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siriusleee · 11 months

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LIKE BLOOD ON IRON

Historical Executioner AU

Summary: The executioner has always been an enigma to you - drawing you in. His sword drawing a line in the dirt as he made his way to the village center, and leaving back to his cottage on the outskirts of town. However, your curiosity can't stop the future your family has planned for you.

Warnings: mentions of blood, family dynamics, semi-forced marriage mention, implied age gap, future smut, future blood and gore.

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is a three part series that I intend to be pretty long - at least 20,000 words. If you want to be added to the tag list, make sure you comment below. This is a historical fantasy, however, it is not magical. spotify playlist part two

His sword carves a gorge in the dirt, dust swirling in the sunlight left behind him. The sun threatens to fall before he makes it to the center of the village, but it doesn't dare fall before he gets the chance to finish his day's work.

You watch him from the window of your family's house, lucky enough to be close enough to the center that you can see him coming for ages. Your fingers dig into the windowsill; the wind - salty from the nearby bay- blows gently through, rattling the windows you threw open the moment your sister whispered that he was coming down the road. There are only moments before Mother will storm upstairs, chastising you for trying to watch what's going down below.

"It's not appropriate for a girl your age to see this," she'll say for the hundredth time, slamming the windows shut. The wavy glass will distort his features, and leave you nothing but a hint at his form, but even then Mother won't let you continue looking. She'll pull you downstairs into the kitchen with your two sisters and set you all to work.

"Your father and uncle will be hungry when they get home; you all pitch in," she'll say, pantomiming joy when just outside a man will lose his head - your father and uncle observing from the crowd. Father will come home grim, and not speak over the dinner that you and your sisters cooked, and will go to bed silent.

In the morning when you go to the market for whatever Mother needs for the day, blood will have stained the stones paving the center of the village. And the executioner will be back in his small cottage situated far away from everyone in town, not to be seen until he was needed again.

But this time, Mother takes longer. You hear her speaking sharply to your youngest sister, about how she needs to be more aware of her surroundings and stop sloshing all that damned water all over the place. Today you get the chance to see him come closer.

He's large and cloaked - you know from the village boys whispering that he has a mask on to cover his face.

"It's covered in ashes - smeared to look like a skull."

"It's to remind those on his chopping block that he is Death."

No one accompanies him on his journey to the dias that all the buildings spiral away from; every person that will be there is already waiting for him to arrive, breath held in their throats as they hear his approaching footsteps. You watch as each house he passes draws its shutters shut to him as if they could be next if they looked at him. The sea rages down past the docks, far enough away to be just a faint chorus as he approaches your house.

The tilt of his shoulders enamors you - he's enormous, but walks with a grace you can only wish to have. You don't need to be near him to know that the only sounds are the swish of his cloak against the ground, and the sword drawing against the ground.

You startle when Mother grasps your shoulder, letting out a gasping noise, but you don't turn away from the window. As if he could hear you, the executioner's head snaps towards you. You see just a hint of the white ash smeared across his mask before you're pulled inside. Mother throws you into the room with enough strength to cause you to hit the wall behind you, rattling the porcelain that sits on a nearby shelf. She slams the window hard enough that the glass rattles before slamming the storm shutters and latching them.

"What are you doing?" Mother's voice is venomous as she rounds on you, eyes burning. "You are going to humiliate this family acting the way you do."

"I'm sorry Mother," you appease, pulling at the wrinkles in your skirt and avoiding her eyes. "I was just curious."

"Your job isn't to be curious."

"Yes, Mother."

"How would your suitors think about you hanging out the window to watch something so grim?"

You close your eyes to hide the sudden anger behind them; your head stays down and you don't answer. Anything you say won't be good enough for her. It's the same every time there's an execution.

"Come - let's prepare dinner."

You follow, slowly. Inside the kitchen it's warm, and smells of honey and meat. Your mother gestures to a lump of dough that needs kneading and you roll your sleeves up. Your sisters, still eager to get a nice word out of Mother, patter around, stirring and checking on the baking. You know you were given the dough because everything else in the kitchen fails you.

Mother had been attempting to get you some proficiency in the kitchen, giving it her damnedest, curses flying out of her whenever you burnt something. For the past two years, she tried to no avail.

"At least you're a smart girl," she'd say with a sign. "And you can do books - you'll just have to hire someone who can cook."

For three years, your father and mother had been trying to find someone for you to marry.

"Seventeen is when I met your mother, and I courted her for three years to finally get her yes. And you're her elder by three."

The story sickened you.

You'd had some luck that not many wanted to court you - it wasn't unknown in the village that you argued with your mother and father. Everyone whispered behind your back about the time you tried to smuggle yourself on one of your father's cargo ships, bound for somewhere far away and exotic. They whispered about how you fought the sailor that found you tooth and nail, leaving him a scar down the side of his face as he dragged you to the deck. No one wanted a wife that wouldn't listen.

But still, some had come knocking.

Nice young men who would wait the years it took you to be ready to marry if you would just say yes. Nice young men who winked at your younger sisters across the dining table, who pressed flowers into Mother's hands, who clapped Father on the back at the end of the night.

Nice, young, boring men who wanted a boring wife to oversee someone else doing the cooking.

Nice young men who would want their wives on hands and knees cleaning during the day, tongue out at night.

Nice young men you detested.

You'd rejected each one that came knocking - fits that included screaming loud enough that the neighbors could hear, and a few shattered glasses. Once Mother locked you in your room and threatened to send you to a nunnery if you didn't stop screeching. But your father had called on them, spinning a web that you'd been intrigued by them and to come back for dinner again in a few weeks.

You'd been threatened with the nunnery and the whip if you misbehaved the next time they came back, so you sat there, unspeaking while the men spoke only to Mother and Father.

You're broken out of your reverie by your youngest sister, Lily. She presses against your side, tugging your apron to pull you down so that she can whisper in your ear.

"Mother is going to check on you tonight."

You give just a curt nod, eyes trained on Mother and your oldest sister, Maggie. They have their backs turned to you and Lily. Lily who has always hidden your secrets and you have hidden hers. Lily who knows you sneak out at night, climbing carefully out of your window onto the trellis and down where the horse is stabled. Lily who knows you spend all night swimming in the dark ocean, imagining the merfolk and monsters that linger there.

You press a quick kiss to her temple, a thank you for the heads up, as you begin shaping the dough into two loaves of bread.

The front door opens and the sound of your father's boots on the wood breaks through the kitchen. Mother wipes her hands on her apron, flour falling onto the dark blue skirt below, and leaves to say hello. Maggie follows closely behind, leaving you and Lily behind to finish dinner. Lily does most of the work, directing you on what to do to keep everything from burning.

When everything is finished, the two of you cart it to the dining table where Maggie straightens the plates to perfection. You hear the gentle hum of Mother and Father talking, no doubt about your antics in the window. There's an extra plate at the table.

"Who is this for?" You ask Maggie, skewing one of the spoons.

"Edward. And don't mess everything up." She reaches across to straighten the spoon.

Edward the apprentice tailor, her two-year suitor who no doubt will agree to marry before the end of the year. You feel relieved that tonight you will be ignored, you and Lily can eat at the end of the table in peace, whispering jokes to each other.

You leave to wash up in your room, scrubbing at the black dirt that you collected from the windowsill. You wonder if the executioner has made it home; if he drags his sword behind him or does he sheath it. Does it drip blood as he retraces his path?

Lily waits for you at the top of the stairs, and you lace your fingers together as you make your way down the stairs and into the dining hall. You pull faces at each other across the table, and stifle giggles into your napkins - ignoring the dirty looks Maggie sends to the two of you down the table.

Dinner is tortuously slow - when it's over and you're clearing off the table you can see Edward and Maggie in the hallway, pressed against each other in a way that would make Mother blush if she were to see it. You elbow Lily and point toward them, sticking your tongue out and pretending to puke. She laughs loud enough to catch Maggie's attention and the two of you scurry out of her line of sight.

After getting ready for bed, you brush out Lily's hair, perched on the bed you share. Her hair shines midnight beneath the brush, long and thick. The most gorgeous in the family.

"Can you braid it in two tonight?" She asks, trying to turn and look at you, but you turn her head forcefully back to the front.

"If you stay still I can. Keep wiggling little mouse, and you're going to have crooked braids."

Her hair slips heavily between your fingers as you cross one strand over another. You're wrapping a tie around the bottom of the first braid when she speaks again, this time in a whisper.

"Do you think being married would be terrible?"

You concentrate on the tie, measuring out each word before saying it.

"Why do you ask, my little mouse?"

"It's just - Maggie seems so eager to marry, and you're the opposite. Mother and Father seem happy."

"Well, Maggie and I are different people. Maggie is wonderful at this house stuff, and she wants that life. I want to explore, to see more. I want to fall in love with someone that isn't a pick of Father - someone…" You trail off, unsure of what you're trying to say. "Anyway, marriage isn't terrible for everyone. And if your marriage was, I would come and rescue you myself. Even if it means killing your husband. I'd sweep you out of that house, and back with me."

Lily giggles at the suggestion.

"You would end up under the executioner's sword then."

Inside, something twists at the idea of lying down, looking up at the broad man staring down at you.

"He doesn't scare me," you tell her, finishing the second braid. "Nothing scares me."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

The two of you settle into bed, Lily tucking herself into your side. Just as she said, in the middle of the night, Mother comes in, candlelight casting long shadows across the room. You keep still, pretending to sleep until she disappears. It's too risky to leave tonight, so you let Lily's warmth and soft snoring lull you to sleep.

***

The next night, you press your ear to your bedroom door. You can hear Father snoring faintly down the hall; the moon, directly overhead, tells you it's late enough to slip out. You press a kiss on Lily's forehead and slide your legs out of the window, skirts bunched up to keep from getting caught.

The trellis groans under your weight, but you're sure it won't break underneath you. You climb down, familiar with where to put your hands, where the spiders like to build their webs, and the weak spots - you drop the last few feet down to the ground. The horse nickers softly from her spot in the small stall she's in. The village is quiet, the only sound the whisper of the sea.

You keep to the darkest spots, the shadows even the night fears as you sneak through town. It's too hot for a cloak, but you still keep yours over your head, just in case anyone other than the spiders and bats is awake to see you. The closer you get to the sand, the faster you walk, pausing just once for a drunken sailor to slip past you without noticing you are hidden just feet away from him.

The port is small - bringing in just one or two ships - nearly all of them laden down with wool your father sells. But this time of year there is only one ship, here to pick up sailors that were on leave. It bobs gently across the water in the small port, the flicker of a candle seen sporadically. From this distance, any soldiers on it look like dolls in the distance. The air is cooler rolling off of the ocean, and the salt in the air sticks to your skin. Your bare feet hit the sand and you race to a spot hidden in a cove that separates the village from the ocean - a hidden spot used by couples in the town when they wanted to get away. But at night it was always empty.

Your toes dip in the water, and the bottom of your cloak gets soaked each time a fresh wave breaks on the sand. The water in the distance is still, reflecting the moon and stars. You let your cloak slip off of your shoulders, beneath you'd laced a dress up loosely, enough that if you were caught, you could feign innocence. It comes undone and pools at your feet. Your skin erupts in gooseflesh when the ocean air rolls over it - your chemise not thick enough to block out the wind.

You wade to your hips- the water is warm and still. Beneath your feet the sand shifts, shells sharp against your skin. You turn, making sure that you're still hidden from anyone who may be walking to the port at night, and when you're sure no one is there looking at you, you dive.

Your eyes burn in the darkness, moonlight filtering down just enough so that you can see your hand in front of your face. You push farther out into the bay, not resurfacing until your lungs burn from lack of air. Breaking the surface, everything is blurry, you fall back so that you're floating on your back until your eyes readjust and the stars come back in sharp focus. You float there, watching the subtle shift.

And all at once you feel it: someone's eyes on you. You flounder until you can get your feet underneath you, eyes straining to see the shore - you're farther out than you thought you were, toes barely able to scrape the sand below. You can see your dress and cloak, still pooled on the shore, but there's no sign of anyone nearby. Slowly, worryingly, you push towards the shore, until it's back to your hips. Your eyes never leave the shore, looking for someone there.

That's when one of the shadows ripples forward. You freeze your heart stuttering in your chest as you watch someone walk towards you - you can't think of what to do. Even if you screamed, no one would be able to hear you. You realize for the first time how foolish the venture is.

When the moonlight fully covers the figure, they stop feet from your clothes. Your hands clamp across your chest, the thin white fabric covering you completely transparent now that it's wet. Neither of you moves, and you realize that if you don't, they probably never will.

