoot and in a thin white nightgown, I was left vulnerable should a certain crime syndicate leader decide I was useless. But somewhere deep in my body I knew I was safe within this crow-obsessed man’s lair.

I wandered, a bit aimlessly, around to see if I could find the proper library. Truth be told, the only places I had explored were the kitchen, the armory, Sylus’ room, and the long hallway near my room. I had a vague idea of where Kieran and Luke’s room was, since they would sometimes tease me about visiting them for a ‘bedtime story,’ but I never had an interest to give in to their silly demands.

It felt like I was constantly poking my head in and out of rooms, most of them looked very untouched. For someone with a big mansion he surely never used it. Most occasions Sylus was out on ‘business ventures’ and on the other occasions he would be in his room, the dining area, the terrace, gym, and once and a while asleep in the lounge area’s couch. But beyond that he never seemed to use the space in his extravagant home. And he hasn’t yet dared come near the quarters I was currently living in. At least I have some privacy there.

It was strange. I felt captive, yet very free at the same time. He never restricts where I can go and explore my curiosity, in fact, he encourages me to snoop. How annoying, I sigh to myself.

As I reach a wing of the manner I’ve never been into before, I open a set of double doors to a very spacious and well stocked library. I smile to myself pleased with my venture as I flick on a light and scrunch my face as I take in all the dust and cobwebs littering the various large black shelves that wrap around the whole room.

There must’ve been thousands of books covering the shelves of the walls, the only other furniture to grace the room was a large black leather upholstered chaise lounge, and a small side table with a simple gold lamp. I hummed as I approached the first wall of books nearest to me.

My eyes start scanning the shelves for anything useful. I grab a couple of books that look like they have research and information on Evol and sit down in the lounge chair to start my research.

As my eyes scan texts for what only feels like a few minutes, a deep and sultry voice reaches my ears.

“Are you trying to have a competition to see who can stay up the longest? Are you sure you could compete with me?”

My head pokes up to see Sylus leaning in the entryway to the library. His long legs were dressed in black silky lounge pants and his chest was hardly covered in his matching silk robe. His pale white skin was tantalizing as the warm light from the library illuminated his fair features.

His red eyes looked at me with mirth in them, while his face was painted in an amused grin as he stared at my lounging form.

“I was just feeling a bit restless is all…” I rolled my eyes at his haughty demeanor.

He walks over to me in smooth strides and looks down at the reading material. Or he’s trying to stare down my nightgown, who knows with this man.

“Anything good? I’m afraid you’ll find my collection lacks the whimsical fairy tales I’m sure you enjoy…But I might have one or two children’s books you could find amusing,” he teases.

My face doesn’t move at his attempts to provoke me, I don’t have the energy to entertain his taunts. “I’m trying to see if I can find any information about this unique connection we have…So far nothing’s come up.”

He frowns a bit at this, his expression is hard to read. I can’t tell if he knows any more or less about this situation than I do. He did seem just as surprised and upset as I did when this occurred.

“I don’t know if there’s anything quite like us…As I said before, you and I are more alike than you know,” his silver hair shakes as he moves his head in a dismissive manner.

“But I’m nothing like you! You’re crazy! You live up in this empty castle where you sit around and plot the demise of people! Innocent or bad you selfishly propel yourself to the top of everything, and for what? A home you barely enjoy? An empty life full of nothing but death and destruction? Tell me Sylus, how are you and I alike?”

I slam my book shut and stand up. I don’t meet his insane height, so I glare upwards. My patience has run thin and I’m tired of being kept on a string with him. If he knows something I don’t, why doesn't he do something to cast me aside? Certainly the aether core can’t mean that much to him if he hasn’t cut it out of my chest yet.

He lets out a deep and guttural growl as he uses his Evol to wrap around my body and lift me up higher in the air.

“Sweetie, it’s almost embarrassing to see yourself in this much denial. Honestly kitten, you cannot be this naive… You're just painting me out to be the boogeyman because you’re little head can’t understand what’s really happening.” he tilts his head with a frown and continues, “You think you’re so self righteous with your little hunter title, but are you also not causing death and destruction for those around you on your little missions? That you’re also coming home to an empty bed?”

He then forces a smirk on his face as he finally spits out, “Or am I wrong to assume that? You certainly have enough men around you to keep your bed warm kitten.”

I try and lash out against his Evol and let out nothing but frustrated yells and grunts. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Put me down!”

He brings me down, but he uses his Evol to pull me closer to his face, we’re pretty much nose to nose as his red eyes look at my face with disappointment.

“Who is it…Is it that little space hunter who should be dead by now? Is it that ridiculous artist? Don’t tell me,” he pauses and puts his large hand on my face to cup my cheek, “You’re sleeping with your own doctor?” He lets out a deep chuckle at the thought and there’s something behind his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine.

I grit my teeth and reply, “And why should you give a shit about something like that?”

His hand slides down and grips a bit at my throat. Not hard enough to hurt me, but definitely enough to make my eyes go wide with shock. “Because once I find a high value prize, I don’t like to share.”

He swiftly takes his hand off my throat and puts me down, he goes to strut out of the library. I presume he’s storming off to go to his room to pout, but something in me stops him.

“None of them…” I call out and pause a moment before continuing, “I guess you’re not wrong in that element…We both have our empty castles to defend.”

He stops in his tracks, he glances to the side back at me, “I hope you keep it that way kitten, for their sakes.”

Without another word he stalks off like a gloomy shadow. What the fuck is his deal? Is all I can think to myself as I rub my neck.

After that sudden outburst between us I go back to my quarters with a headache. I lay in the lavish bed once again and my mind begins to wander. I do hope the others he mentioned aren’t worried for me…

Rafayel was the last person I talked to before entering the N109 zone. I hope he isn’t trying to do any more shady stuff at the nest. As for Xavier, he’s probably too busy running away from the bounty he has. And Zayne….I feel a bit of pang in my chest as I can clearly picture his worried hazel eyes. I silently hope he’s too busy with his research in Snowcrest to even think about my whereabouts.

But how dare Sylus insinuate I’d have late night proclivities with any of them. Besides Zayne, I hardly knew Rafayel or Xavier, and with all my curiosity of the information grandma left me, I have no time to think about being intimate with someone.

After a few minutes of dancing around the idea of intimacy with any of those prospective suitors, my thoughts seem to betray me as they recall the dance I shared with Sylus…Or the instance of laying on top of his nearly naked body searching for that crow broach….The way he felt hard beneath me-

I shake my head and slap my cheeks, nonono go away horny thoughts… I sigh to myself. Maybe I just need to get laid… It’s been what feels like eons since I’d been intimate with another person and with all this stress, frustration, and seductiveness of Sylus running around, I felt no better than a horny teenage boy.

Sleep was avoiding me and no matter how hard I tried to think of literally anything else, Sylus’ half naked body kept popping up in my head.

I’m getting a drink, I can’t handle this

With another frustrated groan I get up from the bed to leave this room and stalk my way to the dining area that has a gold metallic wine rack in the corner. I decided to just grab the bottle for myself. As I twisted it open and drank straight from the source I couldn’t help but growl with frustration as the bitter dark red liquid went straight down my throat.

After the warmth of the alcohol hits my stomach, I turn around to go and stomp back to my room when my face smacks into a soft and plump set of pectorals.

Great, just fucking perfect, I think to myself as he chuckles and placed his hand on my lower back.

“Sweetie,” I shiver as his deep velvet voice coos to me, “I’m sorry about our little spat earlier,” he forces my face away from his chest to make me look up at him. “But you know…I didn’t think you would turn to my liquor cabinet as a way to blow off steam.”

I glare up at his stupidly handsome and cocky face, “Well consider this bottle of wine your apology.”

He pauses for a moment as he leans in to study my face more. His right eye is glowing as it feels like he’s looking into my very soul. I shiver as I suddenly feel more exposed than ever.

For a moment I feel as if I did in our first encounter, dizzy, confused, and painfully, empty. The whispers of “Devour him,” and “So empty,” echo through my hazy brain.

Suddenly he leans back away from me and that feeling goes away. As I remain frozen, Sylus bursts out into laughter after a moment of pause and suddenly his hand on my lower back tightens its grip.

“Well, I must say this is not how I envisioned things to go…But after seeing what it is you desire most right now…I’m more than happy to ease your frustrations Sweetie.”

My face flushes, fucking damn his stupid ‘desire’ seeing eye! That’s not fair!

“Sylus be serious…” I look away from him.

“Oh I am,” he grabs the bottle from my hand and takes a swig himself, “And here I thought you were disgusted with me…Seems like my kitten is still ever in denial,” he leans in to whisper in my ear, his nose brushes against my skin just below my ear and my back straightens out in attention to his hot breath and fleeting touch. My skin lines itself with goose flesh as his face lightly brushes against my skin and wanders down my throat.

“Mmmm,” he purrs as his lips find a spot on my neck to lick and suck.

I let out a yelp of shock as my hands latch onto the silk of his robe. Sylus just pulls away with a chuckle.

“Hmmm,” he looks down at the bottle of wine in his hand, “Does my kitty need liquid courage to be honest with herself?” He tilts his head and I’m too stunned to retort.

He chuckles and takes a swig from the bottle and leans down to capture my lips and pour the liquid from his mouth to mine.

“Mmph!” I can’t help but yelp as I’m forced to quickly swallow a large mouthful of wine as his mouth now has full access to explore mine.

It’s hot. The room temperature, his body, my body, the atmosphere, it feels like he just lit a fire in me. It all but consumes me as I decide to close my eyes and let his tongue try and find all the things I cannot say on the tip of my own.

As some of the wine had spilt on the side of my lip, Sylus, like a man possessed, goes to lick it up. After our lips are separated is when I notice something tight around my wrist.

We both looked down and the red misty handcuffs seemed to have appeared again.

“Huh…Why is it here now?”

“Let’s save your questions for later Sweetie…” he clears his throat after speaking, “Do you want me to continue? I’m not going to stop unless you say no to me right now.”

His eyes were serious, but they also held something else. It was the first time I ever saw a desperate expression cross his face. This nonchalant crime lord since I met him has always laughed in the face of danger or a challenge. But in this current moment, it seemed like he would crumble if I refuted.

Fuck it.

“Go ahead Sylus,” I say a bit too breathlessly for my own ego, but in the next minute he picks me up fireman style and he’s quickly gliding us to the double doors of his bedroom.

Before my mind can catch up, my back is hitting the plush of a mattress and his lips are kissing down the exposed neckline of my nightgown.

He had set the bottle that was in his hand on the nearby nightstand and both his hands were gliding down the expanse of my body.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moans out as he lowers the top of the gown to expose my bare breasts to the open air.

His mouth quickly latches on and my head bends back and my legs twist upwards as his large body is currently parting them. I place my hands on his shoulders as his suckles.

“S-Sylus…I-“

“You don’t need to talk… I know,” he pulls away from my chest to reply. He looks sincere and still a little desperate, it’s sending me into a tizzy, but honestly, I’m too turned on to really process everything at the moment.

Suddenly large and hot hands are raking up the hems of my nightgown to meet the sides of my underwear as they’re quickly pulled down.

“Kitten…” he sighs as his head lowers to be face to face with my bare center. He breathes a teasing puff of air at my now hot and aroused sex.

Without a second of hesitation his lips dive in to taste me and I let out a shocked moan as the hand that’s still being shackled by the mysterious Evol grips into his silver locks.

Both my legs wrap around the center of his back as he slowly but purposefully laps his tongue around areas I’ve never even felt before.

“F-Fuck! Sylus,” I cry out as he then decides to just drink the source of wetness from my hole and his tongue enters me.

He places his hands on my stomach and just hums in approval. To think this tongue that’s always lashing out teasing insults is fucking me right now, I moan at the thought that crossed my mind as I feel nothing but a pooling heat drip down into Sylus’s greedy mouth.

It’s hard to stay focused on anything at all as his mouth is lapping up my insides like it’s his final meal. Between that and the feeling of his large hands that reach the whole expanse of my stomach pushing down on me.

I can feel his nose brush against my clit as he works his mouth to devour me whole, and it feels like an invisible thread inside my body just snaps. Suddenly I’m screaming out his name and all he does is chuckle into me and move his other hand to softly grab my non-Evol locked one.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” I cry out as I fully come undone all over his face. Unable to care or think about how his face must be covered in my essence. I feel my body slack in relaxation from an intense release.

Suddenly, a burst of dark matter and energy explodes throughout the room, causing both of us to pause and snap out of our lustful haze.

I’m panting and his wet face comes up from under my dress to show me his bewildered and almost bloodlust expression. After a moment's pause he lets go of my hand and chuckles as he licks his luscious lips.

“Perhaps we should’ve just done this from the start…” he looks down at me with a smile and a look of genuine pride.

“What just…?” I’m still very breathless and dazed from my orgasm.

“That, my lovely kitten, was our resonating.”

Sylus looks so genuinely happy and proud that I can’t help but let out a “huh…”

His eyes darken, “Which means we should further test how much more we can do,” he whispers as he flings off his robe and goes to strip from his trousers.

I lift my wrist and still notice our strange Evol connection, “Well this is still here.”

“It might stay there for awhile Sweetie, we’re not done yet.”

His eyes never leave mine as he removes his boxers. My eyes widen at the sight of his length.

Holy… I think back to the glances I’ve stolen of the bulges of his tight leather pants and I had assumed that he was very well endowed, but seeing it full on display….I was rendered speechless.

“Like what you see?” He teases as his hands are pulling on my nightgown to fully remove it.

I can’t explain why, but suddenly I was relaxed as I was caged underneath him. We’re fully exposed to one another and I would’ve thought the idea of that would be horrific, but currently, it felt…Safe. A dance of a nostalgic feeling trickled within me, but I couldn’t place where those feelings stem from.

He must’ve noticed the shift in my demeanor, as he leaned down to capture my lips. The taste of wine and my sex mingled together as our lips met. It’s no surprise that Sylus’s lips lead me to his whim as his tongue would coax my mouth to his will.

To be expected from the man who always has control.

I let my hands wander down the muscles of his back as we kiss. I decide to rake my nails up and down his back in a light and feathery teasing manner.

Sylus shivers and pulls away, “Be careful kitten…”

He warns as he reaches down to grab my spread legs and places them from being wrapped around his back, to straddling his shoulders.

I hiss at the strength of my muscles as he lines himself up with my body. Sylus looks back at my face, his red eyes are surprisingly gentle as he whispers, “There’s no going back from this Sweetie…You’re finally mine again.”

Before I could really think on his words he slowly enters me and my eyes nearly roll into the back of my head at the feeling.

The voices from that hazy daze I had earlier seem to all simultaneously sigh in contentment along with me. Full, finally full.

Meanwhile Sylus is ontop of me hissing a string of curses, “You feel so good Kitten.”

His praise makes me whimper a bit, he keeps leaning down to kiss and nip at my collar bones as he keeps inching into me.

I feel like I’m drowning as he finally bottoms out and I can’t help but gasp and whine, “Moremoremore,” I cry as I feel teary eyed.

“Who knew you were so greedy?” He chuckles as he begins to thrust at a gradual pace.

“S-Sylus please,” I groan in frustration at his slow movements.

“Please what Sweetie?”

I dig my nails harder into his back as I pull myself up to his ear, “Fuck me like you mean it damnit.”

He snaps at that and suddenly he slams roughly into me and sets a more aggressive tempo to his rhythm.

Sylus leans back to grab at my hips with a throaty groan, “You’re a spoiled kitten,” he pauses as he keeps thrusting at his intense pace, “But I’ll give you anything you want…”

My hands can no longer reach his back or chest so the scrunch the silk sheets around me as I throw my head back and cry. I can feel the tip of his cock buried deep inside me as it pounds into a sensitive spot within me.

I feel like my soul is leaving my body as he takes his thumb to start rubbing my clit. “SylusSylus,” I cry out his name as my back is arching higher and higher, “I’m-I-“

“You can come kitten it’s okay,” he gasps out.

It was like my body could hear his words as I felt nothing but pleasure at my crescendo. I was putty in his hands as he slowed his pace to reach his own peak.

“Sylus,” I whisper, my own voice nearly unrecognizable to my own ears.

“Yes?” His voice choked out as he was clearly struggling to hold on.

“It’s okay….To come inside me…I want you to,” I pant out.

“F-Fuck,” his head drops to my chest again and with one harsh thrust I fill his hot seed spill inside me. I purr and humm at the feeling and I go to bring my hand to play in his hair, when I notice the dark embers flickering from my palm.

“Is this…?” I show him my palm.

“Mhmm…If a certain someone is more attracted to me now we can resonate,” his brow lifts in question as he peers his now tired eyes at me, “Unless you want me to do this every time we need to resonate?”

I tug at his hair to retaliate against his taunting tone, “Don’t start with me Sylus…Let me enjoy this…”

He gives me a soft smile and goes to move himself off me, “Alright…But don’t think you’re safe from me tomorrow kitten.”

I whimper a bit as he detached from me, his spend dripping out of me. He stands from the bed and puts on his robe to walk over to the bathroom as he grabs a fluffy white towel. “Here, let's just clean up and go to bed. I have all the time in the world tomorrow to figure out this Evol bond with you.”

I hum in agreement and finally exhaustion hits me as Sylus wipes between my legs. I blink slowly and don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the next morning when I’m trapped in the embrace of two strong arms wrapped around me.

I try to move to go to the bathroom but he grips me tighter and whispers, “Don’t go…” into my ear.

I shiver at his pleading voice and just reply back, “Sylus…I just need to use the restroom…let go…”

He tsks his lips and sets me free, I can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. First I wanted to beat the shit out of him and then the next instance we were fucking.

I look in the bathroom mirror and notice dark splotches in my collarbone and neck, I sigh in disappointment at his handiwork. How am I going to cover these…I bet Luke and Kieran will have a field day if they see these.