Hands still clamped across your chest, you walk to the shore. With each step it becomes clear just how massive the person on shore is - it has to be a man, you've never seen a woman that tall, that broad. You're in ankle-deep water when you catch just a glimpse at them beneath the hood of their cloak: white ash, reflecting in the moonlight.

Your panic increases tenfold, but you think if you move too fast, he'll move faster. Snatch you up. So as if he were a dangerous animal, you reach down and grab your dress from the ground, leaving it over your arm as you pull your cloak around yourself. Your eyes never leave him. He waits until you're completely covered before he turns to look at you - just the barest hint of flesh around his eyes.

"Don't you think it's dangerous to be out here alone?" His voice is gravel and honey, deeper than you'd expect. You wonder if it's that way because he doesn't get to speak often.

"It depends on who's out here," your voice wavers, but doesn't crack. He seems to like that answer, letting out a short 'hmm'.

"There's plenty of monsters out here in the darkness." He speaks but still doesn't step toward you. You tighten your cloak around you, wishing for once to be back in bed with Lily.

"The merfolk and the selkies are the only things I worry about." You take small steps backward as you speak, feet shuffling over the sand.

"I've seen worse lurking in the near forest," he says, suddenly stepping towards you. You trip over your own feet, but before you can crash into the sand, his hand is around your elbow, pulling you up roughly. You don't mean to, but you let out a small squeak at his touch and recoil away; he drops your arm as if it burns him.

"You should go home," he says, nodding his head back towards the village. "It's too late for you to be out."

"I think you and my father would agree on that matter."

You can't tell if it's a trick of the light, but you see the corner of his eye crinkle for just a moment.

"I'll walk you back up, then you are on your own to get home safely."

He walks ahead of you as he talks as if he expects you just to follow without saying anything. And you do, terror and intrigue mixing inside of you. His scent wafts to you in the wind, woodsmoke, and metal, and something sweet- like rotted wood. It flashes through you, just a second long - to bury your face in his cloak and take a deep breath. Your curiosity is raging inside of you, mingling with the apprehension of being near him - the same man Mother refuses to let you even look at through the window.

You slip on the sand and rocks behind him, his boots leaving footprints that dwarf yours. It takes just moments, but the two of you emerge out of the hidden crag and onto the soft grass that overlooks the ocean.

You're panting, your heart still beating erratically in fear of him, the executioner, here at night on a dark roadside, and no one to notice the two of you. He pauses, just long enough to throw a look over his shoulder at you - you recognize his silent instructions to hurry home. You take two small sideways steps, eyes trained on him as he walks in the opposite direction, to the small cottage situated between the forest and the sea and far away from where he found you. His exile - where he never ventures out unless called. As soon as he's far enough away, you turn and run.

When you make it back to your trellis you're out of breath, a stitch cutting your side open. You ready yourself to climb up, trying to catch your breath and remember his scent and the way he towered over you.

You wonder if he'd been there with you before, hidden in the shadows.

***

"What are you doing? Are you senseless?" Maggie's voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. Your fingers slip over the apples in your hand as she grabs your wrist, pulling you back towards her.

"You're supposed to stay with me and Lily; not wander off to do god knows what?"

Her face is pinched, angry - you jerk your wrist out of her touch.

"I'm sorry Maggie, I just got busy looking at the produce."

She gives you a look that says she knows you're lying, but you fall in step behind her anyway. You had been lost in thoughts of the executioner, of how his eyes shone in the moonlight and his smell. Her hair, lighter than yours and Lily's, is pinned up elaborately; she spent two hours in the mirror this morning doing it. She didn't have to say it, but you know she hopes to run into someone who will run back to Edward and tell him about how gorgeous his future betrothed was today in the market.

Lily slips her hand into yours, and you two trail behind Maggie - ducklings behind their mother duck. Lily had whispered to you this morning between bites of breakfast that Mother had set Maggie to watch you to make sure you didn't slip off. She couldn't catch you out at night, but she knew you were disappearing somewhere.

She'd been creeping into the room for the past two weeks, only to find you pretending to sleep beside Lily. You'd close your eyes, and bury your face into the pillow, trying to sleep, but instead filled with thoughts of the executioner. Wondering if he was out there standing in the same spot, the waves soaking the bottom of his cloak, the ash on his mask shining in the moonlight. Wondering if he was thinking about you.

"I'm going to take Lily to the butcher; it's stupid for all three of us to go to the same place," you say, winking down at Lily. Maggie stops and sighs, heavy enough that you can see her shoulders heave.

"Mother said for us all to go together."

"What trouble can I get into with Lily?"

You elbow Lily just before Maggie turns to level a suspicious look at the both of you. Lily speaks up for the two of you, trying to keep her face serious.

"I can keep an eye on her - no one will get into any trouble when I'm around."

Maggie rolls her eyes at the two of you, you can see her wearing down.

"Besides if we go to the butcher, then that means you can take the long way home. And pass the tailor's shop."

That gets her - Edward will be there, working with his father, and if she doesn't have to cart you and Lily around, the two of them can meet in the alley.

"Fine. But meet me at the end of the street and don't tell Mother."

"I would never think of it."

You and Lily watch her disappear into the market vendors before the two of you turn in the opposite direction.

"What do you want to do?" You ask, nudging Lily with your shoulder. "We have at least an hour of freedom."

"Let's go by the bakery; I want something sweet."

"Something sweet? You are the best baker in the house, all you do is eat sweet food."

The wind blows your skirts around as the two of you walk across the village, dodging loose stones and puddles. You're trying to jump from one stone to the other when Lily grabs your arm.

"Look!"

Thirty feet away from the two of you, in the middle of the street, the executioner stands. People shove themselves onto the sides of the buildings, straining to get away from him. He doesn't seem to pay anyone any mind as he walks. Lily pulls on your arm, trying to pull you to the side, away from him. But you're stuck fast to the ground; even from this distance, you can see him looking at you as he walks.

Lily whines your name, pulling harder on your arm. He gets closer, close enough that you can almost make out the wrinkles beside his eyes. His eyes catch yours - you can tell recognition sparks in them. You want to say something to him, but you know if you do, it will get back to your Mother. So you let Lily pull you away from him, closer to one of the buildings, but your eyes never leave him.

He passes by, nearly silent for such a large man, black boots shining in the sunlight.

"Why is he out?" Lily hisses in your ear as he passes. You pull your attention from his broad back to her.

"I'm sure he also has errands to run."

"He's so scary."

You watch as he disappears around the corner - wondering what he thought about you, about what he'd say if you stopped and spoke to him, say hello here in public. The thoughts stick with you as you and Lily duck into the bakery. You're stuck thinking about it as she bribes the young boy behind the counter to give her two sweet rolls for free, promising that she'll pay him back next time. The two of you eat them as you walk to the butcher's, honey coating your fingertips.

You watch the butcher wrap meat in brown paper, but your mind is on the executioner: on how he refused to look at you until you were dressed, how he walked you back to the edge of the village. It takes just a short walk to make it back home, Maggie waiting for you at the end of the street so that you can all walk in together. You notice the way one of the pins in her hair is gone, a single lock of hair falling.

Inside it's a commotion - the three of you come through the door to your Mother rushing past with an armful of clothes.

"You all took your damn good time! Hurry up and go get clean for dinner. We're going to have guests tonight."

You press yourself against the wall as one of the hired girls hustles past, a tablecloth in her hand.

"Who's coming? What is this?" You inquire, as your mother shoves a dress into your arms. You try to peer at her over the royal blue material.

"Your uncle is coming to dinner, and so is Jonathan." Your heart sinks. Jonathan. A suitor hand-picked by Father for you. You've barely digested the information before your mother whirls on you, hair in disarray and fire in her eyes.

"And you will not act like a brat tonight. You are twenty years old - nearly twenty-one. Your sister will be getting married this year and I intend to announce your wedding shortly after. You will dress like a lady and act like one or so help me, I will send you to the nunnery this time.

And you," she whirls to Lily, her chest heaving. Lily shrinks half behind you, "will behave also young lady. You and your sister will not make a fool of me tonight. Do you understand?"

The two of you nod in unison together, too scared to say anything else. Mother waves the two of you upstairs - you trip over the dress in your arms, slamming your shin into one of the stairs. You emerge at the top, cursing under your breath.

The two of you rush to your room - Lily's dress laid across the bed; you shake the one Mother shoved in your hands out, nose wrinkled. It's one of Maggie's old ones: dark blue and heavy, elaborate embroidery across the bottom.

"I don't know how she expects me to fit into this," you mutter, throwing it across the bed. Maggie, taller than you by an entire head and more willowy, had never been able to share dresses with you.

"What do you think Uncle is coming for?" Lily asks, emerging from the neck of her dress, turning around in a silent request for you to lace her up.

"Probably to ask Father for money for another stupid business prospect, just like the last time."

You lace her dress, loosely.

"Can you tighten it up?"

"Why do you need your dress tighter? You're thirteen."

"The other girls wear theirs tighter."

Lily pouts at you, and you sigh at her.

"Come here; I'm only doing it a little tighter. When you lace mine, make sure it's loose, if I can even get it on. I'll braid your hair for you."

You re-lace her, just incrementally tighter, and redo the braids you did for her that morning, pinning them up in the back. From below, Mother is yelling to hurry up! You get dressed in a hurry, and to your surprise, the dress slips over you, but you know lacing it up will be difficult.

When your mother comes up the stairs ten minutes later, you have your hands braced against the end of the bed; Lily is pulling with all her might to try to get the back to close.

"Go wash your face, Lily," she says, brushing her away and taking the strings herself.

You know what's coming next; you breathe in, and she jerks the laces tight - you can feel the boning squeeze your ribs.

"Does it have to be this dress?" You ask as your mother pulls the strings again. You press your hands to your stomach, trying to breathe better as Mother ties the back, tucking the strings so they can't be seen.

"Jonathan likes the color blue."

"And that means I have to be packed into this like a sausage?"

Mother sighs, pushing on your shoulders so that you sit on the end of the bed. Her hands are soft in your hair as she pulls it down, and twists it back up, pinning it into place.

"You could do much worse than Jonathan. At this point, he's the only man that will have you."

"Have me? Like I'm a cow."

She sticks another pin in your hair, nearly stabbing your scalp.

"No. Like you're a woman; you can't do everything in this life alone. Besides," she tucks the last piece of hair in, "he travels. You could go with him."

Your hands smooth down the skirt of the dress, picking at a loose thread.

"I want to travel where I want to go, not where someone is going to show me off."

Your mother's fingers are soft on your shoulders as she turns you so she can look at you.

"We don't always get what we want in life. Sometimes we just have to take what we're given. Come on. Your uncle is waiting downstairs to say hello."

She holds your hand down the stairs; at the bottom, your Uncle Henry stands - taller than your father and thinner but not nearly as imposing. He kisses you on each cheek before moving to Mother. You leave them to talk and take your place at the dining table. It's empty except for the plates already sat down. In the kitchen, you can hear the hired girl banging around. The sound grates at your nerves, and the dress itches at your back where you can't reach.

There's a knock at the door - it sounds like a funeral cannon going off. You try rearranging your face into a smile and push yourself up from your chair. You're sure you look more like you have an upset stomach. In the hallway everyone explodes into a chorus of greetings. A moment later, Jonathan walks into the dining room.

If you're being honest, he's not the worst pick that your mother and father could have chosen. He's never been rude or forward with you, and he's not horrible looking, but as he reaches you and takes your hand, all you can think about is how small they must be compared to the executioner's hands.

"Hello, Jonathan." You try to smile at him as he kisses your hand.

"Hello, darling."

He turns just in time to miss the grimace on your face - turning to shake your father's hand when your father walks in behind him. You take your seat, waving at Lily to come sit down beside you quickly.

Dinner passes slowly; you're barely able to eat anything from the rolling in your stomach and the way the dress presses into you. The conversation is flowery and fake - Uncle Henry laughing too loudly, Jonathan smiling to politely across the table. It sets you on edge; Lily can see it because she reaches under the table to pat your knee.

It comes to a boiling point when Uncle Henry begins to describe his new business of shipping items.

"We've got a new ship; smaller and faster than the ones usually used. It can't hold as much cargo, but it can sail routes in half the time. With just two of them we can double how much cargo we're moving out of ports."

Your mother is leaning into the conversation, no doubt to know what she's going to tell Father no to later, Father is enraptured by your uncles conversation, and Jonathan leans across the table, listening in.

"You know," Jonathan says, cutting into the conversation, "I think you'd have more success using them to ferry people. Imagine how much people would pay to get where they're going faster."

Uncle Henry points at him across the table, a grin spreading over his face.

"The boy understands."

"Of course he does," Father says, pausing to take a drink, "he's already got plans to take my daughter on a cross-oceanic trip after the wedding."

Your fingers falter on your glass, it nearly spills, red drops spattering across the table like blood.

"Excuse me?"

Everyone turns to look at you, and you get the feeling that there's a joke you haven't been let in on.

"Well," Father says, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Mother cuts her eyes at him, a look you don't miss. "We were going to discuss this later."

"Discuss what?" You ask, voice rising. "Because it seems as if the decision has been made for me."

Jonathan's gaze swivels between you and your father; you bunch the tablecloth in your hands.

"Calm down dear," Mother says, rising slightly from her seat, "we will talk about this later."

"No!" You yell, slamming your hands to the table and pushing yourself up. "We won't. Because I know how the conversation will go. I will be forced to agree. This is an ambush!"

Your cup spills, staining the table red. Everyone in the room seems to hold a collective breath. Jonathan moves to stand; you turn, knocking your chair over. Across the table, Maggie gives you a look of contempt - it's enough to push you toward the door.

Everyone calls your name; you can hear your uncle laughing behind you. Someone's hand grabs at your wrist, but you jerk yourself away without looking to see who it is. Outside it's dark; windows are lit up with candle light and fires flickering. In the distance lightning strikes, grey clouds rolling towards you.

You run, slipping on the grass, towards the cove. You scrape your hands, cutting one of them on a sharp rock as you scramble down. You ignore the sting, and the sound of fabric tearing. You land hard on the sand, scrambling to pull yourself upright.

Across the cove, you see a flicker of white and a shadow ripple.

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #prompts #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost

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strangerthingssteddiebrainrot · 1 year

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A little ficlet I was just inspired to write at 1am lol

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Despite dating a rockstar, Steve was a pretty private person. Whenever he went with Eddie and the boys on tour, he'd wear sunglasses regardless of the actual weather conditions. Sometimes even a hat if he was really done with nosy reporters trying to figure out what his connection to Corroded Coffins lead singer was.

But it's been a long time since '89 when the band first took off and in the glorious year of 1999 they were finally outed by a reporter disguised as a waiter at the restaurant they were eating at and got a picture of them kissing if the corner of the private booth they were hiding in. Sales and the band's popularity took a hit sure, but so many new fans, freaks and outcasts and people just like them filled the void that they actually bounced back with more popularity than ever before. So Eddie and Steve agreed to do an interview on a daytime talk show, set the record straight and talk about themselves and their relationship openly for the first time. They talked about how high school cliques nearly kept them apart, but the spring break of '86, for all its tragedy and death and near death, brought them together and they worked hard to stay together. A true love story if there ever was one. It was freeing actually, finally being able to be open and Out, and if their love helped people, that was just a bonus.

Which is how no one, not even Eddie or the band knew about Steve's voice. He'd never been a singer, too insecure and beaten down to trust that he was actually good at something besides swinging a bat (and an ax, and Molotov cocktails). It was something he was working on, but change doesn't happen overnight and even now, in his early thirties, he still had never revealed his hidden talent to anyone other than Robin. And like, it's not like she ever said anything either! They sang sometimes back when they lived in each other's back pocket and she never said he was good, so he just assumed he was not terrible! Maybe the fact that she had a crush on Tammy Thompson and her 'muppet giving birth' singing should have been a clue. Steve just thought love made you blind.

So when, during the encore performance of Corroded Coffins latest show, Eddie gestures to him to come on stage, Steve tried to refuse at first. He waved him off laughing, but Eddie was persistent and the crowd caught on, chanting his name to come onstage. So he gave in, and god did he stick out like a sore thumb, light washed Levi's with a navy Henley, glasses on cause he had a migraine the day before from squinting at everything, it the crowd still cheered when he appeared, Eddie smiled at him all dimples and the guys gave an exaggerated slow clap at finally getting him onstage.

Eddie took his hand, the other one still holding his mike, and the band started up a cover of Tainted Love, one of the few songs that both Eddie and Steve agreed kicked ass. Maybe the lyrics didn't really reflect how they feel for each other, but watching Eddie sing to Steve, there was no doubt the man was very much in love. And when he held up the mike to Steve on the second chorus, Steve couldn't help but sing.

And oh, how Eddie's face dropped into open mouth shock, Steve had to catch his hand to keep the mike level. A quick glance showed the rest of the boys looked just as shocked, the music only continuing by pure muscle memory. Steve almost stopped singing, panicked that he was ruining the show with his voice, but the crowd was going wild and he could see the cameras flashing, and Eddie, Eddie was coming in close, the chorus over and he leaned in to Steve's ear and shouted, "don't stop!" So he didn't. And they finished the song together and thank god it was the last song in their set. So when Eddie pulled away and gave his goodbye with the rest of the band, Steve quickly walked offstage and headed to the green room, heart pounding a mile a minute.

It wasn't too long before the rest of the band piled in, and Eddie ran right to him, grabbing his face and kissing him hard.

Finally pulling away after too short a time, Eddie beamed at him. "How the fuck did I not know that you can sing?!"

Mind still a little scrambled from the kiss, Steve took a moment to answer. "Huh?"

Not the most eloquent, but he was still reeling from the loss of those lips against his own.

"Yeah man, when Ed said he was gonna pull you on stage, not gonna lie, I thought you were gonna sound awful." Garath said, earning a smack on the head from Jeff and Martin (unnamed freak).

"Not how I would've put it, but, I thought there was a reason you never sang with us before. So yeah, that was an unexpected surprise." Jeff smoothed over, knowing that so sometimes Steve's insecurities got the better if him, having mediated several fights between him and Eddie in the past.

"Holy shit baby, you were so good! I almost didn't remember to sing cause I was too busy falling even more in love with the most perfect man on earth!" Eddie gushed, gently shaking Steve by his shoulders.

"Cute, but also, get a room guys." Martin laughed. "But seriously Steve, you have a good voice. I don't know why we've been hiring background singers for some of our songs when we could've just had you do it instead."

"Oh, well, I-I don't know. I never thought I was a good singer yeah? Not for like, performing? I just wanted to kinda, ride the high of tonight, if that makes sense." Steve said, blushing and a little overwhelmed at the attention, but trying to embrace it and take the genuine compliments he was getting (something he struggled to do on a daily basis, neglectful parents having left their mark).

"First of all, bite me Martin," throwing his band mate the finger, Eddie was still beaming which softened the blow, the others laughing at him. "and second, Stevie, baby, you sound amazing! Light, but still raspy and sexy as hell." Giving him a peck on the cheek, Eddie whispered in his ear. "Gonna sing for me later big boy? In bed maybe?"

And what could Steve say to that? So he just pulled Eddie in for more kisses, deepening them regardless of the guys complaining.

The next day, the picture that was making waves in the music community was of Steve singing into the mike, Eddie looking at him with starts in his eyes and his face completely lovestruck.

@steddieassheg0es @oakenorcrist

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #dont @ me for the song choice #i went with the first thing that popped into my head #my writing

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marlynnofmany · 1 year

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Friend-shaped

“She’ll want to pet it,” said a smug voice from the next room. “Humans will pet anything.”

“Even spiky things?” asked the skeptical voice that I recognized as Zhee. “I’ve never had a human want to pet me, and this thing is much worse.”

As curious as I was to see our newest cargo and judge for myself, I first had to finish setting out food for the animals in the next bay. I lugged in bags of dried pellets and fish jerky as the door slid shut behind me, cutting off the sound of Zhee insisting to the delivery person that there was no way under several suns that I would want to touch this new mystery animal. We’d see about that.

I stashed the pellets in the appropriate closet and pulled out a sheet of jerky for each of the three fangy monstrosities that twined around each other, trying to hypnotize me through the bars. I ignored the moving pattern of stripes that probably worked on prey from their world. Working quickly, I set the sheets down on the floor outside the cage, spaced as far apart as possible, then used a gravity wand to lift them through the bars without losing a finger. Left one, right, one, then the middle, to keep the beasties from all jumping on the same treat.

A chorus of happy growls and chewing noises filled the air. Success. I put away the gravity wand and reflected that I absolutely would have liked to scritch all three terrifying predators on the head, but I valued life and limb too much for that.

On to the next room! The doors opened and closed in quick succession. I passed other people loading and uploading various crates, but I only had eyes for the terrarium that looked like it was made of force fields instead of glass. Or maybe some room-temperature version of hard water, given that the person chatting with Zhee was a Waterwill. They had some pretty bizarre tech.

“Ah, here’s the human!” the Waterwill said happily, her voice burbly and vaguely female. “What do you think of your newest live cargo?” She extended what passed for an arm from her column-of-goo body. Beside her, Zhee spread purple pincher arms in a silent display of “ta-dah.”

Inside the tank I saw rocks, sand, a puddle of algae, and the ugliest little ball of snot and spikes that I had ever encountered. Protruding eyes struggled to focus on me like a wall-eyed Chihuahua that had rolled through the most unfortunate of trash piles.

“Wow,” I said, bending down for a closer look. “That’s an animal, all right.”

The Waterwill bobbed up and down. “And is it not, as you say, cutesy-wootsy?”

Zhee made various clicks and taps that were probably skepticism. I couldn’t blame him.

“Well,” I said, struggling for a tactful answer, “It sure is a little one. Looks a bit scared.”

“They always get twitchy when they’re moved around before egg-laying,” the Waterwill said with a dismissive wobble. “It’ll settle down when everybody stops walking by. It’s non-toxic. Maybe once it’s calm—”

The rest of her sentence was cut off by loud snarls from next door, carrying through the hall while both doors were open at the same time. It sounded like a brief squabble over fish jerky, no cause for alarm.

For me, anyway. The animal in the terrarium made a piercing squeak and tried to burrow under the rock, its spines growing visibly longer and flinging droplets of moisture as it trembled violently.

“Oh, that’s bad,” said the Waterwill, all cheer gone. “It could sour the eggs. Everybody be quiet! Move slowly!” She waved two armlets at the other people carrying boxes, who did as she asked.

Zhee was making a whistle that was probably a curse in his own language, or maybe someone else’s. “We’ll get blamed for egg troubles. Would dim light help? I’ll hit the controls.” He moved off on quiet bug legs.

“What else helps?” I asked. “Wait, there’s a manual for this, right?” Without waiting for a response, I unfolded a screen from my pocket and looked for the newest files. There it was. Easily searchable, too.

While I spent a moment on that, the room dimmed and quieted into a soothing nighttime. The other crewmates grabbed the remaining crates, left, and shut the door. I heard someone say to leave oncoming boxes in the hallway for the moment.

“It’s still stressed,” the Waterwill said. “We should have brought another one to soothe it!”

“Hang on, I found the sound files,” I said. “Here’s the soothing one.” At the press of a button, a brief gurgle played, then cut off. “That’s it?”

The animal turned toward me, then back to the rock. No change.

I asked the Waterwill, “I don’t suppose you can make that sound?” When she hesitated, I tried myself. Hard to do without any water around to gargle, but I managed an awkward warble in the back of my throat.

The animal’s shivering stilled.

“Keep doing that!” the Waterwill said with an urgent wave.

I did, feeling silly. But the animal liked it. The trembling ended, and the spines started to retract. When I paused for breath, the creature held perfectly still, then when I started again, the spines continued shortening. After a few moments, it was a slimy ball of green with eyes that stuck out, and soon enough those finally closed. When they opened again, they weren’t bulging any more.

A head lifted from the goo, with a cute little face that chirped curiously.

“Aw, look at you,” I said to it. “All calm and happy.”

It oozed over towards me, moving much like Waterwills did, without any legs. It nuzzled a hatch that I hadn’t noticed in the side of the tank.

“You said it’s non-toxic, right?” I asked, not waiting for a response. I’d skimmed the manual. The hatch opened easily for me to stick my hand in and stroke the slimy little head. It purred like a babbling brook.

“Told you,” said a voice behind me.

Zhee hissed.

I turned to see him handing over credits with a displeased tilt to his antennae. “Did you just lose a bet?” I laughed.

Zhee threw his pincher arms into the air. “It was covered in spikes! No fair changing shape like that.”

“Well, if we’re going to be fair,” I said. “I would have sacrificed a hairbrush to pet it through the spikes, if it liked that kind of thing.”

“Of course you would,” Zhee muttered.

“Righto,” the Waterwill said as she stuck the credits into a wallet pouch that floated among her other miscellaneous bits. “I can see it’s in good care here. Guess I’ll be off.”