When I glance down at my palm again I notice a strange red mark on my hands now. I brush my fingers over it and it seems to light up a bit when I touch it.

“Kitten?”

“Hmm?” I leave the bathroom and return to the bedroom where Sylus was looking around confused. “What is it?”

He looks at me and shakes his head, “it just felt like you were calling out to me…”

I look down at my wrist and show it to him, “Do you know what this is?”

He grabs it with a look of concern. “I think we might be even more connected now…”

“Even more? What do you mean?”

He just shakes his head and stands up, “I’m not entirely sure…but I have some theories… You up for a joyride?” He raises a brow.

I pout at his dismissal of answering me properly, “After breakfast…”

He laughs and his eyes light up in amusement, “But of course Sweetie… I’ll make sure you’re fed first.”

Who knows where he wanted to take me…. But as we ate breakfast together I couldn’t help but reflect on something Sylus said last night… “You’re mine again…”

As I ate my food I felt like I had more questions than I would ever get answers for…But something deep in my gut tells me to trust Sylus for now. I’ll have to find a way to get answers behind his back since he never wants to tell me anything.

I just hope the answers I find don’t break my already confused heart.

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Series Masterlist

Hwang In-Ho / The Frontman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: parental abuse, emotional exchanges, teasing

05. Against the Rules

The elevator comes to a halt, and the doors slide open, revealing your father and the Game Maker entering the space. Their presence adds a layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere as the elevator becomes somewhat crowded.

Your father's voice cuts through the silence, his curiosity is evident as he looks at you. "And where will you be going?" Your father's tone is a mix of concern and slight annoyance as if he's been waiting to ask this question for a while.

Your response to your father's question is straightforward and confident, mentioning Anderson's efforts to get you into the club. "That club I mentioned. Anderson got me in," you reply, your voice conveying a sense of certainty. There's a subtle confidence in your words as if you're accustomed to navigating such situations.

Your father nods, echoing his appreciation for Anderson. "I like Anderson. He's got a two-year winning streak," he remarks to the Game Maker, a hint of admiration in his words. The Game Maker listens with a subtle nod of recognition, acknowledging Anderson's achievements, “My, that is quite an accomplishment.”

“Where are you going?” As you ask your question, your father's eyes meet yours, a mix of surprise and slight hesitation evident. "We're going out for a while," he responds, his tone carrying a sense of vagueness. It's clear he's not willing to provide a specific purpose or destination, leaving you somewhat in the dark.

Your response is a simple nod, a quiet acknowledgment of his brief and somewhat evasive answer. There's an understanding that your father has his reasons for being vague, and you choose not to push further, respecting his unwillingness to disclose more information.

You step onto the ferry, joining the others on board. The space is filled with white vans, piled with bodies of the unconscious players, the silence of the environment heightened by the knowledge of their unconsciousness. The sound of the waves provides a subtle ambiance as the ferry sets off on its journey towards Seoul.

While you were away, In-Ho, the Frontman, took the opportunity to contemplate you more rationally. His mind is filled with thoughts and calculations, trying to make sense of the enigma that is you. He attempts to analyze your behavior, actions, and interactions, searching for any patterns or clues that might shed light on your true motivations. The silence and solitude allow him to concentrate, his mind working to decipher your next move.

He couldn't deny the undeniable attraction he felt towards you. It was a fact he couldn't dismiss or ignore. His mind replayed your encounters, the way you carried yourself, and the impact you had on him. There was an undeniable allure about you that stirred something within him, making it difficult to shake off his growing interest in you.

The Frontman's contemplation continues, now pondering whether you shared his attraction. Your behavior and actions had led him to believe it might be possible, but the uncertainty and ambiguity surrounding you left him uncertain. Your confidence and boldness made it difficult to decipher, leaving him unsure if your behavior was a genuine reflection of your feelings or simply part of your intriguing persona.

In-Ho acknowledged the potential risks involved. If you didn't share his attraction, and he made a move, it could lead to complications and jeopardize the delicate balance that already existed between you two. The Frontman's cautious nature comes into play, causing him to hesitate and weigh the risks of making a move.

As you confidently walk into the club, your eyes quickly spot Anderson seated at the bar. With a warm smile, you saunter over, leaning against the bar and teasing him. "You know that's not your color," you say, referring to whatever he seemed to be wearing. Your playful tone hints at your easygoing nature, the words leaving your lips with a mix of charm and humor.

Anderson turns his head, recognizing you, and a smile immediately spreads across his face. "I'll have you know, I look great in everything," he responds with a laugh, his eyes meeting yours, a hint of amusement dancing within them. His playful banter matches your tone, as he responds to your comment with a good-natured attitude.

You order a drink and take a seat on the nearby chair, sitting beside Anderson. He engages with a young man, their conversation filled with playful banter and lighthearted flirting. Anderson is at ease, exuding a relaxed and confident demeanor as he effortlessly engages with others in the bar.

As you take a sip from your drink, you can't help but comment, a playful smile playing on your lips. "I see you've made a friend," you remark, your words carrying a hint of humor. There's a subtle satisfaction apparent in your tone, as you observe Anderson's interaction with the young man. Your lips, marked by the imprint of your lipstick, gently brush against the rim of the glass, adding an air of grace and elegance to your movements.

Anderson glances at you, a sly grin dancing on his lips as he asks, "Jealous?" Your comment catches his attention, and he playfully turns his head in your direction. His eyes meet yours with a mix of amusement and curiosity as if searching for any subtle signs of jealousy on your face. He awaits your response, his tone carrying a hint of sarcasm and a touch of genuine curiosity.

You respond with a dismissive scoff, your words filled with a confident tone. Your eyes meet Anderson's, conveying a clear message of non-attachment. "Not in the slightest," you reply, your voice carrying a mix of sass and self-assurance. There's an undeniable aura of independence and resilience in your demeanor as if jealousy is a foreign concept to you.

As a man approaches you, attempting to engage in conversation, you politely decline, shaking your head gently. "No thank you," you say, your voice carrying a firm but friendly tone, clearly conveying your disinterest. Your straightforward response shuts down the interaction, and the man quickly retreats, sensing your lack of interest.

Anderson bursts into laughter, amused by your cold response to the guy's advances. "You're the coldest bitch I've ever met," he remarks, his voice filled with a mix of humor and disbelief. His comment, however, takes a sharp turn at the end, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. “He’s not my type.”

Anderson's curiosity is piqued by your response, and he raises an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement evident in his eyes. "He's not your type?" he asks, repeating your words with a hint of disbelief and intrigue. "And just what is your type, then?"

You meet Anderson's gaze, your eyes holding a depth of understanding and vulnerability. "Someone who could understand what I've been through. What we've been through," you admit, your words carrying a mix of pain and vulnerability. The weight of your experiences is evident in your voice, a somber undertone lacing the conversation. Anderson, who knows your past, meets your gaze, a look of compassion and understanding mirrored in his eyes. He listens keenly, feeling the weight of your words and the emotions they carry. Anderson raised his brow. He knew it was just as pointless as you did.

As Anderson reveals the deal with your father, his words hang heavy in the air. "He said if I could get two new players into those games, he'd give me ten grand," he explains, a mix of greed and ambition evident in his tone. The offer, while enticing, carries an element of moral ambiguity, raising ethical questions and sparking a sense of unease.

As you roll your eyes at the mention of the games, your words convey a sense of exhaustion and frustration. "I just got out of that place. Please let me enjoy my time," you plead, your voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and weariness. The memory of the games and their intensity still lingers in your mind, reminding you of the emotional and mental toll they took on you.

Anderson, not ready to let the subject drop, continues to press, his words tinged with curiosity and insistence. "Come on, I'm curious!" he says, his eagerness evident in his tone. He tries to persuade you, attempting to gauge your willingness or reluctance to give in to his request.

Anderson's curiosity remains undiminished, and he presses on, seeking information. "About what happened in the games, of course!" he responds, his tone tinged with intrigue. He leans in, expecting you to share details, eager to know more about your experiences and the challenges you faced.

Anderson's curiosity is piqued by your description, and his eyes widen in surprise at the scale of the operation. "It's huge," you begin, a sense of awe and disbelief evident in your voice. "It takes up the entire island. They have over 200 guards, and over 300 players to start. It's impressive." As you share more details, Anderson listens intently, absorbing the information you provide, clearly impressed by the scope and organization of the games.

You go on to describe the unique aspect of the games, explaining, "Everyone besides players wears a mask." The detail catches Anderson's attention, and his eyes narrow slightly as he listens, clearly intrigued by the peculiarity of the situation. He leans in, eager to hear more, his attention fully focused on your words.

The description of the masked participants, including the haunting presence of the Frontman's mask, leaves Anderson intrigued and slightly unnerved, “That’s not super creepy.”

You continue, adding, "The Frontman has this black matte facemask. You can't see his eyes, but... I can feel when he's looking, you know?"

Anderson, ever the joker, can't resist making a sly remark. "Sounds kinda kinky," he quips, a mischievous smile forming on his lips. His words are meant to lighten the mood and provoke a reaction from you, though there's a hint of genuine curiosity behind his comment.

As Anderson's playful remark lingers in the air, the memory of your interactions with the Frontman resurfaces in your mind. The fleeting moments of eye contact, the unspoken exchange of glances, and the subtle undercurrent of tension between you had not gone unnoticed. Despite your attempts to brush it off as harmless, there was a nagging curiosity that gnawed at you. The Frontman's rescue, the offer of his room, and the enigma that surrounded him had slowly and insidiously planted a sense of... well, it was hard to put a name on it.

You continued to drink and laugh with Anderson, the hours passing as you enjoyed each other's company. However, amid the merriment, a familiar presence entered the room, causing a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Your father had arrived, his presence commanding immediate attention.

Your father strides into the room, a commanding presence that immediately captures Anderson's attention. "Mr. (L/N), it's a pleasure!" Anderson stands up, greeting your father with a practiced smile, a touch of respect evident in his tone. Your father embraces Anderson in a friendly gesture, "You look good, son," he remarks, a mix of familiarity and affection present in his voice. The two men exchange warm greetings, and your father takes a seat, his eyes roaming the room, assessing the situation.

Your father's gaze falls upon you, and he asks, "Had enough?" There's a hint of disgust and a subtle reminder of expectations in his words, making it clear that he's scrutinizing your state and behavior.

Your response to your father's question is playful and defiant. "Cheers," you say, raising your glass and draining the remaining contents in a single swift motion. It's a clear show of independence and defiance, as you make a point to finish the drink rather than setting it aside. Despite your father's disapproval, you refuse to let him dictate your actions or dampen your enjoyment.

Despite your father's hidden anger, he remains composed, only managing a subtle hum in response. "Let's go," he demands, his tone firm and assertive, indicating that he's ready to leave. The tension in the air is palpable, but your father maintains a facade of composure, attempting to hide his displeasure and maintain appearances.

Your father's grip on your arm is firm as he guides you forcefully out of the establishment. His actions, though forceful, are subtle enough to avoid drawing too much attention. He leads you with a sense of urgency, as if eager to remove you from the environment and regain control over the situation.

As you follow your father's forceful grip, a sense of impending punishment hangs in the air. You don't resist; you know that any resistance or defiance will only make things worse. With each step, the weight of your disobedience and the impending consequences weigh heavy on your mind. The tension is palpable as you brace yourself for what may come.

The silence between you and your father on the boat is suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut through the air. Your father refuses to look in your direction, his anger, and disappointment evident in his silence. The waves crash against the sides of the boat, the sound becoming almost unbearable in the oppressive atmosphere. It's clear that your actions have triggered his fury, and the impending punishment weighs heavily on your mind, leaving you with a sense of unease and dread.

As you enter the elevator in the headquarters of the island, the weight of your father's silent anger hangs in the air. You step inside, standing beside your father. As the elevator doors close, shutting you in with your father, he grabs you by the neck in a swift and unexpected move. The sudden and forceful grip tightens around your throat, a clear indication of his frustration and anger. The silence of the elevator amplifies the intensity of the moment, making the tension between you palpable as you stand there, caught off guard by his physical display.

Your back slams against the wall with a forceful impact, the pain shooting through your body. "You little bitch!" your father growls, his words filled with anger and frustration. The violence of his action echoes in the small confines of the elevator, the force of the throw leaving you momentarily dazed and hurting.

The first slap catches you off guard, the force leaving a red mark on your cheek. "Disrespectful," he repeats, his tone dripping with frustration and outrage. The anger and disappointment in his voice are palpable as he continues, delivering the second slap with a sharp and impactful motion. The sound of the slap reverberates in the cramped space, the pain and humiliation evident in the tense atmosphere.

Your father's words cut deep, the mention of your mother adding an extra layer of pain to the situation. "You make me so ANGRY! You don't drink! It's sloppy! So much like your mother!" he yells, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disappointment.

Despite the pain and the tension, an unexpected laugh threatens to escape your lips. "And what did you do to her? Huh?" you retort, a mix of defiance and sorrow lacing your words as you challenge him, bringing up the complex history between him and your mother. The question hangs in the air, waiting for an answer, even though you know you likely won't receive a satisfactory one.

The air in the elevator grows heavy as your father draws his gun, his anger reaching its boiling point. The cold steel of the weapon is mere inches from your head, the threat clear and imminent. The tension reaches a pinnacle in the confined space, the silence and stillness only adding to the gravity of the moment.

The tension in the elevator ratchets up, the weight of your words hanging heavily in the air. "Do it," you say, challenging your father, daring him to follow through on his threat. The room feels as if it has stopped, with the gun still aimed at you, the silence and tension filling every bit of space available.

With a flicker of uncertainty, your father's voice trembles slightly as he responds, "You don't think I will?" The gun still points at your face. A smile, tinged with a mix of bravado and defiance, plays on your lips. "I don't think you can," you reply the words carrying a hint of challenge and the belief that your father won't follow through on his threat. The tension in the elevator is palpable, each second feeling like an eternity as the standoff continues.

As the elevator doors slide open, revealing the entrance and the Frontman standing there, the tension hangs in the air. The Frontman's presence adds another layer of complexity to the already volatile situation, his arrival creating a slight pause in the standoff. Your father's grip tightens on the gun, the threat still looming as he stands there, a mix of anger and turmoil evident in his tense stance.

As the Frontman steps forward, his movements deliberate and controlled, he positions himself between you and the gun, breaking the line of sight and physically placing himself as a barrier between you and your father's weapon. The Frontman exudes an air of authority, his presence seemingly serving as a calming influence in the escalating situation.

The Frontman's voice cuts through the tension, addressing your father. "To your suite, Mr. (L/n)?" he inquires, maintaining a professional and composed demeanor. Despite the intensity of the situation, his tone remains calm and measured, as if his presence alone can help defuse the explosive atmosphere. The Frontman stands there, acting as a mediator and a buffer between you and your enraged father.

Your father's response is curt and short, a mere affirmation of the Frontman's question.

Your father's command is clear and resolute as he exits. "When we go home, you're going back in," he says, as he points his finger at you, his glare conveying his anger and intentions. The mention of returning to the games weighs heavy on your mind.

The elevator doors slide shut, leaving you alone with the Frontman in the enclosed space. It comes to a halt, and the doors open to reveal the top floor. You walk out with a sense of determination, your steps carrying a hint of defiance. The Frontman follows closely behind, maintaining a silent presence as you proceed to the suite.

In a fit of frustration and pent-up emotion, you swiftly open the kitchen cabinets, pulling out a glass dish with trembling hands. With a force fueled by emotional turmoil, you smash it against the ground, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the kitchen. Your scream follows suit, a fierce and cathartic release of bottled-up emotions that fills the air with an angry resonance.

The Frontman approaches you with a calm and composed demeanor. Despite your display of frustration, he doesn't react alarmed; instead, he takes a step closer, his gaze and presence unwaveringly steady.

The Frontman, with unexpected grace, hands you another plate, placing it in your hands with a gentle yet insistent grip. His actions communicate a silent understanding and acceptance as if his intention is for you to repeat the act that just occurred, offering you another opportunity to release your emotions. The gesture speaks volumes, expressing a quiet empathy and a subtle invitation to let out the turmoil that simmers within you.

With the plate in your hands, the pent-up frustration boils within you, demanding release. You raise the plate, and with a forceful motion, you smash it against the nearest surface, the shattering noise echoing in the room. Shards of glass and ceramic fly in every direction, the force of your action reverberating through the air. The catharsis of the act is momentarily soothing, as you release the pent-up emotions that have been consuming you.

You recount your brother's actions, and the sacrifices he made to keep you out of the games. Your tone carries a mix of gratitude and bitterness, as you walk through the scattered glass fragments. "He tried his best to make sure it wasn't me. He pretended to love the games, doing everything my father said, just so this wouldn't happen to me," you explain, your voice tinged with complex emotions. The mention of your brother's sacrifices hangs heavily in the air, a painful reminder of the burden of expectations and the sacrifices made in the name of love and protection.

Your laughter is a mix of sorrow and anger as you let out a bitter chuckle. "And then he died anyway!" Your words carry a sense of injustice and despair, as the reality of your brother's death and its consequences weigh heavily on your heart. The laughter, tinged with a sense of irony, serves as a release of the pent-up pain and anguish that you've held inside.

The Frontman continues to quietly listen, letting your words and emotions flow freely. His presence remains a steady and silent witness to your moment of pain and frustration, providing a non-judgmental space for you to express yourself. The weight of your emotions and the memories of your brother's sacrifices are palpable in the air, and the Frontman allows you the space to release them.

Your voice trembles with emotion as you continue, your words revealing the depth of your pain. "I was such a different person seven years ago," you confess, the weight of the past years of trauma and transformation evident in your tone. The realization of how much you've changed echoes in your words, a painful reminder of the person you once were and the person you've become.