I gave the creature one last stroke, then eased my hand out and closed the hatch, waiting to make sure it stayed calm. When it settled back into goo, I stood and joined the other two in soft-footing our way to the door. “I’ll keep an eye on it,” I promised.

“And a hand,” Zhee grumbled.

“I��ve petted worse,” I told him.

“I’m sure you have,” he said. “And I don’t want to hear about it.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character of this book. More to come!

#my writing #the Token Human #humans are weird #humans will pet anything #things that like to be petted #friend-shaped #pack bonding #humans are space orcs #haso #hfy #eiad #aliens #science fiction

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entities-of-posts · 18 days

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I have a kind of specific fear that could probably be a statement. I'm pretty sure I know what fear this is

When I was in middle school, my mom was driving me to school one day when a deer rammed into our car (just to clarify, this is not a "hit a deer with my car" situation. The deer hit us. The only thing damaged was the back left window) and immediately vanished. I assume it survived.

Deer are pretty common in the area I live, especially around my old school. I used to see them on my way to/from school all the time, and I made a game out of counting them and seeing if I could remember how many there were every other time I'd seen them. I no longer do this, because I am now terrified of deer.

The thing that tips this into Fear territory is what exactly scares me about deer. Every time I see one or have any indication there are deer in the area, I feel like I'm being hunted. Like the deer are tracking my movements so they can find me and kill me later.

Somewhat recently, I had an experience in which a song came on the radio just as I was passing a deer crossing sign. I don't remember much about it, but the chorus had something along the lines of "I'm watching you" repeated over and over. This caused me to freak out. I thought every deer in the world knew my exact location and wanted me dead specifically. That the deer I'd encountered back in middle school had been a failed attempt on my life by some higher deer power.

One of my neighbors has a very realistic statue of a deer in their front yard. Every day I fear that it will raise its head and charge.

Oh I love when the Hunt plays with role reversals, the prey becoming predator, the predator becoming prey…

#statements #the Hunt

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yourgentlegirlfriend · 1 year

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hi….I KNOW I KNOW ITS BEEN ALMOST TWO WEEKS? SINCE IVE POSTED. I was hit with the most SEVERE writers block i’ve ever had in my whole life. i hope you guys like this one. I'm feeling real self-conscious about my writing lately :( MUAH

DISCLAIMER: IF YOU WERE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NSFW/DARK CONTENT OR ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT WITH MY BLOG. MUAH.

Warnings: Just smut. Mean old man leon, mentions of pregnancy, breeding, just enjoy

Word count: 1.4k

Though you loved Leon- he sure was a pain in the ass on his days off. Leon prided himself on being your provider; the only thing you ever had to worry about was looking pretty for him when he got home. And you tried- most of the time.

Yet on Saturdays he doesn’t give you the time of day. Ever. You always make him the best dinner, your hands scrubbing at the dishes in the sink as you yet again had to put Leon’s food in a small container. You turn off the sink, letting out a long sigh at the sound of Leon’s music shaking the kitchen floor. You start the dishwasher before you make your way to the garage door. Swinging it open as the chorus to coming undone by Korn rang through your ears. You winced at the loud music, your hand on your hip as you stood on the top step. The room was thick with smoke, slowly being aired out from the tiny crack in the opened garage door. Leon never notices your presence; the only reason he did was because your hand harshly smacks down on his radio, his head popping up from where he squatted down on the floor.

“The fuck?”

Leon’s husky voice rang through your ears as he wiped his hands on his jeans—such an asshole. You tilted your head at him with a cocky little smirk as you pointed toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Jus’ give me five more minutes baby and I’ll come eat, promise.”

Leon didn’t like that you mocked him, his hand resting on his knee as he just stared up at you

“You done?”

“Are you done?”

It was accidentally yelled but Leon couldn’t hear the whole accident part, his eyebrows raising as he stood up, laying his towel on his bike seat as his leg goes up the step. Leon’s head shakes as he watches you stepping back from him. It almost makes him laugh.

“Your dinner is in the fridge.”

Your words are cold; Leon smirked as he nodded his head again, taking a step toward you.

“Oh, c'mon honey.. y’know I hate when you’re all mad and pouty, especially at me.”

You shouldn’t be giving in to him. You know his tricks and how he works. Being in love with Leon on his good days was the best time of your life. You’ve been with him for years, the man has been through too much, and he has terrible days often. When did he get this close? His large hand presses up your tummy and around your waist before he pushes you into the garage door.

Leon smirks at the whine that leaves your lips as his strong hands hold at your waist, turning you around so your chest is against the door and your back is lying so perfectly against his

“So mean to my little girl.. always makes me dinner, folds my clothes..”

Leon’s cheek lays against your ear as he smells your strawberry shampoo, groaning as the sweet scent fills his nose.

“Never make time for you.. I bet you rub your pretty little clit all the time when I’m gone.. so sorry for being so negligent..”

Leon’s words make a soft moan escape your mouth. He knew he won, twisting open the door and shoving you into the kitchen, shoving himself against you.

“You think I care? You think I feel bad?”

He’s so much more robust, it’s impossible to fight him. His hands tug your jeans down your legs before a harsh smack comes onto your skin, making you jolt into the counter.

“Don’t fucking move and answer me, you had so much to say now you’re silent?”

What did he expect you to say? You hated apologizing when you knew it wasn’t your fault. Maybe he should be saying sorry to you, for constantly ignoring you on his days off and ignoring your hard work.

All is forgiven when he shoves his cock so deep inside you that your breathing stops, your hands grabbing at the counter as your toes curl into the wooden floors.

“You know I usually warm her up.. love sucking on your clit, but you needed more than that, didn’t you?”

Leon pulls your hips toward him more, using his strength as an advantage to bend you over the counter more. He couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan at the sight of you gripping his cock when he dragged himself out of you, using all his weight to fuck back into you.

It felt so fucking good but hurt so badly, your eyes squeezed shut as you continued to try and adjust to his size but in truth, he hadn’t touched you in weeks.

“Fuck Le.. jus’ miss you so much.”

The words left your lips in a slurred whine as you tilted your head back trying to look back at the handsome man who was far too focused on not cumming inside you two seconds into fucking you. Leon nodded his head as he reached forward, soft shushing leaving his lips as he pulled some hair from your face and grabbed at your neck, pulling you back towards him as his hips began to rock into you

“I know baby, can see it.. can’t you feel how much you missed me?”

Leon mumbled into your ear before kissing at the sensitive skin at your neck as he tried to fuck through your tightness but there was no point. Leon shoved you back down into the counter before his hands rested against your ass, pulling the skin apart to watch the way you sucked him in.

Leon’s whimper sent chills down your spine. Maybe work has been too much.. how selfish of you to assume he didn’t love you.

“Maybe I’ll put a baby in you, hm? Then you really won’t forget how much I love you.”

He knew he won by the way your mouth was hanging open, that toothy smile spreading across his face as his hips moved faster

“That’s my fucking girl..”

Leon moaned as he pulled himself out of you and grabbed at your wrist, watching as you blinked at him all confused. You try not to question him in times like these but when Leon pushes you down onto the plush couch, a small yelp leaves your lips as Leon's hands gripped at your thighs. Before you could even blink he was bottomed out inside of you again, shallow breaths leaving your nose as he shoves your knees to your chest and over his shoulders. He thinks it’s so cute as your shaky little hands try and push him away, he’s just so deep, his cock hitting that gummy spot inside of you that makes the coil in your stomach burn.

“No, no, don’t push away from me now. You wanted this remember? You fucking wanted this look at me-“

Leon’s fingers harshly gripped at your face, smacking down onto your already flushed skin causing you to whimper out as his thrusts somehow grow deeper.

“Leon..”

Your whine is enough for him to know, His hand reaching down to press into your stomach before he steadies his position, pounding into you. Every thrust makes that small little scream leave your lips that drives Leon fucking crazy, sweat building at his brow as he roughly fucks into you.

He could watch you thrash beneath him for hours, your mouth open babbling nonsense begging him to stop but your hips push up to meet his cock every single time. He watches as you go silent, your knees pressing together as your walls squeeze at his cock, Leon groans, his hand gripping at your knee as he tries not to fall on top of you as he finally finishes inside of you. His hips move very slowly as he grinds into you. His breath is heavy as he looks down at you, reaching down to push some hair from your face as he pulls out of you.

The two of you just stare at each other for a bit before you sit up, walking to grab your jeans and turning to the bathroom.

Leon shakes his head as he rebuttons his pants and stands up, his hands helping you tug your jeans up your legs before he grabs at your ass, smacking lightly as he makes his way towards the garage.. again.

“Warm my food up for me.”

#yourgentlegf #leon kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy angst #older leon kennedy #older leon plz

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quietblueriver · 9 days

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**Update: now 1k longer, edited, and with two additional nights' worth of obsessive CR thoughts. Much like how to hit post/publish without going back to change a million things, I have yet to figure out the line between rb and "so different it deserves a new post" and maybe never will!

Also now on AO3.

----

Three cheers for the surprisingly lengthy, emotionally complex conversation in Ep. 96. Still thinking about that devastating rooftop moment, and never not thinking about Imogen Temult, so here's this, in which Imogen visits her favorite place without her favorite person, gets a surprise visitor, and has some thoughts about Laudna and their future. Some light spoilers for Ep. 96.

There was a cool breeze ruffling the fabric of her skirt against the skin of her leg, and Imogen took a moment to bask, eyes closed, face turned up to the warmth of the sun. When she blinked open her eyes, she found exactly what she expected: the old oak that took up a corner of the sprawling yard, a faded-white bench swing hanging from one sturdy branch; the little shelter for firewood, empty at the moment, a green wheelbarrow parked just beside it; the raised garden beds bursting with color that framed a pathway to the porch steps where she sat. The most familiar place she had never been.

Home.

“Of course,” she breathed out. Her mind’s decision to bring her here was at once almost unbearably cruel and a kindness she was surprised she could grant herself, and tears burned at the back of her eyes as she ran her palms over the smooth, dark-stained wood of the step next to her hip.

The sound of her own voice made her realize exactly how quiet the world around her was–no birds chirping, empty hitching posts, bees gone from the thriving patch of wildflowers. The house behind her waited still and free of the whistle of the kettle and shuffle of stockinged feet, missing the absent-minded humming and chorus of mundane thoughts that made Imogen feel most at home.

“Of course,” she said again, a little louder and a lot more resigned.

It didn’t seem right, that the chasm in Imogen’s stomach, already bottomless, could somehow grow deeper, but that was what was happening, her mind returning to Laudna’s skin under her lips on that rooftop, Laudna’s body wrapped in blankets and shifting quietly away from Imogen.

She felt like a coward, letting her go again, flying back through that window, turning her own body into itself in bed. She could’ve stayed, should’ve stayed, should’ve pushed. But then, it was Laudna’s choice. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? Giving Laudna the choice, the control, the autonomy she’d had taken from her for so long?

This wasn’t the first time she’d prepared herself to lose Laudna. She had watched FCG, well-intentioned, try to force her back to them at Whitestone. She had understood, even as she’d wanted to kill them a little. But when it was her turn, Imogen made sure Laudna knew it was her choice and that Imogen would never try to take that from her. It was still true. Imogen loved Laudna far too much to try to force her hand.

Now, though. Now there was the green ghost of Delilah Briarwood, sharp voice chasing Laudna’s like a wolf after its prey. Closer and closer and closer.

It felt less and less like giving Laudna a choice and more and more like leaving her to be eaten. Imogen worried, always, about what that bitch was saying to Laudna, what she was doing to Laudna. She worried about how much influence she had and about whether Laudna could see it.

But then Laudna had been the one to say that she didn’t know if there was much point in distinguishing between them anymore.

That was it for Imogen. It was one thing if Laudna couldn’t see Delilah, couldn’t understand that her choices might not be fully her own. But Laudna knew. Laudna knew she wasn’t alone, knew Delilah was more than just a passenger, and Imogen had done all she could to be clear about Delilah’s lies and Laudna’s own power, to offer Laudna perspective on who she was to Imogen without Delilah.

And with all of that, she had made her choice. Imogen didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how Laudna could see Delilah for what she was, for what she wanted, and still believe she could control her, still choose to try. Then again, of course she didn’t. It was so fucking messy and it had been for longer than Imogen had been alive, and anyway, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t her choice to understand; it was her choice to respect.

She could do that. It had broken her, was still breaking her, but she would always, always respect what Laudna chose for herself. She had nodded, cracked open on that rooftop. She had accepted what she heard and what it meant, for Laudna and for her and for the future she had thought they both wanted.

I’m going to miss our little cottage, though.

She hadn’t meant it as a shot. It was grief over something she thought, hoped, Laudna might be grieving, too. It’s not like Imogen thought Laudna’s decision had been easy.

Still, she hadn’t expected the look she received in return, the surprised, broken stare, the shaking sob and flood of ichor that Laudna tried to stem. It was like Laudna hadn’t realized that their future was there to lose. Maybe she hadn’t. Laudna never did seem to understand how much Imogen loved her, no matter how clear Imogen tried to make it. Maybe she’d heard Imogen’s very real dreams as passing thoughts. Maybe Imogen’s concession of their future had been the first time Laudna had seen it clearly.

Or maybe things were right fucked up, and Laudna needed to cry about it.

Either way, Imogen wasn’t fool enough to expect that Laudna’s possible moment of comprehension would change anything. Sure, she’d sounded different with the Hells, less like she was expecting death, a dead end, and more like she wanted to take back control, but Laudna also knew the rest of the Hells were less likely to respect her choices than Imogen, that any hint of her willingness to let Delilah take control, even on a suicide mission, might lead them to push Laudna away. Imogen had no doubt that Laudna loved her, had no doubt, really, that if she was right about Laudna’s realization that it meant something, but Imogen wasn’t hanging her hope on that.

Laudna had made her choice.

“So,” she said aloud, voice soft as she took in the green grass stretched before her, the fence line separating their cottage from the forest, Laudna’s thriving tomatoes and okra, supported in their little cages. “Just me then.”

And wasn’t that a dangerous realization.

Because Imogen’s whole life was about control. Her mind, her body, her emotions, she knew all of them needed to be held tightly, that letting go meant danger for anyone around her. But here, now, all alone? The small, steady voice of reason inside of her lost to the reality of her isolation. “Just me,” she whispered, and in a snap, her scars burned, light flashing under and around her skin, tears falling hot down her cheeks. A storm of fear and anger and desperation and hurt let loose. The bursts of lightning that crackled around her did not set the house on fire. She might be alone, but she could never, would never, hurt what was theirs.

Instead, she stood, still burning, and walked to the top of the stairs, staring at the post that ran from the tin roof through the floor of the porch. She considered, watched little bolts strike out harmlessly at the porch and the railing.

She’d been six years old the first time she wrecked the cleaning station in the barn, tiny, furious body pushing buckets and tack and brushes, flipping the table in a show of strength that followed her for years through drunken stories from the other stable hands. At her daddy’s hard order, she had stomped her way to her room, slamming the door with tears streaming down her face.

Imogen’s daddy hadn’t understood a lot of things about her, but he’d understood her that night. Relvin, who had all of her anger and none of her magic, had come to get her from her room and taken her to the back of the old storage barn, where he’d used a rafter to hang a densely packed sack of hay at her height. He’d taken her hand, still small enough to fit fully in his, and shown her how to make a fist.

Now, just like he’d taught her, she curled her scarred fingers and folded her thumb across the outside, squared up to a cut of wood that was absolutely going to win this fight, and swung as hard as she could. Sure enough, with a grunt and a flash of pain, Imogen pulled back to find her knuckles bloodied and the wood smeared with dark red but as solid as ever. She contemplated her unblemished right hand, and it was only the sound of rustling grass that stopped her from another round.

Her head shot up and toward the corner of the house and the source of the noise. She was in her own mind, her own dream, but that didn’t mean shit, really. She wiped at her eyes, hissing at the pain and glad for it and for the blood now surely on her cheeks, and she let the heat crackle the air around her. She was ready and out of patience for any bullshit. No matter the evidence of her weakness now marring the wood next to her, this place was sacred, and she was going to be pissed if somebody had come here to fight.

Imogen relaxed, air cooling, as she took in the figure that loped toward her. He was horrifying, a mass of patchy dark hair and exposed bone, dripping ichor and torn flesh. His eyes glowed and his deadly teeth showed through his half-torn jaw. As Imogen walked down the steps to wait, she felt deep fondness at the wagging tail and lolling tongue that felt so incongruous to the rest of the hellbeast. Fun scary.

“Hey, baby boy,” she said affectionately as he got closer, and his tail wagged harder at her voice. She leaned forward when he made it to her, cupping his face to scratch behind his jaw, wincing at the pain in her hand. His fur was mostly intact under her fingers, although the jaw itself was a blend of bone and ichor and random thin patches of hair against Imogen’s palms. “What’re you doin’ here?”

As if in answer, he pulled back and whined, licked at her cuts and the forming bruise, the familiar sticky, black liquid cooling and covering the split skin.

“I’m okay,” she reassured, aware that even beyond the evidence of violence, the intermittent purple static around her body probably wasn’t particularly convincing. She was right, it seemed–the tilt of his head was skeptical, and he huffed at her loudly, but his eyes were fond. Imogen saw Laudna in him so clearly in that moment that she lost her breath for a second.

“Fuck.”

Another whine, another lick, and Imogen conceded the point. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I’m not doin’ so good. You come all this way just to check up on me?”

He moved forward and pressed his head into her thighs, and she scratched at the parts of his back and ribs that she could, stopping when she noticed the pain in her hand was gone. Flexing, she pulled it back to look more closely, wiping the blood and ichor off carelessly on her shorts. Sure enough, the skin was healed, and Caviar was staring at her, tongue hanging from the open side of his mouth.

She could’ve healed it herself. This was her mind, after all, and it wasn’t one of those dreams where she felt like a passenger. She could’ve stopped the pain entirely, stopped it before it ever started. She hadn’t.

Not as herself, anyway.

It wasn’t a surprise, really. It only made sense that the kindest, gentlest parts of herself would manifest this way. It had been Laudna who taught her how to love herself, and it was Laudna she wanted with her now.

Big eyes blinked up at her, and just like the cottage, just like her knuckles, Caviar’s presence was a welcome wound, and one she’d inflicted on herself.

Imogen fought a sob, only half successfully, and Caviar whined again. “Kinda fucked up, sweet thing,” she rasped. A drop of ichor fell from his tongue to the packed dirt in front of the stairs. She wiped her eyes again and sighed, reaching down to smooth the hair between his eyes with her thumb. “How about a little walk in the garden, yeah? And then maybe a snack?”

It took a minute to pull off her boots, toss them a little carelessly on the uncharacteristically empty shelf inside the door. She had nothing to hang on the shiny, empty brass hooks that waited above it, and she didn’t dwell, following Caviar through the living room to the little kitchen in the back. The kettle rested on the stove, and she filled it and set it to boil before moving to the shelves on the opposite wall.

“Okay, Cavvy. Let’s see what we’ve got, hmm?”

There was a glass jar filled with cookies that Imogen knew were for Cav; they were fresh, and they smelled like pumpkin and cinnamon. He scarfed down two happily while she found the tea leaves. She turned to the shelves near the window where she knew her favorite mug was waiting for her next to Laudna’s. Her hand fell back to her side as she took them in, her mug and Laudna’s and the small collection of others, all in a neat and tidy line with their rims up. Imogen stared until the water boiled and the kettle whistled, stared until Caviar bumped her leg.

She put a hand absently on his head, felt bone under her ring and pinky fingers. “Your mama did that,” she said evenly, blinking and looking down at him. “This is our house.” He pressed up into her hand, and she scratched obligingly. “This is our house.”

She ignored her own mug and pulled Laudna’s down, setting it on the table and filling the strainer in the yellow ceramic teapot. She poured the water and waited for the leaves to steep and then sipped her tea in silence as Caviar settled by her feet. A blue tea towel embroidered with a small white oleander in the corner rested over the top of one chair, smudged with orange-tinted batter and smelling of cinnamon.

Imogen never had been a very good baker.

“I think Orym was lyin’ to her.”

Caviar’s head rested on Imogen’s thigh, just above her knee, as she lay with her arms spread wide on the worn blue and gray rug in their living room. He lifted it slightly at her words, and she brought a hand down to finger the tip of his good ear, the one without a chunk missing, the way that he liked.

“I know he loves her,” she assured, and Caviar pushed himself up on his massive paws and shifted so that his body was pressed into hers, Imogen’s arm resting on his surprisingly dry, largely exposed ribs. “I don’t mean that. I just,” she traced bone with her index finger, staring at the wicker basket full of yarn beside the chair that Laudna favored, a cousin to the one at Zhudanna’s, “I heard them talkin’ about her, about trust, and I think Orym…He knows Delilah won’t let him close if she doesn’t trust him. He knows she’s listnin’ whenever she can. It’s about Delilah. Always fuckin’ Delilah.”

She rolled onto her side, moving her arm so she could rest her head on her bicep and curling the other across Cav’s body. He huffed out a sigh, breath a harsher reminder of death than his mother’s, decomposition to her sweet decay. Imogen didn’t mind it.

“He doesn’t wanna hurt Laudna.” Goosebumps formed where his cold body made contact with the exposed skin of her legs. “But he will.”

A low growl started in Caviar’s chest and Imogen made a soothing noise, noticed a stray sock under Laudna’s chair. “I know, baby. You’re a good boy.”

He was a good boy. He’d come as Delilah gained a better foothold, Imogen knew, a manifestation of Laudna’s anger and fear and hurt and power, her desire to protect.

And maybe Laudna saw him as further evidence of Delilah’s power and usefulness but Imogen knew better. Delilah would protect them only as much as it benefitted her, and it was a complicated balance when weighed against the need for Laudna to give her as little trouble as possible, sure, but one that definitely would’ve left at least a few of the Hells dead and buried several times over.

There was no calculation for Laudna. Caviar sprang readily, her body literally tearing itself open to be of use, and he snarled and snapped for the people Laudna loved. He was Laudna’s beast.

His hackles now were built from Imogen, from love and a desire to protect that Laudna did not often extend to herself. She liked the look of it on him. The growl continued, a comforting rumble, as Imogen spelled Laudna’s name against his fur. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

She hadn’t wanted to go upstairs, but Caviar made the decision for her, interrupting her carpet brooding and disappearing around the corner to the staircase after a pointed look back at her. She followed, resigned, but stopped halfway there, eyes stuck on the pair of boots next to her own and the one now-occupied brass hook. She knew them, boots black and worn and scarf maroon and soft, big enough to use as a shawl if she wanted, Laudna’s frame so small it wrapped around her easily. She took a half-step toward them but at the impatient bark from upstairs, she tore herself away and started to climb.

He was waiting for her by Laudna’s bedside table, which was exactly as it should be–a paperback novel, spine bent so many times the title was hardly legible between the yellowed cracks, sat waiting next to another wicker basket, this one containing an embroidery hoop and some fabric. A small pin cushion peeked out of the top, clearly custom-made, the glinting metal protruding from the stuffed rat skull making Pate look even more disturbing than usual.

A white quilt with an intricate pattern of overlapping rings covered the bed, the green and gold and blue and purple striking but not garish. She sat on her side, smoothed a hand over the fabric, felt the dips and ridges of the stitches in the pattern. Caviar’s deadly claws clicked against the wood as he made his way to her, and she bit her lip for a minute before scooting over onto Laudna’s side, breathing in the smell of her on the pillow and patting the bed next to her. With menacing grace, Caviar joined her and spun once before settling, nose tucked under his tail, the curve of his spine just touching Imogen’s torso.

She watched the rise and fall of his body, eyes moving across the ragged realities of him. A hound of ill omen, and he looked like one. He was fierce and violent, a weapon, but Laudna, who knew what it was to be used and feared, who didn’t seem to be able to see him fully as herself, had given him a name, opened her chest for him and fussed over him and, at one point, asked Imogen whether putting him in a sweater would be “undignified.”

“Your mama’s ridiculous,” she said quietly, gratified when he remained still and unbothered. “I’m very in love with her.” A beat, her palm scrunching the quilt at her side. “I thought she knew, y’know? I thought she heard me when I…”

She flattened the fabric again, traced one of the rings with two fingers and thought again of Laudna’s face on that rooftop. What had she thought Imogen meant all those times? What had she meant when she said Imogen could have this? That they could have this?

She turned her head, ear against Laudna’s pillow, and stared at her own bedside table. It didn’t have anything on it aside from a small lantern, but it wouldn’t, would it? Laudna would hand her the book, and Imogen would read aloud as she worked on whatever project or rested her head on Imogen’s stomach.

The chasm widened this time, maybe finally out of depth to reach, and its growth brought along the urge to reach over and shatter the lantern. Instead she turned her head to the other side, took in Laudna’s dresser pushed under the window, the pitcher and glasses, the glazed speckled bowl full of feathers and small bones, and a lonely sock waiting for its pair forgotten under Laudna’s wingback.