The stream of words flows from your lips, each one carrying the burden of loss and the harsh reality of your experiences. "7 years ago, my mother died. 6 years ago, my brother died. 5 years ago, my boyfriend died. 4 years ago I won the games and killed more people than I can remember. My whole life has been a huge fuck you," you declare, your voice filled with pain, anger, and frustration. Each sentence carries the weight of the past, a stark reminder of the tumultuous path your life has taken. The years, marked by loss and violence, seem to have etched their impact deep into your soul.

Your words, tinged with bitterness and disappointment, reveal the harsh realities of your father's behavior. "My father plays with us and when he's done, he throws us in the trash," you say, your voice carrying the weight of resentment and sadness. The sense of being manipulated and used by your father's actions resonates deeply, leaving a heavy burden on your heart. The games, the death, and the loss are a byproduct of his selfish choices, and the weight of it all feels overwhelming at the moment.

You find yourself on the couch, shaking your head in your hands, mortified by your emotional outburst. "I'm sorry. This is... so embarrassing. My god," you mumble, your voice filled with a mix of embarrassment and self-awareness. The weight of what you've just revealed, the raw emotions that have been unleashed in front of the Frontman, leave you feeling vulnerable and exposed.

The Frontman, with a calm and measured presence, takes a seat next to you on the couch. His deliberate movements and gentle manner create a sense of reassurance and comfort as if silently conveying that you're not alone at this moment. There's a subtle understanding in his gaze, a non-judgmental acceptance of your emotional turmoil, a silent affirmation that it's okay to feel the way you do.

The Frontman speaks, his voice laced with empathy and understanding. "I... understand your loss," he says, his words carrying a hint of shared pain. It's a simple yet sincere gesture that acknowledges the depth of your grief and loss, a subtle connection that bridges the divide between you and the Frontman, forging a moment of shared understanding. It's as if he too has experienced similar hardships and can empathize with your struggles on a personal level.

The Frontman's words hold a subtle weight, and the depth of his understanding goes beyond what meets the eye. "I understand a lot more than you know," he says, his voice tinged with a mix of empathy and a hint of something else – a secret or a layer that he seems to keep hidden. The words, though seemingly simple, carry a sense of depth and enigma, implying that there are aspects of his past and experiences that he keeps hidden, leaving room for curiosity and speculation in your mind.

You lock eyes with the Frontman, and with a mix of vulnerability and curiosity, you ask, "Did you lose someone in the games?" Your words hang in the air, the question holding the essence of your desire for understanding and to connect on a deeper level.

The Frontman's sigh speaks volumes, conveying a sense of resignation and the weight of his past. He has never been open about the path that led him to his current role, to lead the games and all its intricacies. A layer of complexity and hidden history surrounds him, adding an air of mystery and enigma to his presence.

In a surprising turn of events, the Frontman chooses to deviate from the usual protocols. His hand moves with deliberate precision, reaching up to his face and unclasping the mask, the sound of the buckle releasing filling the room. With a swift motion, the mask falls away, revealing his face in its entirety. His features once shrouded in the anonymity of the mask, are now exposed to your sight.

As the mask falls away, you are struck by the sight of In-Ho's face. His sharp features, marked by high cheekbones and a strong jawline, exude an undeniable presence. His eyes, dark and intense, hold a piercing gaze that seems to see right through you. The clean-cut, professional hairstyle adds to his overall polished and refined appearance, making him even more distinct and attractive.

In-Ho acknowledges the unusual nature of the situation, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability and a touch of irony. "This is highly unusual, as well as against the rules," he admits his tone a mix of realization and contemplation. It's a departure from his usual composure, a moment of unexpected vulnerability as he willingly, and boldly, breaks protocol by revealing his face to you.

Your question hangs in the air, carrying a mix of curiosity and a touch of awe. "Then why do it?" you ask, seeking to understand the reasons behind In-Ho's decision to break protocol. His actions seem deliberate and significant, and the desire to know what motivated him to reveal his identity is evident. The answer may hold the key to a deeper understanding of who he is and his reasoning behind the bold move.

In-Ho's response carries a hint of introspection as he considers his actions. "I don’t have an answer," he admits, his tone thoughtful and introspective. "But when you laid yourself out bare," he continues, referring to your moment of vulnerability, "it felt like I knew you." There's a subtle recognition and understanding that In-Ho has gained through the shared moments and your honest admission of your feelings and experiences. He may not fully comprehend his motivations, but that doesn't diminish the authenticity of the connection he feels in the moment.

In-Ho's words carry a sense of sadness, and he opens up, sharing a part of his past that has affected him deeply. "I had a wife," he starts, his voice tinged with an undertone of grief, "She was with child, and she got sick." The weight of his loss and the pain of that experience linger between his words, the memories resurfacing and leaving a lasting mark on his soul.

In-Ho continues, his voice carrying a mix of sadness and guilt. "We didn't have the money for the treatment she needed. She was given two choices. Terminate the pregnancy or die trying," he reveals, the weight of the situation evident in his tone. "She said she was going to give birth even if it killed her." You could see the cold memories in his eyes as he spoke, “I borrowed money, as much as I could, but my employer found out and fired me.” The confession, laden with pain and regret, paints a vivid picture of the choices he made to try and help his wife and unborn child.

In-Ho's gaze meets yours, a mix of pain and determination echoing in his eyes. "So, I came here, I played, and I won," he says, his words carrying both a sense of accomplishment and a hint of regret. There's a tinge of exhaustion in his voice, a reminder that the victory came at a price, and it's evident that his emotional journey has been a complex and challenging one.

In-Ho's voice cracks with sadness, the weight of the memory evident in his words. "But when I got back home, I was too late," he says, the pain simmering just beneath the surface, his voice tinged with regret and grief. The tragic discovery upon his return home has left a lasting impact on him, adding a layer of bitterness to his triumph.

The emotional connection between you and In-Ho deepens in this vulnerable conversation. It feels like truth hour, where both of you are open and raw, sharing the pain and guilt that both of you carry. As he reveals his past, you find a sense of understanding in his words, realizing that he truly comprehends the depth of your feelings and the human emotions that keep resurfacing despite attempts to bury them.

As you continue to converse with In-Ho, a deeper understanding sets in, and you realize the tragic irony of his situation. "You didn't lose someone in the games," you observe. "You lost them because of the games." Your words carry a tone of empathy, recognizing the direct impact of the games on In-Ho's tragedy and the complex nature of the pain he carries.

In-Ho nods, acknowledging the truth in your statement. "I had nothing. I had changed in the games and everything outside of them felt wrong," he admits, his voice tinged with a sense of self-awareness and resignation. He pauses, considering the impact your presence has had on him. "For a while now, I've felt fine, leveled," he continues, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability. "Until you showed up."

The surprise and confusion in your voice are evident as you respond, "Me?" You are genuinely taken aback by the revelation, unsure of what role you have played in his life to cause such an impact. The confusion in your expression mirrors the curiosity you feel, seeking to understand why your presence had such an effect on him.

In-Ho nods in affirmation, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and an underlying sense of vulnerability. "Yes, you," he confirms softly, the words carrying the acknowledgment of the impact you've had on him. His sigh conveys a mix of emotions like he's trying to articulate something more profound but struggling to find the right words. "You must know the type of effect you have," he continues, "the type of woman you are." His words hold a touch of wonder as if he's come to understand something about you that has resonated on a deeper level.

A smirk plays on your lips, and you lean in closer, feeling the comfort of the couch as you settle into the moment. "Oh, I know the effect I have," you respond, your words carrying a hint of confidence and self-awareness. You lean in as you add, "I just never thought it would make a man like yourself so weak." Your tone is a mix of playfulness and a subtle challenge, as you subtly assert the power you hold and the effect it's had on In-Ho.

The smirk on your lips holds a hint of anticipation, as you propose the idea of a game. There's a playful glint in your eyes, and an undercurrent of intrigue in your tone as you ask, "Do you want to play a game?" The suggestion hangs in the air, inviting a response from In-Ho and adding a layer of excitement to the room.

In-Ho tilts his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the guarded nature of his expression, a spark of curiosity flickers in his eyes, and he responds with a mix of intrigue and cautious interest, "What have you got in mind?"

In a moment of playful banter, you lean forward, suggesting a game of "two truths and one lie" to deepen the connection between you two. "Since we're here getting to know each other," you propose, a mischievous glint in your eyes, "how about a game of 'two truths and one lie'?" Your words carry a sense of excitement and anticipation, inviting In-Ho to participate in this playful game of truth and deception.

In-Ho with his guarded expression that softens ever so slightly. He nods, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, as he agrees to the proposal. "Alright," he responds, a mix of curiosity and willingness in his tone.

With a moment of consideration, you straighten your seating position on the couch, readying yourself for the game. "Alright," you begin, your voice carrying elements of revelation and intrigue. "I'm the daughter of the biggest a-hole on this planet." The first statement holds the weight of truth, your frustration and resentment towards your father are evident in your tone.

Your tone is confident and direct as you clarify, "I can't stand it here,” As you clarify your statements, your voice takes on a softer tone, the smirk playing on your lips as you confess, "Three, you intrigue me.'" Your words are directed directly at In-Ho, carrying a mix of curiosity and an underlying suggestion of connection.

In-Ho smirks, his words holding a mix of banter and a touch of teasing as he responds to your statement about enjoying your time on the island. There's a hint of playful understanding in his eyes as if he's challenging you to deny the obvious. "Well," he begins, "I have to say, you've been enjoying your time here. Unless I'm wrong." His words carry a subtle edge, challenging you to acknowledge your enjoyment or to deny it if you so choose.

In a moment of playful banter, you raise your brow, feigning curiosity and challenging In-ho's assertion. A small smirk curves at the corner of your lips, as you playfully ask, "Is that your final answer?" The tension in the air is palpable, the game of truth and deception adding an extra layer of excitement to the exchange. In-Ho raises an eyebrow, responding to your question, "It is.”

“Congratulations,” You pout playfully, feigning disappointment, as you slip off your shoes one by one. The tension in the room continues to rise as you challenge In-Ho with your actions.

You smile and the cross of your legs add an air of confidence and assertiveness to the scene. The suggestion of your words hangs in the air, inviting In-Ho to share his truths. "Your turn," you say, challenging him to reveal his secrets.

In-Ho's words reveal a glimpse into his personal life, "I’m the leader, I don’t drink whiskey," he says, the words hanging in the air, then he leans in closer, his eyes locking with yours as he adds, "and find you... astonishing." There's a mix of vulnerability and sincerity in his words, conveying a true sentiment.

You smirk playfully, an element of mischievousness in your tone as you respond to In-Ho's statements, knowing all too well that the truth lies within the third statement. "Hmm, has to be that third one," you say, playing along with the game and challenging him with a devious curve of your lips.

In-Ho chuckles lightly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement as he responds to your challenge. "You're at a loss," he says, fully confident in his statements, knowing that you have incorrectly guessed the lie.

Amid the tense and heated banter, you suddenly make a bold move. In a smooth motion, you reach behind your back, unclasping your bra, and letting it fall to the floor. However, the dress still covers you, maintaining a sense of decency. The act, though provocative, also holds an element of defiance, pushing the boundaries of the game and asserting your form of control. The tension in the room continues to rise as you challenge In-Ho with your actions.

The game continues, challenging you to stay on your toes. "Not many more layers to go," you say, the anticipation building with each layer of clothing being removed. "I better start winning," you add, your words dripping with playful determination. The game continues, each revelation adding fuel to the fire of this intense encounter.

In-Ho observes your actions, fully aware of the game you're playing, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. He understands the subtle layers of manipulation and control at play, and his response is measured, a blend of amusement and intrigue.

You take your turn, sharing three statements that reveal different aspects of yourself. Your first two statements offer a glimpse into your past and intentions, but it's the third one that holds the most weight at the moment. "One, I graduated top of my class," you start, setting the stage. "Two, I'm going to pay you back for those broken dishes," you add with a light laugh, acknowledging the moment of rage. Then, with a direct and sultry glance into his eyes, you say softly, "Three… I know you want to kiss me."

The last line hangs in the air, its honesty and vulnerability laying bare the emotional connection brewing between you two. In-Ho's gaze meets yours, and the tension between you reaches new heights as the truth is laid out on the table. The game takes on a deeper meaning, the honesty and directness in your words leaving no room for ambiguity.

In-Ho's breath hitched, and you saw a spark of something wild ignite in his eyes. He leaned in, his movements deliberate, as if savoring the anticipation. His scent, a mixture of cologne and musk, invaded your senses, sending a shiver down your spine.

As his lips brushed against yours, you felt a rush of warmth spread through your body. His kiss was gentle at first, a soft exploration of your lips, but it quickly ignited into something more passionate. In-Ho's hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, sending tingles down your neck. You responded eagerly, opening your mouth to deepen the kiss, your tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm.

The kiss was a whirlwind of sensations; his lips were soft yet demanding, and his taste was intoxicating. You moaned softly into his mouth, your hands instinctively reaching up to thread through his neatly combed black hair. In-Ho's grip on your face tightened, his kiss becoming more urgent as if he couldn't get enough of you.

Pulling back slightly, you gazed into his eyes, now dark with desire.

His hands traveled down your neck, gently caressing your skin, making you shiver with anticipation. The make-out session was a blur of pleasure, lust, and desire. In-Ho's lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses that made you squirm with delight. His hands roamed freely, exploring your body, igniting a fire within you that you never knew existed.

As his fingers traced the outline of your jaw, down to your collarbone, you couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. The sensation of his touch was driving you wild, and you craved more. In-Ho seemed to sense your need, his kisses becoming more possessive as if he wanted to brand you as his.

In-Ho's hand found its way under your dress, his warm palm making contact with the bare skin of your thighs. You gasped at the sudden contact, your body arching into his touch. His fingers trailed upwards, their path leaving a scorching trail on your skin.

"We should stop," In-Ho panted between kisses, his breath hot against your skin, But his hands didn't stop their exploration, and his lips continued to ravish your neck, making it hard to think straight.

You wanted to protest, to tell him that you didn't want it to end, but before you could form the words, the shrill ring of the phone pierced the air. The sudden interruption startled both of you, breaking the spell that had enveloped the room.

In-Ho pulled away, his eyes now a mixture of longing and frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain his composure. "I need to answer that," he mumbled, his voice rough with unspent passion.

You sat there, breathless and dazed, as he stood up and walked towards the ringing phone. The moment had been interrupted, but the tension between you was now palpable. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, a mixture of emotions swirling within you.

As In-Ho answered the call, his back turned to you, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. The intensity of the moment had caught you off guard. You never expected to feel this way about him, but there was no denying the connection that had formed.

He finished the call quickly, his voice distant as he spoke, and then he turned around, his eyes searching yours. "I will be right there," he said, his voice laced with responsibility.

You stood up, your body still buzzing with unfulfilled desire. "Busy man," acknowledging his commitments and responsibilities. As you hand him his mask, your voice steady and unwavering despite the inner turmoil, you declare, "This isn't over.”

In-Ho's smile curves his lips, acknowledging the unspoken understanding and connection between you. With a gentle yet firm grip, he pulls you in by your waist, bringing you closer to him. The proximity adds an electric undercurrent to the moment, as he holds your gaze, the world around them seeming to pause.

In-Ho leans in again, their lips meeting in a more gentle and tender exchange. The intensity remains present, but it's softer and more tender. There's a sense of vulnerability and human connection in the way their lips meld together.

He leaves you there, and as you sit, replaying the kiss in your mind, you realize that something has shifted. The emotional connection had been laid bare, and there was no going back. The tension that had built up would only grow stronger, and you couldn't wait to see where this forbidden path would lead.

Tagged:

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@angelsukiipls

@mrsyixingunicorn10

@calistrialynna

@gagaga167

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@glads-stuff

[duskrosecreatesstuff]

Wooden You Like to Know?

Written originally as part of a frenzy of ideas bounced around with friends over the potential for the inappropriate use of Sussur tree pieces and by-products, and submitted for #HalsinTavWeek Day 6 - Aphrodisiacs

Summary: Halsin acquires a piece of Sussur wood, and uses it to create a special toy for his lover.

Read on AO3 here

Pairing: Halsin / F!Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Explicit smut, Aphrodisiac use, Sex toys, PiV sex, very slight bondage (if you squint), kinda Soft Dom Halsin (again, if you squint).

“Is that Sussur bark in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” you jokingly said, as he strode across the camp towards you, a conspicuous lump in the front of his trousers.

“Well, actually …” his face split in a wide grin as he pulled his hand from his pocket and withdrew a chunk of faintly glowing wood.

“Awww, darn.” you laughed, returning the grin.

Your feelings were mixed.  A touch of disappointment, a hint of smugness that you’d been right, and a whole lot of interest in what he actually planned to do with that piece of wood.  

“Besides, my heart.  I am always happy to see you.”  He leaned down to kiss the top of your head, before taking a seat on the log next to you.  He thoughtfully turned the piece over in his hands.

“So, why the interest in a piece of bark?  What do you intend to do with that?”

He continued to rotate the piece around, studying it.  “It isn’t bark, it’s a piece from the end of a branch.  And I’m curious.  I’ve never tried my hand at working with this type of wood before.  So I’m interested to see what my tools can do.”

So he intended to whittle something from it.  You were reluctant to touch the magical timber, although you were also curious about it.  Standing in the aura of the tree had drained your magic completely, surely it had to be affecting him too.

“How are you able to hold it?  Doesn’t it feel wrong?  And what about your magic?”