“Real subtle,” she said to herself, less quiet than she had been with the annoyance seeping in, because what the fuck was she supposed to do about it anyway? Caviar remained undisturbed.

Rolling her eyes, Imogen took a few deep breaths and took stock. She very well might wreck herself again, thinking about how she couldn’t have this, trying to understand why. On the other hand, she was laying in an imaginary bed in an imaginary cottage next to an imaginary version of the monster that sometimes jumped out of her girlfriend’s chest, and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t want to leave this place or the little pieces of Laudna in it, so it seemed more likely than not that the wreck had never actually stopped.

She did not fight the turn from that thought back to Laudna on the roof.

I’m a dead end. Laudna had said that phrase several times in the last few weeks, and Imogen hated it, scoffed at it every time, but she should’ve understood sooner that nobody calling herself a dead end really believed she had choices. Not real ones, anyway.

The only thing that was certain for Laudna was Delilah, and at the root of it all, she believed her choice was Delilah or nothing.

And Imogen had been clear about how she felt about Delilah.

You told me once that you hate the idea of her watching you, watching us. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed?

She hadn’t heard that question for what it was: Can you really love me this way?

Imogen shifted on the bed, hot and anxious, and Caviar whined lowly, displeased at the movement. She ran a hand through the fur at his shoulder and then stood, pacing the space between the bed and dresser.

Laudna, shaking and unable to believe that Delilah had chosen her for a reason. Laudna, crying slow, black tears as Imogen told her she hated that Delilah was there, watching them, when just a few minutes before Laudna had admitted she wasn’t sure how to separate herself from Delilah any longer.

Imogen had let this go because she thought Laudna had made her choice, had all the information and chose her own path, and Imogen didn’t want to try to take that, but she also should’ve known that for Laudna it hadn’t felt like a real choice.

“It’s not takin’ her choice to help her understand that she has one.” Her voice was an agitated murmur, and she heard the shift of Caviar’s body on the bed, saw that he had uncurled and was watching her, still mostly relaxed but attentive.

Fuck. Fuck. Of course Laudna couldn’t imagine their future, because she couldn’t imagine herself without Delilah, and Imogen hated her, openly and vocally and with all her heart. Delilah, who was there all the time, who had been there for thirty years, and for most of that had been Laudna’s only constant, her only company, her only protector. Delilah, who’d had all the time in the world to convince Laudna that she should be grateful to have her, that she was alive only because Delilah let her be, that she was walking around purely on the luck of the draw.

Of course she thought her value was Delilah, thought the best she could do would be to try to take as much of Delilah’s power in service to her friends, to Imogen, as she could, even if it meant she herself would disappear. Imogen knew Delilah must love that, must love Laudna’s thoughts about self-sacrifice. The bitch.

A growl issued from the bed, and Imogen turned again to the hound, whose eyes were on her, his body now in a rigid, ready line and his lip raised in a snarl. Sighing, Imogen sat, offering her hand for him to sniff.

“I know. I know. I hate it, too.” The growling slowed although he remained tense, ready, teeth glinting. “I don’t think this is somethin’ we can fix on our own, baby. We can’t scare her away from your mama.”

But she had to go. Or, they had to give Laudna the option, a real option, to live without her, so that she felt like the choices in front of her were more than just smoke and mirrors to Delilah’s stone.

“But we’ve got help, don’t we?” She kept her voice gentle and flipped her hand slowly until his cold nose was moving along her palm. “Lots of people who love your mama. And lots of people who hate that woman.”

No matter Orym’s fears, Imogen knew Fearne had spoken for all of them when she said they’d kill Delilah as many times as it took. They just had to figure out how.

Imogen could work on that.

Well.

There were some things they had to do first, but if they survived Predathos, surely the Tempest, surely all of those people at Whitestone who hated Delilah so much, would jump at the chance to help get rid of her for good. Lord Percival was kind of a dick, but Lady Vex’ahlia seemed to have him under control, and if they couldn't help, they had to know people. Someone could help, and Imogen would absolutely fucking leverage Ruidus and Predathos and everything the Bells had done and sacrificed to get what they needed.

They could make a plan, and Laudna could decide how she wanted to live her life. Yeah, it would hurt badly for Laudna to choose Delilah again, but at least then she and Laudna could both be sure it was a real choice. Laudna was worth the risk. Always.

In the meantime, Imogen could hold onto this for the both of them. She wanted this, and she was ready to fight for it if Laudna wanted it, too. The spark of hope she'd tried to snuff out earlier flared back to life, and she let herself start to believe that Laudna did want it, would want it, would fight right beside her if she believed it could be real. Maybe she just needed a little hope too. Imogen could share.

Caviar licked at her, and she let him, moving to lie back down as he moved away from the edge of the bed and relaxed a little.

She put a hand on one of his front paws, and he raised it up, laying it over her arm, the rough pads scraping her skin. “We’re gonna try this again, okay? I’m gonna try this again.” Hard bone and wet sinew pressed against the inside of her elbow as he lay his head and neck over her, a comforting weight. “For Laudna.”

A bird chirped happily outside their window, and Imogen closed her eyes.

She woke in their bed, still facing away, still curled into herself, and she turned immediately, reached out to Laudna as she stared at the sharp point of her shoulder and the plane of her back.

Laudna?

The response was immediate, concerned. Imogen? Are you alright?

I love you.

Laudna turned, and Imogen watched her eyes take her in, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in a way that made Imogen itch to reach out and soothe her.

When their eyes met, Imogen put a hand between them.

I love you so much. No matter what. Even if she’s with you forever, with us forever, I don’t care. I want you, okay? If you want that, want me, I’m yours.

She was crying, dark stains moving down pale cheeks, and she was still bundled into herself, small and in her own blankets. Imogen eyed her hand between them and thought about choice.

I…I’d like to hold your hand, if that’s something you want.

Nearly immediately, Laudna’s hand was out of her blankets and on Imogen's, cold and perfect.

It is. It is. I…I thought you would want space. After…

Imogen shifted so that their fingers laced, traced her thumb over the skin at Laudna's wrist.

I don’t want space from you, darlin’. I want…

She stopped because it wasn’t the time for a full conversation, but she shifted closer, lifted their hands to press a kiss to the back of Laudna’s, did it again when she heard Laudna’s small sound of relief. She laced their fingers again, thumb over knuckles this time, and moved closer still, until their feet were nearly touching, sighed happily when a cold ankle moved to rest on hers.

Caviar came to visit in my dream.

Oh? Laudna lifted her eyes from where they’d been fixed on their joined hands. Tell me about it?

We went explorin’, she offered, and started with Laudna’s garden.

#imodna #imodna fic #imogen temult #southerngothic

68 notes · View notes

eusion · 7 months

Text

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪&team hyung line taking care of u while ur drunk ⌒☆

pairing ⌒☆ &team hyung line x reader

word count ⌒☆ 1.5k

note ⌒☆ i got carried away at the end. very fun to write.,. my thoughts are consuming me.

k ⌒☆

"u should come! everyone is here!" k says loudly over the phone, clearly drunk. it was only 9pm, way too early to be this intoxicated, but u decided to go stop by since u have major fomo. once u get to the bar, k can spot u from a mile away. u watch as he politely shoves past bodies to make his way towards u, the biggest smile always plastered onto his lips as he repeatedly calls out ur name. once he reaches u, ur hands lock together & ur now following diligently behind the tall man to his table with ur friends.

from the moment he ended the call with u he decided to stop drinking for the night. one thing about k is that he gets sober very quick. after an hour, his vision begins to be less blurry. hes now in observation mode, watching as u start downing drinks & being more loose with ur friends. he always gives u a call u in times like this & whenever u do stop by to have a few shots 'with' him, it never fails to make him the happiest man in the world. however, u always wonder why he never drinks when u visit & why hes the only sober one at the end of the night...

"i can take her home" u hear through the loud music & ringing of ur ears. there is a large chorus of drunken agreements, cups clanking against each other afterwards. u look up through ur eyelashes from ur seat, k standing above u with his hand held out, a small smile painted onto his face. hes holding the jacket u left on ur chair along with the bag u tossed onto the floor earlier. u lazily get up, grabbing onto his wrist before standing up & waving ur goodbyes to ur friends. the walk to the car was mainly silent, carefully guiding u into the passengers side while making sure u dont hit ur head on the roof. "thank u for taking me home... again..." u mumble with ur eyes shut, ur favorite music playing in the car. he hums in response, "its no problem at all. id do it anytime". suddenly u begin to understand why hes always sober by midnight.

fuma ⌒☆

he offers to accompany u on ur late night endeavors with friends & u agree since its been a while since u two have been out together for a nice drink. however, fuma knows that every time he goes out with u for a 'drink', he ends up becoming the dd. he never really minds it since hes content being the one that keeps u safe and sound at the end of the night. knowing that ur in good hands is enough to keep him satisfied.

watching as u down shot after shot, he takes notice of how red ur cheeks gradually get, how much u sway back and forth after a shot & how clingy u become, ur fingers poking at his cheek every few minutes. he shakes his head and sighs in endearment as he watches u become more extroverted compared to the beginning of the night. a few more shots in, ur head is fully planted against his shoulder, hands limp and eyes half closed. sometimes a small mumble comes from ur lips, and although he has no idea what ur saying each time, he will always respond with a reassuring "i know".

"time to go?" he whispers into ur ear, face right next to urs. this is his fifth time saying it this night & each time u manage fight back with some sort of disagreement. as ur rebuttals start to become weaker, his body becomes crouched down in front of u ready to lend u his back for a small ride. on the nights u cant seem to bring urself to get up, he has no problem picking u up bridal style & carry u to his car. small protests can be heard from u as u get carried out of the establishment and into the vehicle. "i know, i know..." he says again in response, gently placing u in the passengers seat & carefully buckling u in before placing his jacket over ur lap.

nicholas ⌒☆

as u take ur seventh vodka shot of the night, u immediately regret it once it starts tunneling down ur throat. u slam the glass on the table, tapping out immediately after saying that was ur last shot of the night. u get up & wobble ur way over to any open spot on the sofa, plopping cozily between two random people & casually sparking up conversation with anyone in the vicinity. u spot ur friend prancing over to u with a wine cooler in their hand, crouching down and feeding it to u like it was water.

"is she okay?" ur eyes dart around, eyes locking onto a man with a mullet talking to the random beside u. the stranger shrugs in response to his question. hes now staring at u, a grin pulling at his lips as he makes his way over to u after he sees that ur now conscious. "now that ur up, take this" he hands u another shot that he just happened to have on hand, his grin turning into something u recognize as evil almost. u groan in response, feeling the vodka from earlier starting to come up from the thought of u drinking any more. ur eyebrows furrow once u hear him starting to laugh, his head cocking to the side in a taunting way. "poor baby cant take another? ive seen u take more, dont stop now".

u regret yet another shot, hovering over the toilet with ur hair pushed back. u were extremely competitive and never backed down from a challenge. the way the man teased u in that moment made ur blood shoot up straight into ur head. u stood up so quick that u almost toppled over right in front of him. luckily, u didnt make a complete fool of urself, his quick instincts saving u as he held u up with his free hand placed on the small of ur back. all u could do was shoot him a glare, bringing his wrist up to ur face and sipping the drink straight from the hand that was equipped with the glass. u suddenly remembered his name after taking that shot. "done for the night?" nicholas questions from behind u, ur hair gathered gently in one of his palms, the other free hand rubbing ur back. u give him a weak nod followed by a thumbs up & a small chuckle was given in response. "ill be here all night, dont worry"

euijoo ⌒☆

"hes kinda cute" u say absentmindedly, staring at the tall man with the plum hair that was a few steps away. u watched him for the majority of the night, admiring how his eyes lit up during conversations & how wide his smile gets when his friends start cracking jokes. ur friend gives u a small nudge at ur side before passing u a shot. "hes in ur department, doesnt hurt to go say hi" u immediately nod & take the shot for the courage, standing right up before immediately sitting back down. u cant bring ur legs to work in this situation. maybe u need more to drink? "pour me a couple more, then ill go up"

u havent moved at all from ur seat on the couch. ur jacket came off, ur head is in the crook of ur elbow and ur six shots deep. ur friends teasingly remark after each shot how u havent had the courage to get up to talk to the man. what was so difficult about this one? ur thought was rudely interrupted by loud cheers coming from the kitchen, head darting up to look around to see what the commotion was about. "looks like ur man lost rage cage..." ur eyes slowly start to widen as u begin to realize what that meant, watching as he hesitantly started to pick up the bitch cup from the center of the table. he did not want to drink whatever terrible concoction it was, his face being the most dissatisfied uve seen all night. ur legs start moving on their own & within a couple of seconds ur posted up right in front of him, calmly grabbing the cup and downing it.

the rest of the night was a complete blur. the last thing u remember was seeing his face right in front of urs, a look of real concern painted on his features, but all u could notice was how his eyes lit up the same way from before. now ur passed out in a random room, blanket covering ur body, a tall glass of water and a plastic bag right beside u. ur eyes slowly start to open, rolling over to check ur phone for the time; 9am. surprisingly, u feel alright even after that night. u sit up, groaning as u begin to stretch ur arms above ur head. u look around and see ur false eyelashes gently placed on a napkin with a few scribbles on it. "thank u for saving me... i hope u feel ok later. wake me up if u need anything - euijoo" read the napkin. u quickly look down from the bed and find that same plum haired boy sleeping calmly on the floor with a few used makeup wipes in his hand.