“It’s only a piece, so it doesn’t drain my magic.  Perhaps it can’t anymore, being separate from the living tree.  And it may be because I draw on Nature for my magic, not the Weave, as you do.  As for how I can hold it, well …”  He considered for a moment.  “It tingles a little, for sure.  Like a prickle on my skin. The sensation is  … interesting.”   There was something about the way he put emphasis on the word ‘interesting’, the way he caught your eye as he said it, that sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

*****

Days passed and you didn’t even think about the Sussur piece until one evening, as you were eating dinner.  He sat next to you, leaned in to kiss your cheek, and then whispered softly in your ear.

“I have a gift for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“A surprise.  For later.” You could feel his lips curl as he smiled against your neck. “But I ‘Suss-pect’ you might guess what it could be.”

Your eyes went wide.  Was that … did he just make a pun?  And was he referring to that piece of Sussur wood?  He’d made that into a gift for you?  

Your interest was thoroughly piqued and you tried to hurry him along by eating quickly, but he ignored your efforts.  You were positively vibrating with curiosity by the time he got up to head to his tent.  The speed with which you followed him was practically indecent.

He sat on his bedroll as you closed the flap behind you, his shirt already discarded for the night.  In one hand, he held an object wrapped in a piece of silken fabric, with the other, he patted the spot next to him, in an invitation to sit down.  You did so, looking from his face, to his lap and back again.  He smiled at you.

He offered the wrapped bundle to you, and you took it in both hands, your eyes getting big with realisation as you felt the vaguely cylindrical shape beneath the fabric.  He hadn’t …

You laid the item in your lap, and peeled back the fabric, to reveal the thing inside. Your mouth fell open.  He had.  In your lap you cradled a perfectly carved replica of his own erect self.  No wonder it had taken days, the detail was exceptional, and he had clearly taken the time to polish the surface to a fine finish.  A very necessary step, given the intended use.  Somehow, the piece of wood still managed to maintain its unearthly silver-blue glow.

You stroked your fingers along it, feeling how smooth the finish on the wood was. But more importantly feeling how the magical timber felt against your skin. How had he described it all those days ago?  LIke a tingle?  A prickle, that was it.  And that was on your fingers.  How would it feel when it was pressed against … other parts of you.  You didn’t realise he was staring at you, taking in every detail of your reaction, until he spoke.

“Is it to your liking?”

“It’s beautiful.” You grinned, leaning over to give him a brief kiss.  “Thank you.”

You moved to wrap it back up.  He placed a hand over yours, pausing you.

“Don’t you want to try it out?”

“Here? Now?” Your eyes were wide, and you suddenly felt rather shy.   “You want me to …?”

“I’d like us to.  To enjoy it. Together.”

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks.  You had plenty experience with toys, but you’d always kept that private.  You’d never used one with him before.  Not with anyone.  You hesitated.

“It’s … I … “ you struggled to find the right words.  You exhaled, hard, steeling yourself.  “Sharing a toy … it’s a bit new to me.  I’ve never-”

“Then we start slow,” He reached for the toy and placed it carefully to one side, “and see where things lead us.”

He reached for you, pulling you into his lap, your thighs spreading to straddle his.  He leaned in to kiss you softly, hands caressing up your back, feeling the tension in your shoulders.  He rubbed gently, as your own hands explored over his broad, warm chest.  You relaxed into him and his hands dipped to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up.  He pulled away from your lips to lift the shirt over your head, but quickly met with you again as he tossed it to the side.

His hands drifted to cup your breasts, as his tongue licked at your lips, requesting entry.  You parted them for him, your tongues meeting, as you arched your back to press your chest into his hands.  He stroked his fingers over your nipples, felt them stiffen beneath his practised touch.  When he heard you moan softly against his mouth, he pinched them gently, rolling them between his fingertips.  Your breathing quickened, and you moved your hips to grind against his, feeling the real version of him stirring beneath you.

He leaned forward into you, a gentle pressure to lay back, his hands sliding down your sides, to slide your hips off him.  He pulled away from the kiss as he lowered you onto the soft furs of his bed, reaching for the waistband of your legwear, tugging it and your underwear down your thighs, as you wriggled your legs to help him get them completely off you.

He stared down, drinking in the view of you bared completely to him, and he glanced to the side at the toy, glowing gently like a phallic nightlight.  You watched him, lips parted slightly.

“May I try something?”

“Such as?” You felt a little nervous, but you trusted him.  Completely.

“I want you to close your eyes, and let me touch you with it. I want you to describe to me how it feels. And please, I need you to tell me if it gets to be too much.”

You took a deep breath, and nodded.  “Yes.”

You exhaled that breath as you closed your eyes, forcing yourself to relax back into the furs.  You became acutely aware of the cool air on your skin, the warmth emanating from him between your knees, the rustle as he moved.  You gasped as you felt something cool and smooth touch your breastbone, your eyes fluttering open at the tingling sensation against your skin.

“Now, now.” You heard his voice, deep and soft.  “No cheating.”

“It surprised me.”

“I could always blindfold you, if that would be easier.”

You gave it a thought, and agreed.  He quickly took the soft fabric that had wrapped the toy, and folded into a strip.  You sat up so he could wrap it over your eyes, and tied it carefully behind your head.  When he was sure you could no longer see him, he took the opportunity to steal another kiss, before pressing his hands to your shoulders, signalling for you to lay back again.

He didn’t keep you waiting long as he brought the toy to touch your chest in the same spot as before, and slowly dragged it down to your navel.  You shivered at the sensation.

“How does it feel?” he asked curiously.

“It’s like you said, it tingles.  And it’s not fading very quickly.”

You felt him repeat the motion with a warm fingertip.  You shivered again.

“And that?”

“It’s … more intense.  It's more sensitive there now.”

You felt him drawing a few more stripes over your body, his fingers trailing in the wake of sensitised skin, and you raised your hand, fingers searching, wanting, needing to touch something, preferably his warm skin.  You felt his hand encircle your wrist, and press it back down at your side.

“Behave.  Or I might just have to use the vines on you again.”

Usually, you loved that playful threat.  Another time, you would have enjoyed being just defiant enough to push him to use it.  But tonight, you were already feeling close to overwhelmed, so instead, you gripped handfuls of the furs beneath you.

He watched as you clasped the fur, and, satisfied with your token of submission, he released your wrist.  He drifted his fingertips over your ribs, moving his hand to cup your breast, and a moment later, you felt the touch of the Sussur magic brushing against your nipple, making you gasp.  The prickling sensation lingered as he moved the toy to your other nipple, and dipped his head to take your sensitised little bud between his lips.  You gasped and arched your back as he suckled gently, the sensation so much more intense than usual.

He used his knee to press your thighs a little wider as he trailed the toy lazily down over your stomach, across your mound, and down lower, to dip the tip in your dripping slick, then slid it back up along your slit to the apex. He positioned the toy against your clit, and then let it rest against your thigh, taking that moment to shed the rest of his own clothing.  You felt your clit swelling in response to the touch, a throbbing ache between your thighs.  You wiggled your hips, tilting them slightly, trying to rub against the toy, desperate for some friction.

He noticed what you were doing, and smirked, as he tossed his clothing aside.

“It seems that is to your liking.”  You could only huff in response.  He removed the toy from its position, and you whined at the loss of contact.  You were rewarded as he dipped his head to lap gently at your aching bud.

“Please.” you moaned, desperately pressing your hips up to him.

“Not yet, my heart.  I want to see how you look with this inside you.  Do you think you can take it?.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I … I want to try.”

He slid the toy along your slit, bathing it in your slick, listening to your breath stutter as the magical wood touched your sensitive skin.  He lined it up carefully with your entrance.

“My love.  You will tell me to stop if this is too much, or you feel any discomfort?”

“I will. Yes.” you promised.

“Good.”  He smiled down at you, and slowly began to press the thick toy inside you.  You gasped, the muscles in your thighs twitching at the sensation.  You breathed hard, working to relax around the toy.  He paused, giving you a moment to adjust to the feel of it, listening to your breathing, watching for any signs of discomfort from you.

“More?”

“Please.” You panted. “Gods, please, yes”

He pulled the toy back, and started thrusting it slowly, working it deeper and deeper with each push, watching the way your back arched up to meet his movements, the quiver in your thighs.  

“Oh my heart.  You’re taking it so well.  Just a little more.”

You whimpered at the praise, all sensation focused on the throbbing in your core, as he rocked the toy deeper into you.  The muscles in your thighs trembled, and you realised he had stopped moving the toy. He looked down at you, admiring the way you were stretched wide around it, your slick skin shining in the soft glow of the wood.  With one hand holding it gently in place, he leaned down again to put his lips to your clit, licking and sucking on it.

Between the shiver of magic running through your stuffed and full core, and the movement of his lips and tongue, you couldn’t help but lose control, crying out his name as your hips bucked up to meet his mouth, your sensitive walls clenching against the unyielding hardness of the toy.

You couldn’t see the grin on his face, you could only let out a stuttering gasp as you felt the toy being carefully slid out of you, followed by the soft rumble of his voice.

“Are you still alright, my love?”

“Yes.” Your voice was the barest of whispers, between panting breaths.  You felt the warmth of his body against yours, as he leant over you to tug on the silken fabric covering your eyes and toss it aside.  You blinked up at him, eyes dark, and he dipped down to kiss you, the taste of your own juices on his lips.  You raised your hands to thread your fingers through his hair, and this time, he didn’t correct your little act of defiance.

He pulled away from the kiss as he shifted his hips and you felt pressure against your dripping entrance again, every bit as rigid as the toy had been, only warmer.  Your gaze met his as you lifted your thighs to wrap them around his waist, and he reached a hand down to guide himself into you.  Thanks to the toy, you were more than ready to take him and with one strong thrust, he sank deep inside you, as you gasped out his name at the welcome intrusion, the prickle of the Sussur magic like an itch that you desperately wanted scratched.  He settled into a steady rhythm, massaging against your tingling walls, listening to the sounds of you whimpering beneath him, as your pleasure built again.  He moved to kiss his way down your neck, to your chest, the places he’d touched with the wood still more responsive.  You arched your back up to him as he took a nipple in his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders, your thighs gripping his sides.  He felt your wet heat quivering around him.

“I want to feel you shatter over me, my love.”  he whispered breathlessly.  He deftly slipped a hand between your bodies, positioning his thumb to rub tight circles on your clit.  You moaned as he increased his pace, pounding into you, eyes closed in pleasure as he brought you to that edge, and tipped you over, your walls clenching hard around him.

His lips crashed against yours again, muffling the way you were about to scream his name; his tent might have been farthest away from the campfire, but you still didn’t need everyone else hearing you.  A few last deep thrusts and you felt him tense and pulse within you, following you in ecstasy.

He lay there on top of you for a few moments, as your hearts both slowed and your breathing became less ragged.  He wrapped you in his arms to roll you both to your sides, and you felt him slip out of you as he softened, a rush of warm liquid over your thighs.

“I wouldn’t want to crush you, my heart.”

“Would be one hell of a way to go.” you grinned, tilting your chin to kiss him gently.

He reached to the side for a cloth and some water, and carefully wiped the mess of your combined fluids gently off the both of you, also taking a moment to clean the carved wooden toy.  Once he was satisfied, he laid himself alongside you, and pulled a blanket up to cover you both.  Warm, strong arms wrapped around you to pull you in close, and you closed your eyes as he nuzzled against your neck.

“Sweet dreams, my heart.” he murmured.

[matsmi13]

From Shadow to Utility

For six long years, Louis had held an administrative position within an organization dedicated to professional integration. His days unfolded like a litany of repetitive tasks: opening files, filling out forms, answering the phone. Each action was performed with mechanical precision, every minute meticulously planned. Yet, behind this well-oiled routine lay a deep sense of invisibility.

Officially, he was "helping" others. Yet every evening, as he stepped into his silent apartment, he questioned whether his own life had any meaning. He consumed bland meals in front of a television turned on more out of habit than genuine interest, before collapsing onto his bed. There, in the darkness, a question haunted him, one he scarcely dared to articulate: "Is this really what it means to live ?" A life dictated by routine, where days blurred into one another in a despairing inertia, like a stagnant river refusing to find its course.

------

One evening, after an especially grueling day, Louis left his office. A fine rain fell, draping the city in a gray veil. But instead of heading toward his apartment, he let his feet carry him aimlessly, as if his body was instinctively searching for an escape from his suffocating routine.

He walked for hours, passing through familiar neighborhoods and then into others he had never explored. Gradually, modern buildings gave way to dilapidated structures. The walls were covered in graffiti, and broken windows stared down at the street like vacant, silent eyes.

A burst of laughter shattered the heavy calm. Intrigued, Louis turned a corner into a dimly lit alley. Under a flickering streetlamp, a group of young people gathered, carefree despite the rain. Standing apart from them, leaning against a wall, was a man. Unlike the others, he didn’t move. His posture radiated an unusual authority, and his shiny tracksuit, glistening in the rain, seemed to catch all the light.

“You lost or something ?” the man asked in a deep voice.

Louis froze, startled. “Uh… No, I mean… Maybe.”

The man smirked, a mix of disdain and curiosity. “This place isn’t for guys like you. What are you looking for ?”

Louis lowered his eyes, fumbling for words. Everything in him screamed that he didn’t belong here, yet some inexplicable force held him in place. In a desperate moment, he looked up. “I’m looking… for something else. A different life. I don’t want this empty existence anymore. I want… I want to matter, to feel alive, to be indispensable.”

The man raised an eyebrow, amused. “Change ? But what are you willing to give up for it ?” He asked, stepping forward, his tone almost taunting.

A heavy silence hung between them. Louis took a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his voice wavered, but a newfound resolve underpinned it : “Everything”.

The man stepped closer, his presence commanding and unyielding. “Everything ? Easy to say. But you’ve never risked anything in your life, have you ? That’s why you feel so empty.”

Each word struck Louis like a slap.

“If you had the chance to change everything, your life, your body, even the memory of who you are, what would you say ? ”

A chilling shiver ran down Louis’s spine. The thought terrified him, but he knew he couldn’t keep living as he had been. In a barely audible whisper, he replied : “I’d say yes”

The man straightened, clearly pleased. “Alright, then. Let’s see. Follow me.”

------

They entered a decrepit building. The lobby reeked of damp concrete, the dim light casting long shadows across peeling walls.

The man stopped in the center of the hall, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a device. Its shape vaguely resembled a weapon, but it emitted a strange, electric hum that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“What is that ?” Louis asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

The man gave an enigmatic smile. “A solution to your wish. You wanted to be useful, right ? Then stand still.”

Louis hesitated, but something in the man’s gaze froze him in place. It wasn’t fear. It was a strange, magnetic authority that made retreat impossible. Before he could voice another question, the device was activated.

A beam of cold light swept over Louis, scanning him from head to toe. He felt an unfamiliar sensation ripple through his body : A tingling that grew into an unbearable intensity, his muscles twitching as though dissolving. He tried to move, but he was completely paralyzed.

Louis’s eyes widened in horror as he looked down at his hands. What he saw froze him in terror. His skin, once warm and organic, began to change. It lost its human texture, becoming smooth, uniform, almost synthetic—like fabric stretched taut.

“What’s happening to me ? What are you doing ?” he stammered, panic rising in his voice.

The man remained eerily calm, his tone almost reassuring. “Relax, bro. You’re becoming what you wanted to be: useful.”

Louis’s limbs stiffened, his breathing slowed, and he felt as though his body was draining of everything that made it alive. His flesh unraveled into threads, intertwining and morphing into a flexible, elastic material. His mind screamed in terror, but no sound escaped his lips.

Then the real horror began : his thoughts started to dissolve. Memories, emotions, every fragment of his identity was systematically erased. The doubts, the regrets, even the concept of who he was faded into an unsettling void.

When the transformation ended, there was no trace of Louis left on the cold, tiled floor. In his place lay a crumpled gray tracksuit, lifeless and motionless.

The man crouched down, picked up the garment, and inspected it with a satisfied grin.

“Welcome to your new life bro” he murmured. “You wanted to be useful, didn’t you ? Now you are. You’re perfect. Just a tracksuit. A piece of clothing serves its purpose every day, everywhere. No need to be seen, no need to exist to matter. Just be there, ready for use. Now, you’re with me, wherever I go.”

He rolled up the tracksuit and tucked it into a gym bag. Without a backward glance, the man straightened and walked out of the building, disappearing into the fine drizzle of rain.

------

Outside, the rain continued to fall, its droplets streaking the sidewalks and splashing against his sneakers with every step. He walked at an unhurried pace, his shoulders relaxed, the gym bag swaying gently at his side.

A few streets away, the others were waiting at the usual spot—a bench under a flickering streetlight.

“Took your sweet time ?” called out a guy in a gray hoodie as he saw him approach. “Where were you ?”

“Yeah, we thought you disappeared with that other dude” added another guy in a black cap, slouched on the bench. “Speaking of which, where is he ?”

“Disappeared ? Nah, not at all” the man in the tracksuit replied casually. He dropped the gym bag onto the wet ground with a dull thud, crouched down, and unzipped it. “The other guy? He’s right here”

He reached into the bag and tugged lightly at a sleeve.

A low whistle escaped one of the guys.

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.

Then one of them burst out laughing. “No way ! Are you serious ?” he said, standing up from the bench, his eyes wide. “You really did that ?”

“Yeah” the man shrugged, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. “He said he wanted a ‘new life,’ didn’t he? Well, he’s got one now.”

The others roared with laughter. Not one of them protested. Not one demanded an explanation.

“Oh, man, the poor guy” chuckled the one in the black cap. “He wanted to ‘change,’ but he didn’t exactly say into what ! And look at it ! brand new ! Smooth, clean...”

“Honestly, it’s better for him this way” the man in the tracksuit added, tucking the sleeve back into the bag and zipping it shut. “At least now he’s useful.”

“Totally” agreed the guy in the black cap. “What was he doing before anyway ? Always whining. ‘My life sucks,’ ‘I’m tired of it,’ blah blah blah. Well, now he’s got a real purpose!”

“Exactly” said the man in the tracksuit, crossing his arms. “Some people spend their whole lives trying to find their place. His? It’s right here, in this bag. And guess what? He’s not going anywhere.”

The laughter erupted again, crude and unfiltered. For them, the logic was simple : You’re either useful, or you become useful.

“So, when are you gonna put him on ?” asked the guy in the hoodie.

The man in the tracksuit shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. “Nah, it’s raining and he’s still ‘fresh.’ Gonna keep him warm for now. Don’t worry. He’ll get his turn.”

“Haha, yeah, keep him clean” added the one in the cap. “A piece like that? You gotta take care of it. Trust me, it’ll fit like a glove when you’re ready. A good tracksuit never lets you down.”

The conversation shifted after that, moving on to other trivial topics.

The bag itself sat still near the bench, looking like any other gym bag. But if someone had listened closely, they might have heard a faint rustling, the subtle sound of fabric shifting ever so slightly. A tension, almost imperceptible, that only silence could reveal.

The man in the tracksuit glanced down at the bag, a faint smirk curling his lips.

“See ?” he muttered. “You should’ve kept quiet bro. But hey, you’re better off now. You wanted to change, didn’t you ? Well, you’ve changed.”

He crossed his arms and let his gaze wander down the empty street, his friends’ chatter fading into the background.

“At least now you’ve got a place. No more excuses, no more ‘I don’t know what to do.’ You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Useful. Invisible. Always ready.”

-----

A few days later, the man in the tracksuit pulled the garment from his bag, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. Louis no longer existed, not as a man. He had become this flawless piece of clothing, ready to serve its purpose.

The man held it up with a sense of pride, examining the smooth, perfect fabric under the dim light. Slowly, he slipped his arms into the sleeves, adjusting each one with care. The material clung to him, molding to his body like a second skin. Next, he pulled on the pants, ensuring the fit was just right, the fabric draping neatly over his hips and legs.

He stood in front of the mirror, turning side to side, admiring the seamless ensemble. A smirk played on his lips as he pulled out his phone, angling it just so to take a selfie. The shot captured him perfectly: his new tracksuit gleaming under the light, paired with his crisp TN sneakers.

“Perfect” he muttered, his voice low and smug. “Finally useful. Finally in your place ”

Outside, life carried on as usual. The rain had stopped, and the streets were busy with people going about their routines. The man walked through the crowd, blending in effortlessly. To anyone watching, he was just another guy in a tracksuit, nothing out of the ordinary.

Yet every step he took felt deliberate. The fabric moved with him, adapting to his body as if it had always been a part of him. No discomfort, no awkward folds. Just perfection.

Louis was there, quiet and unseen, but undeniably functional. For the first time, he was exactly what he’d always wanted to be : Be useful.

-----

Louis was no longer a man. He was fabric, fibers, and seams. Each thread, each strand had a purpose, a role to play. This was his new reality. No more questions, no more internal struggles. He was no longer human. He was a tracksuit, perfectly crafted to fulfill its function.

Louis stretched, and moved with the man, adapting seamlessly to his every motion. He had become an extension of him, a simple layer of material between the man's skin and the outside world.

The warmth of the human body transferred to the fabric, more and more intensely as the effort increased. Sweat began to bead on the man’s skin, and Louis, now inanimate, absorbed it without hesitation. Each drop, each trace of perspiration soaked into him, the texture of the fabric imperceptibly changing with the contact. There was no discomfort, no resistance. Sweat was no longer an unpleasant sensation; it was part of his purpose. Each droplet slid over him, vanishing into the fibers designed for this exact task.

Louis moistened himself, and the man’s body heat enveloped it, oppressive but entirely functional. Louis felt every movement, every gesture. The bottom of the tracksuit, taut over the man’s legs, hugged each stride, each step. It remained in constant contact with his skin, absorbing the energy of every motion. It stretched, tightened, and moved with the fluidity of action. Louis felt useful, and in that feeling, he found fulfillment.

The man paused for a moment, and Louis silently registered the pressure of his hands on his thighs, fingers gently gripping the fabric. With every movement, the tracksuit responded without sound, smoothing, stretching, adapting.

When the man started to run, the sensation shifted again. The heat intensified, and sweat poured more freely, soaking into the fabric. As a tracksuit, Louis absorbed it all—the moisture, the warmth, ensuring that nothing irritated the man’s skin. He became a vessel for this perspiration, containing it, holding it within himself, all while remaining entirely at the man’s service. With every breath the man took, every movement that grew sharper and faster, Louis stretched a little further, perfectly conforming to the contours of this body with unwavering loyalty.

The heat, the sweat, the contact. This was all Louis knew now. He didn’t think about what he had become. He had no doubts, no regrets. All he felt was the constant presence of the man against him, a pressure he absorbed, a movement he followed, never ceasing. The sweat became his new texture, an organic extension of his existence. It weighed him down, bringing him closer to his purpose. He was made for this: to absorb, to hold, to endure. It wasn’t a burden; it was his role. A tracksuit that served, that helped, that allowed itself to be worn.

At the end of the day, the man, exhausted, returned home. Louis felt the transition, the return to stillness. The fabric relaxed slightly, settling into the man’s folds.

Louis was simply a garment, and in that simplicity, he found his reason for being. He was useful. He had a purpose. He was perfect in his new form, exactly as he was meant to be. Nothing more.

[b1xi]

───𝘊𝘜𝘗𝘐𝘋───ハイキュー!!

Tsukishima Kei(ハイキュー!!)x fem!reader

Word count:4009

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Anxiety clung to you throughout the day, manifesting in small, uncontrollable gestures. Your foot bounced nervously against the floor, setting an erratic rhythm, while you bit your lower lip every time your thoughts drifted to what Kimura might have discovered. The professor’s words felt distant, a background murmur unable to capture your attention. All your focus was on the clock, which seemed to move at a snail's pace.

Nayuta, sitting beside you, gave you an amused glance at some point, likely noticing your restlessness. "Relax, or you'll wear out the floor," she whispered with a sly smile, though she didn’t seem particularly concerned.

"That's easy for you to say," you murmured back, barely moving your lips. You knew Nayuta was used to dealing with situations that were unfamiliar to you; her confidence in Kimura was proof of that. But for you, having pinned your hopes on what seemed like rumors and gossip, the wait was unbearable.

When the bell finally rang to signal the end of classes, you almost jumped out of your seat. Nayuta, much calmer, gathered her things leisurely before looking at you. "Relax, Y/N. It's not a race," she joked as she adjusted her bag's strap.

"It is for me," you replied hurriedly, grabbing your backpack and heading for the door. Nayuta followed, chuckling under her breath.

"Y/N, come on!" Hinata called out enthusiastically as he took your arm, gently pulling you toward the gym. His energy seemed endless, as always.

"Shoyo, you go ahead. I'll catch up later," you replied with a conciliatory smile, stopping halfway down the hall. You raised your sheet music folder to show him. "I want to practice a bit today."

For a moment, Hinata looked disappointed; his shoulders dropped slightly. But true to his optimistic nature, he quickly recovered. "Oh... sure. Do you want me to let the coach know?" he asked with a mix of understanding and concern, making sure you didn’t need anything.

You shook your head gently. "No need. I'll tell him when I get there. Thanks, Shoyo."

"Alright, but don't take too long, okay?" He flashed you a bright smile before jogging down the hallway with his usual energy.

You walked with Nayuta by your side, her arm linked with yours as you made your way determinedly to the third floor. You stopped in front of a door with a sign that read Computer Lab. From inside, fragments of conversation, laughter, and murmurs filtered out, indicating that the club meeting was already in full swing.

"Welcome," Nayuta said lightly, opening the door with a casual gesture.

The interior was organized chaos, a reflection of the diversity of interests among the club members. Books were stacked on tables and scattered across the floor, some open and others balanced precariously. In one corner, three girls chatted cheerfully as they organized makeup products on an improvised rug. Their laughter contrasted with the two older boys sitting at a powered-off computer, clearly more interested in killing time than actively participating.

Your gaze inevitably drifted toward the center of the room, where Kimura was surrounded by a group of girls. They all held their phones, exchanging quick comments and soft laughter. Kimura seemed to dominate the scene with her characteristic confidence, her relaxed posture as she effortlessly conversed with the others.

Nayuta nudged you gently with her elbow, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Come on," she whispered.

You took a deep breath and followed your friend as the two of you crossed the room, navigating around books and people in your path. Kimura looked up at the sound of your footsteps, her blue eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and barely contained amusement.

"Finally, you're here," Kimura said, setting her phone aside and motioning vaguely to the two chairs in front of her. She leaned back elegantly on the table, her elbows resting on the surface and her fingers interlaced, as if about to seal an important deal.

You and Nayuta sat down in silence. Without wasting time, your dark-haired friend pulled out a gift bag bearing Dior’s unmistakable black-and-white logo. Kimura’s eyes sparkled with genuine enthusiasm at the sight, as if the bag held the answer to all her dreams. However, Nayuta dropped the bag onto the table with a casual gesture, quickly pulling it out of Kimura’s reach before the blonde could lay a hand on it.

"Talk first," Nayuta ordered firmly, her gaze making it clear she wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense.

Kimura sighed theatrically, as if humoring you both reluctantly. Then she cast a meaningful glance at her nearby friends, who immediately got the message and stepped away, leaving the three of you with more privacy. Once the noise in the room faded to distant murmurs, Kimura leaned forward, a conspiratorial expression spreading across her face.

"Alright," she began, twirling a strand of her blonde hair, "it was a bit tricky, but I got it."

You made an effort to maintain your composure, though your hands betrayed your nerves as they gripped the edges of your skirt. Nayuta, on the other hand, remained unfazed, her expression expectant.

"Tsukishima Kei," she pronounced the name with deliberate pause, "does not have a girlfriend." Her words landed as a small relief, but her tone suggested there was more to it.

"That's it?" Nayuta asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly expecting something more substantial.

"That’s all I can confirm," Kimura clarified with a shrug. "The guy is... unusually private. He doesn’t talk much about his personal life, not even with his closest circle. I could swear I’ve never seen him show interest in anyone here, but if he ever had a girlfriend, it wouldn’t be easy to find out.”

A brief silence followed her words as you tried to process the mix of relief and frustration. It was an answer, but not a definitive one.

"So, in summary, he's single, but there's no way to know if he’s had something going on before," Nayuta summed up, turning toward you. "That’s something, isn’t it?"

Kimura smirked, clearly satisfied. "That’s all you’re getting from me, girls. Now, my reward." She extended her hand, her eyes gleaming, and Nayuta, after a few seconds of deliberation, finally slid the bag over to her with a resigned air.

"A deal’s a deal," Nayuta muttered as Kimura inspected the contents with obvious enthusiasm.

With nothing left to discuss, the two of you stood and left the room. Nayuta closed the door behind her with a soft click, and before she could take another step, you bowed deeply, your arms stiff at your sides and your forehead almost touching the floor.

"Nayuta, thank you," you exclaimed sincerely, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I promise I'll pay you back for what you spent on that perfume."

Nayuta's soft laughter broke the solemn moment. "Enough of that," she said as she stepped closer and placed a light hand on your shoulder, guiding you to straighten up. Once you stood upright, her warm and friendly eyes met yours.

You stayed silent for a moment, biting your lip as you tried to process her words. Nayuta was direct and, at times, blunt, but in moments like this, her genuine support left you speechless.

"Honestly, Yuyu, I don’t know what I’d do without you," you admitted finally, allowing yourself a small smile.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you either," Nayuta replied with a rare touch of sweetness before shrugging with her usual carefree disdain. "Well, at least we know he doesn’t have a girlfriend. That’s a start."

She turned to open the door to the computer lab again, throwing you one last look filled with complicity. "See you tomorrow. Go practice for now and leave the next move to me. I’ll come up with something soon."

You nodded, no further words needed. Her confidence was contagious, and while you still felt a trace of nervousness, you now had a clear direction.

You made your way to the music room, where the calm of the afternoon enveloped you. You practiced for an hour, focused on perfecting the piece you would perform for the auditions. Your fingers moved confidently across the keys, tracing each note with precision as you lost yourself in the music. For a while, everything else faded away: the rumors, the worries, even the uncertainty that had accompanied you all day. It was just you and the music, a world where you had full control.

You nodded, no more words needed. Her confidence was contagious, and while you still felt a slight nervousness, you now had a clear direction.

You headed to the music room, where the calm of the afternoon wrapped around you. You practiced for an hour, focused on perfecting the piece you would present on audition day. Your fingers moved confidently over the keys, tracing each note with precision as you lost yourself in the music. For a while, everything else disappeared: the rumors, the worries, even the uncertainty that had followed you all day. It was just you and the music, a world where you had full control.

When you felt you had mastered the most challenging sections, you let the final chord resonate in the empty room before carefully closing the piano lid. You gathered your things efficiently and hurried to the girls' bathroom.

You changed quickly, carefully folding your school uniform before putting on the black sports outfit of the team. The lightweight, comfortable fabric prepared you. As you tied the laces of your sneakers, you took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror.

When you arrived at the gym, the familiar atmosphere enveloped you: the echo of bouncing balls, the voices of the players, and the squeak of sneakers against the floor. You greeted the coach with a brief nod as he focused on correcting the posture of one of the blockers, then headed to the table where you usually organized the materials.

You checked the stopwatch to ensure it was working correctly, then inspected the water bottles, carefully lining them up on the table so all the players could grab one during breaks. As you worked, you heard a conversation on the other side of the court, interrupted by the unmistakable tone of Tsukishima's voice.

"Finally here? Wasting time, were you?"

Your hands kept moving, arranging the last bottles on the table, even as you felt Tsukishima's shadow looming behind you. Your brow furrowed instinctively at his remark, but you took a deep breath before turning slowly to face him. His tall figure and relaxed stance, with his arms crossed, forced you to look up to meet his gaze behind those glasses.

"I wasn’t wasting time," you replied calmly, mimicking his indifferent tone while holding his gaze without blinking. "I was practicing—something productive, you see?"

He raised an eyebrow and clicked his tongue, leaning slightly toward you as if trying to intimidate you. "Practicing? Funny, because when I went to the music room, you weren’t there. Aren’t you supposed to be so dedicated?"

A slow, almost mocking smile spread across your lips as you leaned casually against the table. "You went looking for me?" you asked, drawing out the words as if the idea amused you. "How flattering, Tsukishima. I didn’t know you were so concerned about my whereabouts."

The blond straightened immediately, his expression barely shifting, but the faint blush at the base of his ears confirmed you’d hit the mark. “Don’t make me laugh,” he replied in his usual biting tone, adjusting his glasses. “I just happened to pass by. I’m not as idle as you.”

“Sure, just a coincidence,” you countered with feigned innocence, turning back to the table to rearrange an already perfectly aligned bottle. “It must be hard for you to admit you notice my absence. Don’t worry, I don’t blame you. Sometimes, I’m hard to ignore.”

You could feel his gaze fixed on the back of your neck as you maintained a neutral expression, the air between you charged with that sharp sarcasm that seemed to be his favorite way of communicating.

“You know, for someone so short, you’ve got a massive ego,” he finally muttered before turning on his heel and walking toward the court, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the gym.

You suppressed a triumphant smile as you watched him walk away, Tsukishima’s words still lingering in your mind. There was something almost twistedly amusing about these interactions, like an unspoken game where both of you tested your wits. Maybe, you thought, Tsukishima was one of those guys who responded best when treated with the same indifference and sarcasm he so often dished out.

The idea left you pondering for a moment. Perhaps, in his own peculiar way, his sharp comments were his version of trying to get your attention. Of course, it wasn’t something you could confirm with certainty, but you weren’t about to ignore the possibility either. Still, you had no intention of sitting around like a fool waiting for clearer signs. If he wanted to keep up this push-and-pull dynamic, you were more than willing to play along. But only to a certain point.

"If he doesn’t make a move, then I’ll stop," you thought, adjusting one of the bottles he had knocked out of place on his way out. You weren’t willing to seem needy or lose your dignity over someone like Tsukishima, no matter how much, deep down, you liked him more than you wanted to admit.

The sound of the coach’s whistle snapped you out of your thoughts, and you quickly grabbed the stopwatch, heading toward the court. The players were already starting their drills, and you had work to do. However, as you went over the training stats and made sure everything was in order, you felt a gaze on you.

You instinctively looked up, and there he was—Tsukishima—pretending his focus was entirely on the drills. But the slight turn of his head and the barely perceptible shift of his eyes in your direction gave him away.

You stuck your tongue out at him in a quick, playful gesture, making sure he saw it clearly. Tsukishima didn’t take long to react. His eyes narrowed briefly, and an exasperated sigh escaped his lips.

He turned back to face the court, now wearing an expression of barely concealed annoyance. The gesture was so typical of him that it almost made you laugh out loud.

As the day wound down and you prepared to head home, you made sure to help with the last few tasks. You gathered the scattered balls across the court and placed them meticulously in their designated spots.

“Y/N.”

The soft, delicate voice of Kiyoko caught you off guard. You turned to find the manager, her dark hair perfectly styled and her blue eyes avoiding yours with a shyness that was as characteristic as it was endearing.

“Yes?” You set the ball in your hands down and gave her your full attention, trying to interpret the slight unease in her expression.

“I… wanted to ask for your help with something.” Her voice trailed off at the end of the sentence, and she avoided looking directly at you, fidgeting with the sleeves of her jacket. Your mind immediately drifted to not-so-distant memories of her last request, which had landed you in a slightly embarrassing situation. Internally, you prayed this wasn’t something similar, but your curiosity won out over your nervousness.

“Of course, tell me,” you replied with a calm smile, though your eyes carefully studied her every movement, waiting for her words to clear up your doubts.