#andteam #andteam scenarios #&team #&team nicholas #&team fuma #&team k #&team euijoo #&team x reader #&team imagines #&team fluff #&team scenarios #i did not proofread this #just thinking

235 notes · View notes

pupkou · 8 months

Text

✧ Blood and Darkness ✧

✦ Zagreus (Hades 2018) x Gender Neutral Reader. ✦ Warnings: slight mentions of gore (no details; in the game, Zagreus is killed over and over and is often covered in blood), head injury (reader is hurt, non-fatally, and is knocked out by hitting their head), mentions of Zagreus’ sexual escapades (no descriptions), reader is a servant of the house of Hades and is described as a shade, no smut (��)... yet (😏). ✦ Word Count: 2.2K. ✦ Read on AO3. ✦ Part 1 / ?

You've heard rumors about Hades' son.

They say he's not in possession of a particularly impressive stature; he's of average height, with dark hair, and he's quite thin, really, for a God. That's what he is, after all, just a God of the Underworld. One of many. And one who looks like he's not indulging himself in ambrosia and nectar as much as he should be at that, it almost seems like he's ungrateful for all the blessings and curses that come along with being the Prince of the Underworld.

They describe him as far smaller and more pathetic than Achilles, their blush showing on their ghostly complexions as they describe how his hair is cropped close to his neck and black and unflowing, not at all like the golden locks that fall around Achilles' nape.

Oh, Achilles, why must you torture us with your divine beauty and arrogant sneer? We know our ghastly, hellish faces are unworthy of your gaze, but a small, simple kindness-- in the form of a smile from your handsome face-- would satisfy us for eternities to come. By Achilles, by Thetis, and by Zeus, please let him stroll by and be pleased by something enough to smile for us, even if his pleasure comes from our misery. Surely, one of us can think of something to poke fun at Hector... much like the spear of Achilles' poked at his neck... surely so, surely so...

They... say a lot of things, but they always call him Zagreus, which means 'great hunter'. But by the rumors you've heard, it... doesn't seem like Zagreus' name fits him very well. In Tartarus' maze, everything becomes prey to those that inhabit the different levels of death and despair that come before you feel the sun's warm embrace, or so you've heard. You've never actually felt the sun, but you have heard Achilles brag about it to Hades, reminding the king of his very eventful life on earth. The sun doesn't reach this far down, though, and is unable to illuminate the depths of Hades' realm or comfort those who call it home. Here, predators lurk around every moss-covered turn, under every magma-concealing rock, behind every skullified hero's dug-up grave, and even amongst the distinguished guests that frequent the house of Hades.

From the whispers you've strained to hear, it seems like Zagreus wants out of this place-- the Underworld, that is. The shades, your main source of information on Zagreus and the other residents of the house, love to gossip, and they say he's still not been successful in escaping the darkness that has consumed him since he was born. Some root for him, hoping that one day his laurels will know what it feels like to soak in the blazing sun like the blessed olive trees they were harvested from, while others laugh at his failure, joining Hypnos' chorus of dramatic mocking, when they see him rise from the blood once again.

He's always covered in it, head to toe, deep red and maroon coating his limbs and soaking from his limbs as if it were his own. Much of it is, considering the amount of times he's died, but that doesn't make it any less pitiful to see the Prince rise from the fluid of life (and death), unrelenting in his attempts to escape his home. He'd hardly call it that, of course, as you've heard him say as he climbs the marble steps leading from the pool of blood, wiping his glowing feet on the carpet that you think was one of Arachne's (hence its purpose being for Zagreus to wipe his bloody feet on.)

The thing about marble-- what the house of Hades is made out of-- is that it doesn't absorb sound in the slightest. It's a curse for embarrassed shades trying to quietly explain how they arrived in Tartarus early because their pet goat rammed them in the stomach, but a blessing for beings like you who get most of their daily excitement from the things that they hear refracted off of the cool stone walls.

Marble also doesn't quickly absorb any liquid poured onto its surface, despite being a porous stone, which means that you, one of the poor shades tasked with cleaning, have a lot of work to do. Guests in the house get rowdy at the kitchen bar sometimes, drinking too much ambrosia and leaving various liquids behind. Sometimes water from the river Styx drips from cracks in the ceiling, pooling and causing problems for anyone whose flesh comes in contact with the liquid. And on the worst days, the most stubborn of fluid comes in contact with the objects you're in charge of keeping tidy.

One of Cerberus' heads is a particularly messy eater, which means that sometimes droplets of blood from a cut of meat (or carcass) he's eating are flung onto precious objects. Another guest, who is said to be armed with a barbed whip, has been said to make her victims cry blood on occasion, staining the good dinner napkins and frustrating you profusely. But by far, the being who makes the worst, bloody messes, is Zagreus himself.

Despite him wiping his feet on the carpet and despite your polite suggestion to him-- a sheet for him to dry off with laid over the marble railing, Zagreus continuously trails blood all over the house. And it doesn't help that the Prince behaves like a dog, prodding at his ears when they're clogged with blood and scratching at his head to dislodge it from his scalp. He's even shook like a filthy mutt before, letting drops of blood fly from his dark hair and unknowingly creating hours of cleanup for you. You've always been forgiving, though, considering that for one, you don't have much of a choice, and two, that you've never actually spoken to Zagreus in all of your years working for the house. You've heard his name boomed in anger from Hades' decision chamber, whispered by a loose-lipped shade with an audience to entertain, and uttered during more private affairs when you shouldn't have been pressing an ear to the dark wood of his bedchamber.

But things happen. And you've never met him, so you don't feel too bad or worry too much about ever being in his presence. He's always gone anyway, wooing an undead maiden when he's not fighting to flee the house, you presume. So when you enter his bedroom dust off his belongings and collect his blood and gut soiled robes, you pay little attention to your surroundings.

You've been in his sleeping chambers many times since you've been trusted with entry, something the other cleaning shades consider a privilege. You scoff at the idea that cleaning up the Prince's dirty laundry, various collected knickknacks, and... bodily fluids is at all a privilege, but you do as you're told anyway because admittedly, it is interesting to be provided with such an intimate view of someone you've never met. There's so much to be told by someone's bedroom, or in Zagreus' case, the state of someone's sheets (his always are in various stages of disarray from his frequent activities held within the bedchamber), and you don't at all mind the exclusive perspective on the Prince.

You do, however, mind that he tracks blood everywhere. Usually, you're more aware of it, considering how much of your life you spend cleaning it up, but this time, you're not so lucky as to notice its presence. Abnormally, the carpet that cushions the foot of Zagreus' bed is kicked up in one spot so that when you move to straighten the books on his bookshelf, not only do you trip on the carpet, but you slip in a pool of blood, streaking it across the tile as you fall hard onto the floor. The force with which your head hits the hard, stone floor would surely have killed you had you not died ages ago, but in this extended lifetime, all it does is send the lower half of your body into the bookshelf's feet, knocking books, scrolls, and what are surely precious artifacts from Zagreus' journeys flying to the floor in a great crash that shakes and echoes through the room.

Although you're thoroughly disoriented and on the verge of passing out, you still hear a gravelly, skeletal voice in the distance say, "Maybe you'd better investigate that, boyo. Unless you don't got the guts! I sure don't! Ha ha ha!" before your eyes close and your mind descends to darkness.

✧✧✧

Rest, even when injury is involved, is rare for a servant of Hades like you, and it feels like only a moment has passed before your eyes are opening again, drowsy and weak as the lids flutter open. While you can't quite understand why yet, you notice that you're lying on a bed softer than a cloud and warmer than the sun (as you imagine it), and that soft voices are speaking in hushed tones nearby. One is older than the other, and commands the other to be more quiet as he worries, as though he's fretting about you.

Your sight comes back to you gradually, and you see that a red blanket with golden lining is draped over your legs and midsection comfortably, keeping you warm and still as the shocks of the pain from your head pulse through your body. Your neck hurts too, but it retains just enough of its strength that you're able to lift your hurting head and see the two forms hovering at the bedside, far enough to indicate that they were worried you might spring up like an undead warrior looking for revenge, but concerned enough that they needed to stay close.

The one on the left, who's farther from you, is a reanimated human's skeleton. A Bloodless, as they're called, was once a mortal warrior that did not receive a proper burial, and is now forced to roam the Underworld aimlessly, looking for a fight that might bring them eternal peace. It's a foolish game to play, of course, as all wise men know that no war will ever bring peace. This Bloodless doesn't seem mindless like the others though, and is able to make eye contact with his bright red irises, although he seems uncomfortable doing so. He looks at his partner when you meet his gaze.

His partner stands closer to you, his face full of concern as it points at you, studying you. He's not very tall, but he's muscular as if he uses his body more than the average God trapped in Tartarus for all of eternity, and the half of his torso that's revealed lacks scarring-- in the dimness of the room, it's almost like his skin is glowing faintly. His face is kind and handsome, unlike anyone you've ever seen before. On top of his short, dark hair rests a loop of multi-colored laurels whose crimson color fades into red, which fades into copper, which fades into gold.

It sits on his head like a crown, much like the dark-haired child in the portrait of Cerberus that hangs in the great hall wore, you think. Identical to it, even. You've never actually stopped to read the plaque that hangs beneath the masterpiece, so you're not sure who the child or his companions are or what their names could be-- you just know that he is of the utmost importance to Hades considering he is the center of a few artistic representations, which Hades isn't often fond of. But before you can begin your quest to discover the identity of the child in the portrait, he speaks.

"Hello, dear friend," he says softly. "Can you hear me?"

You swallow, hoping your voice still works, and say, "Yes."

"Woah! This one's got no respect for royalty! They just employ any- body these days! Ha!" the Bloodless jokes, elbowing his partner in the ribs humorously. Unfortunately for him, his partner doesn't laugh, he just keeps his attention steady on you, his heterochromatic eyes caring as they watch you. In any other case, he would push the Bloodless over and reduce him (temporarily) to a scattered pile of bones, but there are things more important to worry about than someone’s mistimed joke.

At the skeleton’s words, your stomach drops as all the blood rushes to your head all at once, and your heart starts beating so hard you can hear it in your ears, a pounding rhythm usually reserved for life-or-death situations. Suddenly, the room becomes familiar again-- the picture frames you've dusted and the knickknacks you've arranged and the blankets you've straightened thousands of times become clear to you.

You're in Zagreus' bedroom.

Prince Zagreus' bedroom.

And you're lying in his bed.

And the man, who was once a baby with a crown of laurels forced (by magic) to sit still for a portrait, is right in front of you.

The one person in the house of Hades who you've never come in contact with is standing at your bedside because you slipped in his blood.

You are so extremely damned. Somehow, even more than the first time you got damned to Tartarus for all eternity.

Blood and darkness.

✧✧✧

tagging people I think might like this <3

@vampireloverz @allright @transchainsawman @moonsong1027 <3

#zagreus x reader #zagreus x gn reader #zagreus x gender neutral reader #hades game x reader #hades x reader #zagreus hades game x reader

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fandomxpreferences · 2 years

Text

Macho Man

Pairing: RoosterXFemale!reader

TW:swearing, violence, some guy being a creep, that's it I think. let me know if I missed any.

Summary: Rooster has never been the jealous type, but he’ll damn sure protect what's his. A man who unknowingly set his sights on the wrong woman learns this the hard way.