Kiyoko took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to speak was a challenge in itself. Finally, her blue eyes met yours.

“I need you to come with me… to buy something for the team,” she admitted softly, her tone almost apologetic for the interruption.

“Sure, no problem,” you answered without hesitation, offering her a reassuring smile. “Just give me a minute to grab my things.”

You quickly headed to where you had left your bag, making sure not to keep her waiting too long. As you slipped on your jacket and double-checked that you hadn’t forgotten anything important, you noticed Kiyoko standing nearby.

When you returned to her side, you gestured for the two of you to leave the gym. “What exactly do we need to get?” you asked, trying to break the silence that had settled between you.

Kiyoko glanced up, her delicate features lit with a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I was thinking of ordering a banner for the team,” she said, a slight smile appearing on her face. “It’ll be black, with white letters, and I want it to say: ‘Fly.’ What do you think?”

You paused for a moment, reflecting on the idea. It was simple, direct, and motivating, but also carried a lot of meaning for the team. "I like it," you replied firmly, giving your approval. "It’s the perfect message for them—short but powerful. It matches the energy they bring to the game.”

Kiyoko nodded, clearly relieved by your support. “I thought something too long wouldn’t catch their attention, but I wanted it to have an impact. I want them to see it before every game and remember they have what it takes to reach higher.”

You smiled, impressed by the level of thought she had put into something seemingly so simple. “Do you already know where you’ll have it made? If not, I can help you find a place.”

“Yes, I think there’s a place downtown that does this kind of work,” Kiyoko explained as the two of you walked toward the subway station.

You took out your phone and quickly typed a message to your mom, letting her know you’d be home late. You didn’t want her to worry unnecessarily, and you knew she’d understand that you were helping with something for the team.

The subway ride was quiet, though the silence between you two was palpable. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t particularly lively either. Kiyoko seemed focused, mentally going over the details of the banner as she looked at her phone. Meanwhile, you watched the train’s movements and the flickering lights through the windows, letting the gentle swaying of the car fill the space between you.

When you arrived downtown, Kiyoko took the lead, confidently guiding you to a small shop specializing in custom prints and designs. The place was filled with samples of work displayed on the walls, from sports jerseys to banners of all kinds.

“I want it to look professional but simple,” Kiyoko explained to the clerk, who was jotting down notes as she spoke. “A black background with white letters and the message ‘Fly’ in an elegant yet eye-catching style.”

You nodded subtly from where you stood, pleased to see her handling everything with such precision. Although you weren’t directly involved in the decisions, you felt your presence gave her the confidence to express herself clearly.

“Would you like to add the team’s name or logo?” the clerk asked, and you noticed Kiyoko hesitate for a moment before turning to you.

“What do you think?” she asked, seeking your opinion.

“I think just the message will be enough,” you replied after a moment of thought.

Kiyoko nodded, grateful for your input. “Alright, just the message then.”

The clerk promised to have the design ready in a few days, and Kiyoko thanked him for his time before you both left the shop. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in warm hues that contrasted with the bustling city around you.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Kiyoko said softly, giving you a faint smile as you walked back toward the subway.

“It was my pleasure,” you replied sincerely. “I think the team will be thrilled when they see the banner. It’s such a thoughtful gesture from you.”

The manager nodded but didn’t respond right away. She seemed deep in thought, perhaps imagining how the boys would react to her effort. Her slight pause made you stop walking as well, until she finally spoke, her smile just barely visible.

“What do you think about getting some ice cream?” she suggested, her voice calm but carrying a surprising warmth that caught you off guard.

“Really? Ice cream? Kiyoko-senpai, you’re the best!” you exclaimed, your excitement spilling over as you gave a few small jumps of joy and eagerly followed her.

“Yes, really,” she confirmed with a soft laugh at your reaction, though she quickly added, “My treat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you protested, though it was clear you had no intention of refusing the offer.

The walk to the ice cream shop felt lighter, the atmosphere filled with a mix of city sounds and the occasional quiet chatter between the two of you about the team’s practices or future plans. When you arrived at the small but cozy shop tucked into a quiet corner, the sweet and refreshing scent of ice cream greeted you.

“Pick whatever you like,” Kiyoko said, giving your shoulder a gentle pat as she stepped up to check out the flavors on display.

You moved closer, eyeing the wide variety of options. “Are you sure I can pick anything? This could be a dangerous decision,” you joked, shooting her a playful look.

“I trust you won’t blow my budget,” she replied, with a touch of sarcasm that wasn’t common for her but made you laugh.

Finally, you settled on a two-flavor ice cream, something classic yet delicious. Kiyoko chose something simpler, reflecting her understated style. The two of you took a seat at a table by the window, where you could watch people passing by.

“Thanks for this,” you said after a moment, savoring a spoonful of your ice cream. “I really needed it.”

Kiyoko looked at you, her expression calm but with a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. “I think we both needed this.”

You nodded, letting the quiet comfort of the moment settle between you. And as you shared the ice cream, you felt your bond with Kiyoko grow stronger—not just as teammates, but as true friends.

You had never felt as much pressure as you did in those days. Tomorrow was the highly anticipated interschool games, and in just four days, you had the audition you had been preparing for so diligently. The constant demands of dividing your time between team practices, piano sessions, and the endless pile of schoolwork had you on the brink of exhaustion. You could barely find moments to relax or even take a calm breath.

“Go home and get some rest early,” Coach Ukai ordered in his firm tone, his voice echoing against the gym walls.

“Yes!” the boys responded in unison, their energetic voices momentarily drowning out your fatigue.

You absentmindedly played with the Pochacco keychain hanging from your bag, a nearly automatic gesture in an attempt to dispel the weariness and tedium that had built up.

“Oh, wait, one more thing,” announced Takeda-sensei, his voice bringing silence and attention back to the center of the court.

Everyone stopped in their tracks, turning to hear what he had to say. Takeda looked toward Kiyoko, who stood beside him with her head slightly tilted as if trying to hide her nervousness.

“Shimizu-san,” the teacher called gently, prompting the black-haired girl to slowly lift her gaze.

The manager took a deep breath, as though she were gathering all the courage she could muster. “I know I’m not very good at cheering…” she began, her voice barely a whisper at first. Then, she seemed to make a sudden decision. She walked with determined steps toward the bleachers, climbing the stairs with Takeda close behind to support her.

From where you stood, you could see the players exchanging surprised looks.

After a few moments of expectant tension, Takeda-sensei and Kiyoko began to unfurl the black banner. The white letters in the center formed a single word: "Fly." It was both an instruction and a form of encouragement that seemed to fill the space with symbolic weight. The design was simple, but its visual impact immediately captured everyone’s attention.

Silence lingered as the players’ eyes scanned the message, and it was Kiyoko who broke it. Lowering her head slightly, with her cheeks faintly tinted red, she murmured, “Just… do your best.” Her voice, though barely audible, carried a sincerity that resonated deeply.

For a few seconds, the gym remained in a reverent hush until excited shouts and exclamations broke the spell.

“Kiyoko, no one’s ever said something like this to us before!” Daichi exclaimed, raising an arm to his face in a dramatic gesture as he tried to hide the tears that had started to well up. Around him, the others echoed his sentiment with endless words of gratitude.

The newer members of the team watched the scene unfold, not fully understanding the magnitude of what was happening. They had heard stories about Tanaka and Nishinoya’s devotion to Kiyoko, but seeing them completely silent, staring at the banner with almost reverential admiration, was something else entirely.

“Wow, they’re speechless,” Tsukishima commented from the side, his tone laden with his usual sarcasm. His gaze lingered for a moment on Tanaka and Nishinoya, who appeared frozen in place, staring at the banner’s message. “And that’s saying something—they never shut up,” he added, prompting a laugh from Yamaguchi.

Despite the remark, the intensity of the atmosphere remained. The players continued exchanging words of encouragement, feeding off the emotion of the moment. It was as if Kiyoko’s gesture had ignited a spark within the team, a renewed energy that seemed to transform the air in the gym.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Hinata urged, waiting eagerly by his bike at the front of your house. The redhead had offered to give you a ride to school that morning.

A light morning breeze brushed your face as you put your keys in your bag, trying to stifle a yawn. “Honestly, I should ban you from coming to my house this early,” you grumbled, adjusting your bag strap and walking toward him with reluctant resignation.

Hinata grinned enthusiastically, completely ignoring your complaint. “Hurry up and hop on!” he insisted, patting the back seat of the bike to indicate where you should sit.

You eyed him skeptically, crossing your arms. “Are you sure you can handle both our weights?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course, I can! I’m stronger than I look,” he replied with a wide grin, puffing out his chest as if to prove it was no problem at all.

You sighed, still hesitant, but finally gave in. “If we fall, I swear I’ll never forgive you,” you muttered, carefully climbing onto the back seat while he held the handlebars firmly.

“Trust me, nothing will happen!” he assured you, though the initial wobble when he started pedaling didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Despite that, he quickly managed to stabilize, and the bike glided smoothly along the quiet morning streets.

The morning breeze grew stronger as you moved, ruffling your hair and carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of a sunny day. Despite your initial doubts, you began to relax, enjoying the steady rhythm of the pedals and Hinata’s boundless energy.

“This isn’t so bad,” you admitted after a while, watching the scenery blur past you.

“See? I knew you’d like it,” Hinata replied, turning his head slightly to flash you a grin full of his usual enthusiasm.

“Awesome, we’re the first ones here!” he exclaimed jubilantly as he reached the front of the school and noticed the gym area was still empty.

You hopped off the bike, smoothing out your clothes and watching with a small smile as Hinata rushed to park his bike. Without wasting any time, you followed him toward the clubroom.

The peaceful morning was abruptly interrupted when Kageyama sprinted past the two of you, his usual focused expression and the rhythmic sound of his footsteps echoing around.

“Ah, Kageyama, you idiot!” Hinata exclaimed, startled as he was overtaken so suddenly. The redhead nearly lost his balance before reacting, picking up his pace to chase after him.

“Idiots,” you muttered to yourself, your tone a mix of frustration and amusement. It wasn’t the first time you’d witnessed one of their spontaneous clashes, and you doubted it would be the last. Despite their constant disagreements, deep down, you knew they complemented each other more than they cared to admit.

You decided to follow them at a more relaxed pace, listening to their voices echo down the hallway, mixed with the sound of their hurried footsteps. As you walked, you wondered if they would ever stop competing over everything... but deep down, you knew it was one of the dynamics that made the team special.

[harryinramshackle]

Okay, fine, have some inky ribbons fankids

Dividers

They're canon in the story just...yknow have no imact in the present since they don't exist LMAO

Tones of yapping undercut 👍 they've been living in my head for months

📖 Grigorios “Gris” Enspellika Ashengrotto

Basics:

Birthday: December 27th (Capricorn) Age: 9 / 19 years old Height: 150 / 177 cm Dominant Hand: Right Ethnicity: Mixed (Greek-Italian-Cuban) Species: Human/Octo-mer hybrid

Personal:

Favourite Subject: History Hobbies: Collecting Seashells Pet Peeves: Vagueness Favourite Food: Risotto Least Favourite Food: Vaca Frita Talent: Authorship

Description:

Quiet, aloof and usually found with his nose stuck in a book, Gris takes after his dad's limitless curiosity and diligence, as well as his mom's rebellious and artistic nature. He often reads about the History of Twisted Wonderland, about Fae, Beastmen, Merfolk, and Humans as a whole. Although he appears to be very mature, Gris is extremely shy and keeps his curiosity to himself, not daring to ask questions because he doesn’t want to be a bother, even to his parents. But when Lila came along, she began being the one asking the questions for him while holding his hand as he remained silent, almost like his personal translator of his silence. Although he appears to be calm, especially compared to his sister, he’s way more emotional. As soon as something sets him off and starts crying, it’s extremely difficult to calm him down. Along with this emotional side comes a boundless love for everyone in his family, despite having a hard time showing it due to his bashfulness. As he grew up, he realised he wasn't interested in enrolling into a magical academy. Instead, he went to live with his grandmother in Jovie's Homeland to study traditional witchcraft. This decision was a difficult one to process, especially for Jovie— as she was scared of not seeing her son every day. But after remembering how she felt a similar need for independence at his age, she agreed to let him go.

💎 Liliana “Lila” Enspellika Ashengrotto

Basics:

Birthday: June 13th (Gemini) Age: 6 / 16 years old Height: 128 / 161 cm Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous Ethnicity: Mixed (Greek-Italian-Cuban) Species: Human/Octo-mer hybrid

Personal:

Favourite Subject: Economics Hobbies: Shopping Pet Peeves: Being Ignored Favourite Food: Baklava Least Favourite Food: Unseasoned foods Talent: Event Planning

Description:

In contrast to her older brother, Lila can be found playing around outside and causing chaos. She inherits her mother's boldness and adventurous spirit, combined with her father's analytical essence and business interests. She thrives from being the centre of attention and has no problem making her presence known, gaining the spotlight wherever she goes. She has a knack for exploring coves, inlets, and even underwater caves, which often results in her parents losing sight of her and having to bring her back, which continued even as she grew up. Mischievous and a bit bratty. Lila loves causing trouble, especially by teasing her brother and giving attitude to her parents, particularly her mom. Despite all that, her heart is full of compassion for her loved ones, and she always tries her best to help anyone in need. Lila, from a young age, wanted to be a business person just like her father. She began with selling lemonade outside her school (and, to her parents' horror, already mirroring a lot of Azul's business tactics from his days at NRC). Despite being his daughter, Azul made it clear that he'll only leave his business to her only if she proves she's fully capable of taking over— which resulted in her hyperfocusing on her studies, improving her business skills, and even seeking experience from working under Azul.

Trivia!!! (it got a bit long oops)

📖💎 “Grigorios” is a Greek name that means “watchful or vigilant”, his nickname “Gris” means “grey” in Spanish. “Liliana” is a name commonly found in Italy that means "lily/pure/"innocent", her nickname “Lila” means “lilac” in Spanish.

🐙🎀 Originally, the couple was unsure whether to have kids, especially considering Jovie’s and fears regarding childbirth/parenthood. After enough discussion and communication, Jovie grew brave and decided to go for it.

📖💎 Both siblings grew to need glasses as they aged like Azul when on the surface, as their vision changed during pubertiy to the one of an octo-mer. Lila prefers wearing contacts.

💎📖🐙🎀 Lila inherented her grandma's liliac-ish hair colour, and with Gris inherenting Azul's grey hair, obviously none of the kids developed hair colours from Jovie's side. Although Lila's hair texture is more similar to Jovie's, with her curling her side hair instead of it being natural.

📖🐙 Despite receiving an invitation from Night Raven College, Gris refused to go. This brought up some tension between him and Azul since his father felt like Gris wasn't taking his potential seriously without pursuing a greater education.

📖💎 As adults, Gris prefers Jovie's surname, while Lila Azul's.

📖 Little Gris used to feel uneasy underwater if his dad wasn't with him, so he often stayed on the surface as a human. He got more comfortable with swimming as he got older, but he still doesn’t do it regularly.

📖💎 Lila’s favourite is Azul, while Gris’ favourite is Jovie. Despite that, they both desire the attention and validation of both parents.

📖🐙 Physically, Gris looks a lot like his dad, even more so once he gets his glasses. Jovie likes to joke she and Azul just “copy-pasted” Azul’s appearance onto Gris.

📖🐙🎀 Gris had always had a very deadpan, if a bit uncanny, default expression. Azul and Jovie can recall multiple times suddenly seeing him in front of them in the house and getting startled, especially in the dark.

🐙🎀 After getting married, Jovie and Azul get a house besides the sea in Sunshine Land where Jovie was born (before her mother moved them back to Wicked Grove). It also made it easier for Azul's family to visit.

🐙 When each child was born, Azul’s parents rushed to get transformation potions so they could visit to meet them on the surface, since they wanted Jovie to rest but were also eager to meet their grandkids.

🐙📖💎 Azul tried to develop an interest in business into Gris but gave up once he saw his son was more interested in arts. In contrast, Lila wanted to learn about business from her dad from a young age.

🐙📖💎 Since Azul possess incredible strength, he's often found with his kid holding onto him as he carries them, whether it’s his arms or tentacles. They especially cling to him once he finally has enough free time to spend with them.

🐙📖💎 To make his work sound less boring, Azul would tell his kids he grants wishes to people for a living (while he’s just making deals and trying to expand his business), though only Lila seemed to have believed him.

🎀📖💎 Both kids enjoyed watching the movies their mom is in. Lila excitedly pointed out how pretty she is while Gris quietly watched with intense interest.

💎🐙 Though both are incredibly hardworking, Lila is infinitely more stubborn, enough to teach herself to be ambidextrous. Her stubbornness scares Azul a bit, as he doesn’t want his daughter to be a workaholic like him.

📖💎 Once, when they were kids, Lila suggested to Gris that they should start selling his sea shell collection to other kids, believing it would make them money. Obviously, Gris refused, since his collection means a lot to him.

💎 Lila is quite the foodie and ended up inheriting her dad’s strong tastebuds. Gris, on the other hand, would have no problem if he only ate white rice every day.

💎 Lila is a huge fan of Vil, and part of her allowance goes to official merch and make-up. She, admittedly, has a celebrity crush on him as well. She freaked out when her parents told her they knew him from NRC as teens.

🍄🦈📖💎 The twins are also very close to the kids, taking the roles of “uncles” to them. When both Azul and Jovie had way too much work the twins would look after the kids. This usually ended up with very mixed results...