Word Count: 1,656

A/N: protective rooster really does it for me and I feel like its a really underused trope for him. also I apologize for switching between their names and callsigns so much but using just one seems too repetitive lol. I know this gif obv isn’t top gun but it’s the first thing I thought of and it makes me feel things

You were currently standing between Rooster's legs leaning against his chest at the Hard Deck. His hands were around your waist, his head resting against your shoulder. The dagger squad had decided to get drinks to celebrate the success of a mission they had just gotten back from and Hangman was deep in a game of pool with Coyote. You felt Rooster stand up to join the rest of the squad after hangman sank the 8 ball. "Hey babe, I'm gonna go get us more drinks. Does anyone else need a refill?" You asked turning to the group. You were met with a chorus of answers and took note of who said yes and who declined. You stood on your tippy toes to give rooster a kiss. "I'll be right back. Don't miss me too much" you said with a smile. He grabbed his chest dramatically and made a face as if he was in pain, before responding."Every second without you is agony, my love." He said, pretending to faint. You laughed loudly at his theatrics and swatted him on his shoulder before turning to head to the bar. He smiled at your retreating figure before Hangman started talking behind him. He could almost hear the eye-roll Jake was giving. "Come on Romeo. Balls aren't gonna rack themselves." Bradley gave you one last fleeting glance before turning to the blonde man. "Alright, Bagman. Stand back and watch me kick your ass."

As you made your way up to the bar, you got Penny's attention and placed your drink orders. While you were waiting you noticed a figure come up beside you. You glanced over and shot them a small smile, not thinking much of it. Much to your displeasure, the young man took this as an invitation to start a conversation. "What's a pretty lady like yourself doing alone at the bar on a Saturday night?" He had a smile on his face as you looked him over that didn't sit right with you. It reminded you of a predator baring its teeth as it stalked its prey. He was obviously a young new pilot as he was wearing his service khakis and had wings pinned to his lapel. You shifted nervously before glancing over to look for Bradley. He was busy bantering back and forth with Jake and hadn't noticed the man that was now staring you down waiting for a reply. You cleared your throat and willed your voice to be strong before answering. "I'm actually here with my boyfriend and a few friends. I'm just getting everyone refills."

Any hope you had of deterring him was soon replaced with annoyance as you noticed this only seemed to spur him on. He seemed to take it as a challenge as he snaked his arm around your shoulders and leaned in closer. "Well, I don't see him anywhere. Why don't you forget about him and let me show you what a real man is like?". You smiled trying to contain your temper. You didn't want your night to be ruined just because of some cocky asshole. "I'm not interested. The only man I have eyes for is my boyfriend." You noticed his eyes darken and his smile falter at his failed attempts to take you home and started to get nervous. He wasn't taking no for an answer and you were starting to worry about what length this man would go to. You maintained your smile trying to de-escalate the rising tension. Right when you thought things would hit a boiling point, Penny came over to hand you the drinks before turning back around to deal with the packed bar. You stood to leave, telling the man to have a good night. Before you could grab the drinks and head back, he stood up pushing you back into your seat a little too hard.

The group had been talking and laughing when Phoenix looked over at the bar. You had been gone for a while and she was starting to worry. Her eyes landed on you and she frowned when she noticed the man standing a little too close and the expression of annoyance mixed with discomfort on your face. Hangman noticed her shift in demeanor and followed her line of sight. He slowly smirked as he leaned on his pool cue. "Well, well, well, Bradshaw. Looks like you have some competition." Rooster glanced up confused before looking to see what Hangman was talking about. His gaze hardened as he saw you standing next to a man with his arm around your shoulders and a smile on your face. He didn't miss your subtle shift away from him or the way your face carried an uneasy expression, but he stayed in his place. He trusted you and knew you could handle your own.

Jake couldn't help but rub salt in the wound."Jealous much, Rooster? You gonna do something or stay on your safe little perch?" He quickly shut his mouth when he saw the death glare Rooster shot his way. "Jealousy is wanting something that's not yours. I'm territorial over what's already mine. I trust her and she knows that." He continued with his game but kept his eyes on you. Every second you kept talking to the man without removing his arm Rooster got more irritated. The rest of the squad also began to get worried watching the interaction as it was out of character for you. Even Jake was concerned at how long the conversation was lasting as his eyes shifted from Bradley to you and back again. It wasn't until Rooster saw you try to exit the conversation only to be shoved back in your seat that he saw red and threw his pool cue down. The rest of the daggers watched the altercation unfold, their eyes widening. They didn't have time to react before Bradley was storming towards the bar. Hangman and Coyote jumped into action, following close behind to provide backup if it was needed. After a few seconds, the shock passed and the rest of the group quickly caught up.

Your eyes widened as you hit the seat and felt the man's hand tighten on your shoulder so hard you were sure he'd leave bruises. Before you could say anything, the man was ripped backward and thrown to the floor. Bradley had already landed a couple of blows and broken the man's nose before you snapped out of your shock. You jumped up trying to get his attention. "Bradley, enough! He's not worth getting arrested or discharged!" He stopped and looked at you, not releasing his hold on the now bleeding man. His eyes were wild and he was breathing hard. He was about to stand up when the man opened his mouth again. "Maybe you shouldn't let your bitch out of your sight if you're going to let her dress like a whore." If Bradley was seeing red before, his vision had gone completely black now. He had never understood how someone could kill in a fit of rage until this moment. He felt like a feral animal as his blood rushed in his ears and he fought the urge to rip the fuckers throat out with his bare hands. Hangman and Coyote scrambled to control the situation before Rooster caught a murder charge. Bradley mustered all the self-control he had before lowering his face to be even with the man and growling, "If I see your fucking face again, I will finish what I started. Are we clear?" The man's eyes widened and Bradley turned to the other men. "Get him out before I bury him."

Hangman and Coyote grabbed the man and threw him out while you got Bradley to his feet. His eyes softened when he looked at you and the adrenaline and anger were replaced with worry. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" He asked frantically before looking you over. You grabbed his hands stopping him as you peered up at him. "I should be asking you that. Your hand is bleeding and you have to fly tomorrow. What if you broke it?!" You exclaimed with wide eyes "What if he presses charges? You could get kicked out of the navy or worse, arrested!" He pulled you into him and laced his fingers through your hair. "I'll talk to Mav about it tomorrow. It'll be fine, the guy had It coming and I have a whole bar of witnesses to back me up. My hand will be bruised but it's not broken. I'll be okay." You sighed before relaxing into his touch. "You didn't have to do that. You could have just kicked him out." He pulled back to give you a soft kiss and look into your eyes.

"Nobody puts their hands on you. Ever. There's nothing I wouldn't do to make sure you're safe. Now, what do you say we close our tab and get home, sweet girl? I need to get ice on this and we need to shower and cuddle. I won't be able to relax until I can check you over and make sure you're okay." You smiled before laughing and nodding your head. "Whatever you say, macho man." He gave you one last kiss on the head before calling over Penny and handing her his card. You waited patiently before Bradley turned around and grabbed your hand to lead you to the parking lot. He opened the door and helped you climb into his bronco before shutting the door and jogging to the driver's side. The ride home was comfortable, and you broke the silence as he turned onto your guys' street. "You know, as reckless as it was, it was also pretty hot." He looked over at your smile as he put the truck in park in the driveway. His eyes darkened as he raked them down your body and back up again. "If you think that was hot, wait till you see what the evening has in store for you, pretty girl." Maybe this night wasn't a bust after all.

#rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #protective rooster

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tothosewhoyearnforit · 1 year

Text

impurity pt.1 - chaewon

- my first ever smut :D idk this particular outfit of chaewon’s honestly riles me up whenever i think about. nothing that bad, just pretty kinky i guess

- length: 1188 words

- chaewon x male reader

Being Chaewon’s boyfriend was something you never expected to be. Supporting her all the way from Produce 48, then through her Iz*One and Le Sserafim activities. You were pretty much living what every Chaewon stan wanted to do.

The first few months of Le Sserafim’s debut was extremely difficult for both Chaewon and you. There was a lot of work that Chaewon had put in to ensure that her second debut went well and garnered the attention of many netizens and her newly appointed responsibilities as leader of Le Sserafim placed an even greater burden on the girl. The bullying scandal with Kim Garam forced Le Sserafim and their management team back to the wall where they had to adapt to moving forward as a 5 member group. This considerably heavier workload meant that Chaewon seldom had the time to spend time with you and go on dates like you guys used to after her time in Iz*One, making you extremely troubled and constantly worried for her well-being.

After her debut, you guys could both put time aside to spend more time with each other and your feelings for one another developed even more intensely, going so far as to staying the night over at your house or crashing at the dorm in Chaewon’s room. In a blink of an eye, they geared up for their first comeback, Antifragile, which was an absolute hit amongst the kpop industry. Chaewon soon returned to her busy schedule and you started being able to count the number of days of which you hadn’t seen your little tiger.

Then, in what seemed to be the middle of the Antifragile promotion era, you received a text from the one and only...

hey baby, i end early today. wanna crash at yours and spend some time together?

Without hesitation, you immediately replied.

sure! what time will you be coming over ? need me to pick you up?it’s getting kinda chilly these days

ah it’s fine, manager-nim will drop me off today. see you in about an hours time

Deciding to set the tone, you decided to put on Impurities, the b-side track from the comeback album, and tidy up your apartment.

Can you see huh

You hear the sound of tiny delicate hands knocking on your door right as the song reaches its chorus.

“ Oppa !” Chaewon exclaims as she dashes right into you and hugs you. She lets go and takes off her puffer jacket, setting it aside on the sofa in the living room. Below it, she’s wearing the stage outfit she wore back when the group was filming the MV for Impurities. Chaewon’s features are hugged by the seemingly small outfit. Her small but perky tits are accentuated with this outfit along with her short skirt that draws your eyes down to her fishnet stockings that fails to hide her mole on her left thigh as well as her defined leg muscles.

She then jumps back onto you again. This time, you catch her with your arms on her thighs as her lips crash into yours, displaying how dearly she has missed you.

She pauses for a moment.

“Hey, isn’t this my song? I even filmed the music video in this same outfit !”

“Well, I couldn’t help myself could I ? It’s such a good song. And about the outfit, it suits you very well my little cheetah.”

“You have such a way with words. Take me to the bedroom, I need you right now.”

The kiss resumes as you rush into your bedroom, your balance awfully unstable, crashing into the furniture and the door. You throw her onto your bed and begin undressing each other. You take off her top, revealing her perky mounds and her toned abs, moving up and down with every deep breath that she takes. Then her skirt comes off with ease, revealing her glistening slit. As Chaewon moves her hands to take her fishnets off, you stop her in her tracks, whispering into her ears, “Keep it on, it looks really sexy on you.” You then dive head first into her honeypot, thrashing your tongue about inside, earning a few quivering moans that escape from Chaewon’s mouth. “Ahhh… how I needed this so much… You have no idea…” She places one hand on the back of your head, locking your head in place as the other grabs onto the bed sheet like a cheetah’s paw. Her hips arc like a wave as she moves her body to get the most pleasure out of the absolute work you're doing to her. Then, her hips start to buckle as a wave of her girl juice gushes out of her slit and onto your face. The pressure from her hands gradually softens as she pants out of exhaustion from reaching her high. “That was haa…the haa…first time in a haaa…that I’ve came.”

Chaewon then positions herself at the edge of the bed, her head hanging off the side. “Let’s try something new shall we? I want you to facefuck me in this position.” You're surprised by this sudden suggestion but obviously you’re not going to say no to such a dirty minded idea. Chaewon grabs your rock hard cock and kisses it at its base and at its tip, sending a wave of pleasure throughout your synapses. Then, she swirls her tongue around your cock and puts a bit of your length into the mouth that has sung many iconic song lines. Maybe that’s the reason why she is so good at giving head, the repeated vocal tension has allowed her mouth muscles to move in ways unimaginable to the human mind. You then lift her head up gently and start thrusting your throbbing length down her mouth. You look down and take in the sight to behold, her bare body with just her fishnet stockings around her beautiful legs spread out right on the bed and her face unable to be seen except for your cock moving in and out of her mouth as she gags and her spit start to form a mess around the sides of her mouth. Unable to contain your pleasure, you start groaning in pure ecstasy and lust. You start speeding up your thrusts as you near your climax. Just as you’re about to finish, you reluctantly pull your length out of her mouth as you aim your cock onto her body spread out right in front of you and spurts of white fly onto her breasts and her toned midriff, Chaewon gasping for breath underneath you.

“Wow, that was amazing Chae, where the heck did you learn about that?”

“It was just something I saw on one of those porno channels in the hotels in Japan, it really turned me on and when I was getting eaten out by you just now, I suddenly got reminded of it. I’m glad you enjoyed it though !” She sits up and smiles at you with your cum dripping slowly down her upper torso using two of her fingers, she scoops a smudge of it up, and licks the cum cleanly off her digits.

“Delicious.”

#le sserafim smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #smut #chaewon smut #female idol smut

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