🍄🦈📖💎 Lila preferred Jade since to her, he seemed very helpful and polite. On the other hand, Gris could see through his facade and see the freak he truly is. Floyd and Gris grew closer from low-key shit-talking Jade.

tagging: @ramshacklerumble @thehollowwriter @summerspook @scint1llat3 @skriblee-ksk

@cyanide-latte @twistedwonderlandshenanigans (lmk/dm if you wanna be added)

[domm1etae]

Exploring the Edge

yunho x mingi

smut | mdni

3.4k

when alpha Mingi's unexpected reaction to a beta's touch leads to a desperate search for answers, he turns to his best friend for help

nsfw tags under

alphaxalpha, m/m, top yunho, bottom mingi, non traditional abo, friends to lovers (kinda), anal sex, fingering, manhandling, unprotected sex, wall sex, semi public sex, dirty talk

“Hey!” Mingi’s voice cut through the bustling campus, causing Yunho to glance up from his phone. Mingi moved with purpose, weaving through the crowd to catch Yunho’s attention. When they were finally face to face, Mingi grabbed Yunho’s arm and guided him toward a secluded corner by the library. The noise of the campus faded into the background as they entered their private space.

“What’s up?” Yunho asked, a curious look crossing his face. “You’re not your usual chipper self. Usually, it's 'hi, how’s it going?' and then we just hang out.”

“Hi,” Mingi replied, leaning against the wall with a sigh that carried more weight than usual. “How’s it going?”

“Actually, it’s been pretty good,” Yunho said with a smile. “I only have one class today, and I was thinking of checking out this new puppy café. They have a husky there. Want to join?”

Mingi tried to stifle a smile at Yunho’s earnest enthusiasm. “Of course, I want to come. But there’s something I need to tell you first. I hooked up with Jiwoo last week.”

Yunho raised an eyebrow, his casual demeanor suggesting indifference. “Congrats? You hook up with someone like every other week.”

“This time was different!” Mingi’s voice dropped to a whisper, his eyes darting around to ensure their privacy. He pulled Yunho even closer into the shadowy corner. “She did something unexpected.”

Yunho’s interest was piqued. “What happened?”

Mingi hesitated, his face flushing as he struggled to find the right words. “She… fingered me.”

“Wait, what?” Yunho’s confusion was evident as he tried to grasp the situation. “Are you saying she did something weird with her hands?”

“No, not like that!” Mingi groaned, his face burning with embarrassment. “She fingered my ass.”

Yunho’s eyes widened in shock. He almost choked on his coffee, quickly setting the cup aside as he looked at Mingi with a mix of disbelief and concern. “She WHAT?”

“Shh!” Mingi’s panic was palpable as he looked around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Yunho, sensing Mingi’s distress, grabbed his wrist and led him toward the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door and checked under the stalls to make sure they were alone. Returning to Mingi, he looked at him with an incredulous expression. “Alright, explain what you just said.”

Mingi crossed his arms, clearly mortified. “I’m not repeating it.”

“Come on, you have to tell me!” Yunho urged, leaning against the sink. “I need to understand what happened.”

Mingi took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. “Okay, fine. She was on top, doing her thing, and then, out of nowhere, she just slipped a finger in. I didn’t expect her to be so bold, especially since she’s a beta.”

Yunho absorbed this information, his curiosity intensifying. “So… did it actually feel good?”

Mingi’s face turned an even deeper shade of red as he tried to hide his embarrassment by covering his ears. His silence spoke volumes.

“It was… okay, I guess,” Mingi admitted hesitantly.

“Just ‘okay’? Really?” Yunho gave him a skeptical look. “We’re always honest with each other. Stop being so evasive and just tell me the whole truth.”

Mingi let out a frustrated sigh, his gaze darting around as if hoping to escape the conversation. “It’s more complicated than that. Maybe I actually liked it, and now I’m panicking because what if this means I’m into that kind of thing?”

Yunho frowned, clearly confused. “Wait, what? You’re being so vague. Just say it plainly.”

“Use your brain, Yunho! What if I enjoy being on the receiving end, or what if this means I’m actually an omega or something?” Mingi blurted out, his distress evident.

Yunho took a moment to think before responding thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s that straightforward. Two alphas can experiment with different things; it doesn’t mean one of them has to be an omega. It’s just part of figuring out your preferences, right?”

“I know, I know,” Mingi replied, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “But… there’s something else I haven’t told you.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “I was… leaking.”

Yunho’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, are you serious?”

Mingi nodded, clearly uncomfortable. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure what was happening at first, but it was definitely going on. And now I’m just overthinking everything.”

“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions,” Yunho said, trying to remain calm. “Just because you were leaking doesn’t automatically mean you’re an omega. Bodies can be unpredictable. It might be a one-time thing, or it could be something you’re discovering about yourself. It doesn’t change who you are.”

Mingi sighed heavily. “Yeah, but I did it to myself again after she left, just to see if it was really me or if she was influencing it. And it happened again.”

“So, you were experimenting on yourself after she was gone?” Yunho’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Some alpha you are.”

Mingi shot him a glare but couldn’t help a small smile. “So, what does this mean? Am I suddenly an omega? Am I going to go into heat or something?”

Yunho chuckled, shaking his head. “Shut up. This is all so awkward. If you’re really curious about it, why don’t you just… explore?”

Mingi’s face turned bright red. “What?!”

“Go. Get. Fucked,” Yunho said casually with a shrug. “See if you like it or not.”

“Who’s even going to want to do that with me?” Mingi asked, looking dejected. “There aren’t exactly a lot of alphas interested in that.”

Yunho smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I would.”

Mingi’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Don’t joke around.”

“I’m serious,” Yunho said, leaning in closer with a grin. “Why not? I’d be happy to help you figure it out.”

“You’d actually be willing to—” Mingi began, but his voice trailed off, caught off guard by Yunho’s proposition.

“Yeah, I’d be up for it,” Yunho said confidently. “We could both explore something new together. It’s entirely your choice.”

Mingi hesitated, clearly conflicted. “We don’t even know how that would work out. Are you sure I wouldn’t end up disappointing you?”

“Disappoint me?” Yunho’s grin widened. “You think that’s a concern? I’m not worried about that. I can handle whatever comes our way.”

“Really?” Mingi scoffed, still skeptical. “You think you can handle me? Are you confident you’d be able to keep up?”

“Oh, please,” Yunho said with a smirk. “A beta managed it, and you don’t think I could have you pinned underneath me, begging for my knot?”

Mingi’s eyes narrowed, a challenge evident in his gaze. “I’d like to see you try. I work out a lot more than you do. If anything, I’d have you pinned—”

Before Mingi could finish his sentence, Yunho abruptly pushed him against the bathroom wall, his hands gripping Mingi’s shoulders firmly. Mingi’s eyes widened in shock as Yunho’s nails dug into his skin, his expression a mix of determination and excitement.

“Care to test that theory?” Yunho’s voice was low and teasing as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against Mingi’s neck.

Mingi went utterly silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. The air between them was thick with tension, charged with unspoken desires. Mingi’s scent intensified, an unfamiliar aroma that seemed to draw Yunho in.

“Are you—”

“Shut up, don’t say anything,” Mingi muttered, his voice barely audible as he noticed Yunho’s eyes wandering down to his legs. The slick seeping down his thighs made Mingi squeeze his legs together, his face flushing deeper with embarrassment.

“Fuck, you reek of omega,” Yunho said, burying his nose against Mingi’s neck. The scent was almost intoxicating, overwhelming Yunho’s senses. “You’re drenched in slick, aren’t you?”

“I told you not to say anything,” Mingi groaned, desperate to hide his flushed cheeks. “But I’m not asking for your knot, just help me out a bit.”

“Is that how you’re asking?” Yunho’s lips curled into a teasing grin as his fingers lightly traced the waistband of Mingi’s pants.

“Come on, don’t be a jerk about it.”

“If you want help, I’ll treat you just like I treat my omegas,” Yunho said smoothly, his tone a mix of playful and serious.

“I’m not one of your fucking omegas,” Mingi shot back, eyes narrowing with frustration. “Are you just scared you don’t know how to handle an alpha properly?”

“I see what you’re trying to do,” Yunho said, his voice taking on a sharper edge.

“What am I trying to do? You’re the one who claimed you could handle me, and from where I’m standing, I don’t see any evidence to back that up," Yunho retorted, his gaze challenging.

Mingi swallowed hard, feeling the tension crackle between them. The air was charged with a mix of anticipation and nervous energy as they stood there, the heat of their conversation echoing their unspoken desires.

“You really enjoy pushing boundaries, don’t you?” Yunho’s voice was a seductive whisper as he slid his hand down Mingi’s jeans, his fingers making contact with the slick that had accumulated. The touch was deliberate and measured, teasing Mingi’s rim with a slow, tantalizing pressure.

Mingi struggled to maintain his composure, his mind a tumult of conflicting emotions. The sensation of Yunho’s long, slender fingers stretching him was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn’t merely a physical touch; it was an exploration of sensations that went beyond his previous encounters. The contrast between Yunho’s touch and Jiwoo’s previous attempts was stark. Yunho’s touch was confident and commanding, stirring a deep, primal need within him.

He averted his gaze, focusing instead on the wall beside him. Yunho’s fingers were working their way inside him with a precision that was almost maddening. Each stroke, each subtle shift, sent waves of pleasure mixed with frustration through him. It was an experience that was both overwhelming and electrifying, a departure from the predictable routine of his own hand or Jiwoo’s gentle touch.

Yunho wasn’t just touching him; he was drawing out Mingi’s reactions, deliberately pushing him to the edge. When Yunho pulled his fingers out, Mingi felt an intense mix of relief and yearning. The slick, glistening on Yunho’s fingers and dripping down his arm, was a stark reminder of how much he craved more.

Yunho’s next move was deliberate and commanding. He shifted Mingi’s hand away from his mouth, pinning it to the wall beside his head. “I want to hear you,” Yunho’s command was firm, almost possessive.

Mingi’s mind was a storm of thoughts. The mere act of having his hand restrained, coupled with Yunho’s touch, heightened his awareness of every sensation. He tried to control his reactions, but his body betrayed him with every touch, every flicker of Yunho’s fingers. It was humiliating and exhilarating in equal measure. He could hardly stand the thought of begging, yet the way Yunho’s fingers moved inside him was pushing him closer to that very edge.

“Just… shut up,” Mingi groaned, his head falling back as Yunho’s fingers delved deeper. The feeling was both agonizing and ecstatic, Yunho’s fingers reaching deep inside, stretching him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The aggressive pull-out was a tease, leaving him wanting more. Mingi’s senses were heightened; he could feel the slick leaking down his thighs, the unmistakable proof of his desire. The sight of it dripping down Yunho’s elbow was both humiliating and intensely arousing.

In a moment of desperation, Mingi grabbed Yunho’s hand, pushing it back into his jeans. His mind was a jumble of pride and need. He had sworn he wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t give in to his vulnerability, but the smug, knowing look on Yunho’s face was testing his resolve.

Yunho’s voice was both taunting and inviting. “Is that how desperate you are?” His fingers slid in with a practiced ease, plunging into the slick-filled cavity of Mingi’s body. Mingi hissed at the sensation, the addition of another finger pushing him to new heights of pleasure. It was a perfect balance of fullness, and his body craved even more.

Mingi’s gaze fell to Yunho’s other hand, which moved rhythmically in his pants. The sight was captivating. “Show me,” Mingi managed to murmur, his voice quivering with both anticipation and anxiety. “Let me see your cock.”

Yunho’s reaction was immediate. He pulled his hand out, revealing his erect member. The sight was almost overwhelming, and Mingi found himself licking his lips involuntarily. The idea of getting down on his knees was foreign to him, but the thought of tasting Yunho’s cock was an intoxicating temptation he couldn’t ignore.

He had never needed something as much as he needed Yunho right now. The mere thought of Yunho’s cock filling him, pushing him to the limits, was enough to send his mind into a whirlwind of fantasies. The physical roughness Yunho displayed only intensified his desire. He was certain he could handle it, even if it meant begging for it, a paradox that intrigued and maddened him.

“Alpha,” Mingi panted, the word slipping from his lips before he had fully processed it. His mind was still tangled in a haze of desire and imagination. The sudden realization of what he had said hit him hard.

Yunho’s grip on Mingi’s jaw was firm yet gentle, his eyes locked onto Mingi’s with an intensity that made him shiver. “Say it again,” Yunho’s voice was a heated whisper, his breath mingling with Mingi’s. The flush on Mingi’s face deepened, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

“Alpha…” Mingi’s voice was softer now, almost fragile as he stared at Yunho’s lips. The physical act of having his jeans fall to the floor was a stark reminder of his exposed vulnerability, and Yunho’s cock pressing between his bare thighs was a palpable manifestation of his craving.

“So, I’m your alpha?” Yunho’s chuckle was low and confident as he rubbed his cock between Mingi’s thighs. The contact was electrifying, and Mingi could feel the heat radiating off Yunho’s body. Each rut against him was a reminder of the dominant role Yunho was willing to assume.

Mingi’s breath came in ragged bursts as he felt Yunho’s cock sliding against his thighs. “You’re my alpha,” he moaned, the desperation in his voice mingling with the pleasure. He pressed his hips forward, seeking more friction, the sensation of Yunho’s cock rubbing against his skin driving him to the brink of madness.

Yunho’s fingers worked diligently inside Mingi, curling and stretching with expert precision. The rhythmic motion made Mingi’s body respond eagerly, his muscles tightening in anticipation. Yunho’s low, intense moans served as a testament to the mutual pleasure they were experiencing, amplifying Mingi’s mounting desire.

“I’m so close,” Mingi panted, the urgency in his voice clear. His entire body felt like it was winding tighter, the pleasure building to an overwhelming crescendo.

“Shhh,” Yunho murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. He quickened the pace, the growing urgency in his movements reflecting the electric tension between them. The sight of Mingi’s muscular chest rising and falling with every breath, his eyes fluttering shut and then meeting Yunho’s gaze, was intoxicating. Yunho had fantasized about this moment countless times, but seeing Mingi so utterly undone was more thrilling than he had ever imagined.

“Come for me,” Yunho instructed softly, his breath warm against Mingi’s ear. The command was the final push Mingi needed. With a guttural moan, both of them reached their climax. Mingi’s body trembled with the intensity of his orgasm, and Yunho followed suit, releasing in a wave of pleasure.

Mingi’s knees gave out, and he slid down the wall, his breathing heavy and uneven. “Wow,” he managed to say, a shaky laugh escaping his lips. “That was… something else.”

Yunho, catching his breath, helped Mingi to his feet. “Not exactly the cleanest place to sit, huh?” Yunho teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “I can’t even imagine what else has happened in here.”

“You’re such a dork,” Mingi said, snickering as he tried to regain his composure. “But seriously, thanks. I didn’t expect any of this.”

“Hey, no problem,” Yunho replied, his expression softening. “You okay?”

Mingi nodded, though his cheeks were still flushed. “Yeah, just… give me a sec to get my bearings.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “That was a lot.”

Yunho’s gaze lingered on Mingi, a thoughtful expression on his face. He took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. “Mingi, can I put it in?” Yunho asked, his voice a mix of eagerness and uncertainty. “I want to feel what it’s like, to experience the same pleasure you did.”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected request. He glanced down at Yunho’s cock, still glistening with a mix of slick and precum, and felt a rush of heat and curiosity. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly with anticipation. “It’s… it’s a big step.”

Yunho nodded, his expression intense yet vulnerable. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to feel it, to experience what you felt. If you’re okay with it.”

Mingi hesitated for a moment, his thoughts racing. The idea of allowing Yunho to take control was both thrilling and intimidating. But seeing the earnestness in Yunho’s eyes, he found himself nodding. “Okay,” he said softly, a mix of nervousness and excitement in his voice. “Let’s do it.”

Yunho’s face lit up with a relieved and eager smile. He guided Mingi gently back against the wall, his hands finding Mingi’s hips and positioning him carefully. Mingi could feel Yunho’s cock pressing against him, the heat and pressure building as Yunho aligned himself.

“Tell me if you need anything,” Yunho said, his voice low and reassuring. “I want this to be good for both of us.”

Mingi nodded, his breath hitching as Yunho slowly began to push inside him. The initial pressure was intense, but as Yunho worked his way in, Mingi’s body began to adjust. He groaned softly, the sensation of Yunho filling him completely sending waves of pleasure through him.

Yunho moved with a steady rhythm, his hands gripping Mingi’s hips as he found a pace that worked for both of them. Each thrust was met with a soft gasp or moan from Mingi, who clung to the wall, his body responding eagerly to Yunho’s movements.

“You feel amazing,” Yunho murmured, his voice rough with desire. “So tight, so perfect.”

Mingi’s eyes fluttered shut, his mind consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. “Yunho… this feels incredible,” he managed to gasp, his voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and awe.

Yunho’s movements grew more urgent as he lost himself in the sensations, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. The heat between them was palpable, and the sound of their mingled breaths and moans filled the small space.

“Mingi, I’m close,” Yunho warned, his voice strained with effort. “Tell me if you want me to keep going.”

“Please, keep going,” Mingi pleaded, his voice breaking with need. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

Yunho responded with a final, powerful thrust, his release coming in intense waves. Mingi’s own climax followed closely behind, his body shuddering with the force of it.

As they both came down from their highs, Yunho’s grip on Mingi’s hips softened, and he carefully withdrew. They stood there, catching their breath, their bodies still tingling from the intense experience.

Yunho looked at Mingi with a mixture of satisfaction and concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle.

Mingi nodded, his cheeks flushed and his breathing heavy. “Yeah, I’m okay. That was… incredible. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

Yunho’s expression softened as he reached out to help Mingi steady himself. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. It was something new for both of us.”

Mingi smiled, feeling a deep sense of connection and satisfaction. “Yeah, it definitely was. Thanks for sharing this with me.”

Yunho grinned, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “Anytime. Let’s get cleaned up and head out.”

As they made their way to the sinks, the atmosphere between them was filled with a mix of intimacy and ease. They washed up, their conversation light and filled with laughter as they prepared to leave the bathroom behind.

“So, puppy cafe?” Yunho asked with a playful grin.

“Definitely,” Mingi replied, his smile returning. “I could use some time with some cute puppies to balance out everything that just happened.”

[atlantic-riona]

Though I Walk Through the Valley

Written for @inklings-challenge 2024. A Catholic college student and a vampire take a trip to the Underworld. Shenanigans ensue. There are four parts.

I. A Visitor of the Vampiric Variety

I opened the door to find Malachy standing on the steps, one hand raised to knock. He looked about as surprised to see me as I was him, and after a few moments spent staring blankly at each other—vague remnants of thoughts regarding grocery lists and the possibility of afternoon naps still floating about my mind, Lord only knows what was circling his—he pulled himself together to give me a strained imitation of his usual annoying smirk. “Fancy a trip to Hell?”

I slammed the door in his face.

Honestly, upon later reflection, I should have left it like that. I still had no intention of getting mixed up in his world, even if Isa—well. My best friend and I were cautiously on speaking terms now, but the argument we’d had loomed forbiddingly in the background of every interaction, even though by silent, mutual agreement we didn’t acknowledge it.

But curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the door again, just a crack. “What.”

In the twilight shadows of evening, his slightly ominous expression would have sent shivers down any onlooker’s spine. Here in the warm afternoon sun, it merely looked out of place. “There’s a problem.”

“Yes, it’s called an irritating vampire refusing to get off my doorstep,” I retorted. “Was there something new, or…?”

“The Circle,” he said simply, and my blood ran cold.

“Goodbye,” I said, and shut the door firmly. I could hear him calling me through the door about needing my help, but I ignored this. And when I heard the windows rattling, I picked up my spray bottle, helpfully labeled “HOLY WATER,” and pointed it meaningfully (label side facing the window) in his general direction. He got the hint. At least I assumed he did, because the windows stopped rattling soon after.

Still, just in case, I went around the house, double-checking that all the windows and doors had crosses nailed above them, or rosaries wrapped around their handles. Call me paranoid, but I’d seen a lot of movies, and I was taking no chances.

I didn’t see Malachy for three days. And good riddance, said I. So when he showed up at my doorstep, looking inordinately pleased with himself, I certainly was not pleased myself.

I leaned against the door, which was open just a crack, and said clearly, “Go away.”

“Lili, you’ll want to hear this,” he said, grinning. Somehow he’d recovered his equanimity in the past three days, and I didn’t think it was for any reason I’d like.

The grin annoyed me. I pointed at the miniscule amount of space between the door and its frame, and said, “You see this? It’s about how much interest I have in whatever you’re about to say. And it’s only open so you can hear me tell you to go away, which means realistically my interest is much lower.” I had briefly considered shouting at him through the closed door, but regretfully had set that plan aside. I didn’t want him trying to crawl through the windows again.

“It’s about Isa,” he said. 

Through the opening, I gave him the old stinkeye.

He laughed. “Charming as ever, I see.”

“Did Isa send you?” I asked coldly, and not without a little pointedness.

His composure slipped a fraction. “No,” he admitted after a long minute. “I’m here without her knowing.”

I knew I’d regret this, but I still unhooked the chain and pulled it all the way open. “What is it, then?”

I had forgotten the secondary reason for keeping the door mostly closed, but it quickly sprang to mind when Theresa’s excited shriek from the living room deafened me. “Is that Malachy?”

“No,” I yelled back. “Go do your homework!”

But it was a fruitless endeavor to tell your little sister to do something as dull as solving for x when there was a live, breathing—well, dead and unbreathing—vampire at the front door, and it was doubly fruitless when said little sister had been obsessed with all things supernatural (especially the fanged variety) for years. Theresa came sprinting out of the living room, vaulting an armchair in her enthusiasm and skidding to a stop in her pink-and-white polka-dotted socks. “Malachy!” she cried happily. “Come in, come in, I have so many questions!” She’d already nabbed a clipboard from somewhere and was now squinting through her glasses to locate a pen.

As the point I wanted to make was already moot—namely, that inviting vampires into your house traditionally never ended well—I settled for giving Malachy a stare of loathing as I removed the cross hanging over the door, before stepping out of his way. He, in turn, gave me a brilliant smile, one that prominently displayed his sharp white teeth, before stepping inside.

He clearly thought Theresa was cute, but easily brushed aside, since immediately after greeting her with amusement, he turned to me, as if to continue our earlier conversation. How quickly he’d forgotten! I didn’t feel motivated to disabuse him of his misunderstanding, so I merely settled back, arms crossed, to watch the show.

“You remember how we found out that Isa’s condition is because she’s a descendant of—” he began, but broke off with a startled look when Theresa briskly pinched his arm through the leather jacket he was wearing. “What the hell?”

“Language!” I hissed.

Theresa ignored the both of us, scribbling something down on her clipboard. “So you’ve got pain receptors,” she said, clicking her tongue thoughtfully. “Which means your brain is capable of receiving and translating signals, even though it’s technically not alive, according to my research. Or is it alive? Does the blood you consume reanimate your life systems? Is that why you need to constantly replenish it?” She looked up inquiringly through the bright pink frames of her glasses at Malachy, who stared at her.

“Er—yes. I do need blood to…operate, as it were.” For the first time in my memory, he seemed discomfited.

Theresa nodded. “Right, blood’s very important to staying alive and operational, but it’s not really the only thing you need. How about oxygen? Do you need to breathe?”

He blinked at her, and then at me. Like I was going to rescue him from his flailing. I was enjoying myself too much. “To speak, mostly. And habit. I don’t actually require it.”

“Interesting.” Theresa scribbled something furiously on the clipboard, elbowing me when I tried to peer over her shoulder at what she’d written. “Then I wonder how you’re accomplishing cellular respiration. Of course, blood transports oxygen, so I thought that might be why vampires needed it, but if you don’t need to breathe, then how are you getting that oxygen? And how are your organs functioning? Or are they functioning? Are they rotting inside you right now?” She took a step forward, as if to start looking, and Malachy actually backed up a step.

“There will be no autopsies in this house,” I said loudly, “especially if you’ll be finding rotting organs. I just cleaned the carpets.”

“My organs are not rotting!”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care, they probably are, but that’s your problem, not mine.”

“They are not—”

“I have a scalpel, we could check,” Theresa piped up, beaming. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your regeneration and healing capabilities, anyway.”

We both looked at her.

“How old is she?” Malachy asked me in an undertone.

“She’s turning twelve on Friday,” I said, not bothering to keep my voice down. “And speaking of, Theresa, if you want a party Friday afternoon, you’d better finish your homework ahead of time. You can bother Malachy afterwards.” I’d probably pay her to do it, if he was overstaying his welcome.

She gave me a pleading look. “Just a couple more questions?”

Behind her, Malachy was shaking his head no. I bestowed a beautiful smile on him, and told her, “Of course! You can have three.”

Theresa was physically incapable of sticking to three pre-planned questions. I let her herd him into the living room, talking at the speed that only middle-schoolers could achieve, and went into the kitchen to grab some supplies.

I came back out to find Malachy eyeing Theresa warily as she industriously wrote out calculations on her clipboard. He was sitting on one of the armchairs—the one that happened to be farthest from any doors or windows, I noticed. Coincidentally, these were all covered in crosses.

“Homework,” I said firmly, and she sent me a pleading look, but I shook my head at her, and she sighed. Collecting all of her things, she dragged herself out of the living room. As I set the vase down on the end table. I could hear her sadly thumping her way upstairs and into her room.

Malachy nodded at me, which was probably the closest I’d ever get to a “thank you” from him. Then he sniffed the air, and frowned over at the end table by the couch. “Is that…?”

I arranged the garlic flowers in the vase to display their purple petals a little more prominently. “Just testing out some questions of my own. Say, if I spilled some beans just now”—I had, there were a few on the floor by the couch—“would you feel compelled to clean them up?”

He had been regarding the garlic flowers with narrowed eyes, but turned away from his contemplation long enough to give me a scornful look. “I’m not a jiāngshī, am I?”

That piqued my curiosity. “There are different types of vampires?”

Malachy laughed. “As many as there are legends about them. Hollywood doesn’t have a copyright on the supernatural world, you know.”

“Great,” I muttered. So not everything I knew about vampires would apply to every one. Lovely. Guess I’d better start stocking beans in my purse alongside garlic and rosaries.

“That’s not really important right now,” he said, and I stared at the carpet. Normally Malachy never passed up the chance to mock my understanding of the supernatural world—if he was doing so now, the world must be ending soon. And I didn’t want any part in the trouble he’d probably brought with him, but on the other hand—Isa.

Just because my best friend had started dating a vampire—and been drawn further and further into a world that seemed bent on killing her—didn’t mean I wouldn’t do everything in my power to help her.

And right now, she wasn’t doing too well. Apparently, one of her direct ancestors had been attacked by a very powerful vampire, one who’d been thought to have perished ages ago. But now he’d resurfaced, and Isa was experiencing side effects from it. Odd dreams and lethargy being the least of them.

That was my understanding of the issue. The Circle had other ideas. 

“What’s the problem?”

“You remember the Circle,” he said, and I grimaced. Yeah, I remembered them—the organization of witches that basically wanted to run the supernatural world, and the ones who’d taken issue with some of my critiques of said world. It was kind of hard to forget, since Isa and I had fought over her decision to work with them, among other things. The fight had culminated in some fairly harsh things being said on both sides—but I didn’t like to think about that.

Suffice to say, I disliked the Circle and the feeling was mutual.

“What about them?” I said, as neutrally as I could manage.

“They have a lead on Isa’s condition,” he said, “but it involves a trip to the Underworld.”

After a polite pause, in which I gave him ample time to crack a smile at his joke, I reluctantly concluded that he was being serious. “Underworld? As in Hades and the three Fates? Hercules?” I’d really only ever seen the Disney movie.

“Hades, Annwn, Hel, Yomi, Elysium—whatever name you call it by, yes. There’s a key there that might help in a ritual, apparently. Something about using a key from the land of the dead to break the connection between her blood and the vampire’s. Sometime in the next week, the Circle—and Isa—are going to try to summon this key. I’d really rather avoid the risks of Isa attracting the kinds of beings that populate the Underworld, and so I’m proposing to nip in and retrieve it before this becomes a mess of drastic proportions.”

I crossed my arms and resisted the urge to curl up on the couch. It wasn’t that cold, even for October. “Okay. So what do you need me for?”

He gave me a long look. “You’ve heard of Orpheus?”

I shook my head. 

“The state of education is shameful, these days,” he muttered. “To cut a long story short—Orpheus was a musician whose wife died. He traveled to the Underworld to ask for her life back. He got it, but at a price. On the way up, if he turned to look back at her, she’d be lost to him forever. Three guesses as to how the story ends.”

“With the redemptive power of love and faith leading to a happy ending?” I said defiantly.

“Wrong. He looks back just once, and no more wife. She was sent back to the underworld forever. Then he died.”

“Of grief?”

“No, actually, he got ripped apart by a group of madwomen later in his life. For disrespecting the gods, I believe. But I digress.”

I slouched back, the soft cushion of the couch dipping under my weight. “That’s a terrible story.”

“The point is, that you must have heard of any number of stories where human champions descend underground to a supernatural world. Alice in Wonderland? Labyrinth?” He caught my surprised look at the casual references to modern fiction and arched an eyebrow. “I’ve lived a long while. You fill up the time somehow, and television’s everywhere now.”

I tried to imagine Malachy sitting in front of the TV, watching as the cartoon Alice in her poofy blue dress spoke to Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and couldn’t quite manage it. For one, where’d he get the TV from? It’s not like he had a house—would the cable guys set one up in a crypt?

Did he even live in a crypt? When he wasn’t crashing on Isa’s couch, I mean.

“The point is that getting to the Underworld’s not so bad, dangers and guardians notwithstanding. In some cases, it’s disturbingly easy to do so. It’s getting out that’s the problem. See, you need someone who…well. Can withstand temptation. Strong moral character, and all that.”

“…” said I, staring at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Some people would take that as a compliment.”

“Wow, the undead creature of the night that makes it a habit to drain people of all their blood thinks I have strong moral character because I—tell him that what he does is wrong? Amazing. I’m truly astounded you managed to find one person to fit your criteria with that level of moral understanding.”

Then again, it was a world that apparently thought vampires were sexy precisely because of the undead blood-drinking thing, so maybe he had something there. Case in point: every time I went to the internet to research supernatural creatures, I had to wade through pages of supernatural romance shows, books, art, what-have-you, before I ever got to what might be considered even slightly academic. If not practical—somehow I doubted that the researchers at Harvard had ever had to deal with the problem of a vampire inviting himself over to tea once a week. I declined to share this thought with him, however.

He arched an eyebrow at me. “Well? Will you do it?”

“What kind of temptation are we talking about here?” I was reluctant to commit, even though I knew in the end I’d do it.

“Any and all.”

Helpful.

Actually, I’d share that thought with him. “Helpful,” I said. “Elaborate?”

Malachy gave me a thin-lipped smile. “Death’s more attractive than you might think. And if not that, then fear.”

“Of…?”

“The unknown? Being left behind? Of it all being a trick? Remember, Orpheus turned around.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And the chances of getting out?”

He gave me his most charming smile. “I have every confidence in your talents, Lili.”

I arched an eyebrow of my own.

“Being the most stubborn, uptight, Miss-Morally-Righteous woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet in death,” he said, still smiling. “Also, you know, very strong belief. And you know how important that is, when it comes to my world.”

I did. Crosses, as far as I understood, hurt vampires—at least the kind I was familiar with—because (depending on what belief one subscribed to) they symbolized the resurrection of the dead, which vampires couldn’t partake in due to their unnatural state, or the power of God, or Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross. Explanations varied. 

While crosses and other holy objects (Christian, so far as I had experienced—jury was still out on other religions, though with Malachy’s reveal of different kinds of vampires, now I wondered) all had the ability to make vampires flinch back, it was the item holder’s faith that gave it real power. And it wasn’t just faith in the item, but what it represented.

Months ago, Malachy had seen me keep back a vampire with nothing more than the Sign of the Cross and two popsicle sticks held in a cross shape. So I suppose to him, that was a sign—no pun intended—of my strong faith.

I wasn’t so sure about that. Somehow, I didn’t think that being able to hold back creatures of the night was more faith-filled than, say, volunteering my time at a soup kitchen, or helping old ladies cross the street, or any number of good works that I could be doing instead of coming home at the end of a day filled with classes and multiple shifts, collapsing on my bed, and promptly passing out, repeat ad nauseam.

But there wasn’t really any point to having a theological debate with this particular vampire about anything, much less Matthew 7:21-23.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll do it.”

That really should have been the end of it. I told him I didn’t have a day off until Saturday, two days from then (and conveniently for me, the day after Theresa’s birthday party, because there was no way I was planning, hosting, and then cleaning up a party for middle-schoolers after literally going to Hades). We set a time, he told me what to bring, and that was that.

Only it wasn’t.

Because Friday afternoon was when the school called to tell me Theresa went missing.

The first thing I did was—well. Panic, to be frank. This wasn’t the first time Theresa had gotten in trouble, and since the last time it had happened, it had involved a vampire of the non-Malachy variety—that is to say, not reasonable in any way and really rather bloodthirsty—I felt I was a little justified in doing so. Then, of course, I searched the house, called the school back, did all the normal things to check if her disappearance was due to something, well, normal.

Then, and only then, I called Isa.

The phone rang, and rang, and then—click!

My hopes were dashed when the voice I heard was the pre-recorded kind. I left a message, and then for good measure, texted her—though Isa had a flip phone, so I didn’t have real hopes of her texting back. And then I immediately called again. And again.

The other line connected, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Isa. I know it’s not a great time, but—”

“She walks through the long dread valley of night,

hand-in-hand with the hunter and his queen.

She sleeps under snow, she sleeps under ice—

and she fades away from the springtime green.”

The voice on the other end was soft—almost mechanical in its recitation. Yet there was something mesmerizing in the quiet rhythm of the words, hardly discernable through the crackling of the poor connection. As soon as the last word was spoken, the voice started over from the beginning. I don’t know how long I stood there, listening to the strange voice.

In fact, I was still listening, transfixed, when I sensed something behind me.

I whipped around, one of the kitchen knives in hand, to find Malachy regarding me with a raised eyebrow. Without lowering the knife, I lifted the phone away from my ear. I could still hear the voice tinnily in the background. “What was the last thing I said to you when you were over here on Monday?”

“It was Thursday, and I believe it was the equivalent of, ‘go back to whatever hell you spawned from,’ only the politer equivalent due to attentive young ears,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in the banter. “Have you heard from Isa?”

Damn. So it was really him. With trembling fingers, I put the knife back in the block. “No. I’ve been calling. Listen to this.”

Without the usual malicious pleasure I would have taken in doing so, I shoved the phone up next to his ear. 

He listened to it a few times, ended the call, and scrubbed at his face, which was looking a little paler than usual. For a corpse, at any rate. “She’s missing.”

“So’s Theresa,” I said, feeling cold. I put the phone away, reluctant to even look at it. It was strange to have something so obviously supernatural happen over such a modern device as the phone. “What do you think is going on?”

“I found out that the Circle was ahead of schedule and carried out their ritual at midnight. Apparently, they lost track of Isa at noon today.” He said this in a way that indicated to me that someone in the Circle had been left very unhappy when he discovered this. “When did your sister go missing?”

“I don’t know the exact time, but the school called me around one.”

“Not promising.”

“Do you think—”

“—it’s related? Probably. At least, you’d better hope, because I only know a potential method to track Isa, not your little tagalong.”

“Oh, God,” I said. “Where do you think—?”

“Better grab your jacket,” he said. “Looks like we’re making an early start on our road trip to Hell.”