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epitaph-for-a-good-girl · 3 months

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La Filosofia del Cane

Darkwood x Arcane

Pairing: Singed x OFC Language: English Words: 3,977 Chapters: 1/5

Summary: Had she had a name, The Doctor, would have known how to deal with her. How to call her. After all, even "doctor" was something; a position, a qualification, a juncture to a past life he kept carrying around stuffed in his old tools' bag. A distant echo, something more than just "girl". The girl, however, was just that.

Warning tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, vomit, guns, and some mild gore.

Had she had a name, The Doctor, would have known how to deal with her. How to call her. After all, even “doctor” was something; a position, a qualification, a juncture to a past life he kept carrying around stuffed in his old tools’ bag. A distant echo, something more than just “girl”. The girl, however, was just that.

Not a savage, despite the ruffled hair from which twigs and dry leaves sprout clumsily as it happens to many of those beasts. No, too calm, too polite in her resigned wary way of sitting on the rotting table in the middle of his shelter.

Not a villager, the doctor knew them all, and although from his banishment to date at least five years had passed at a guess the girl’s age ranged from twenty to twenty-five. Not a day less.

An Outsider then.

But stranger, outlander, wanderer -god forbids foreigner- didn’t fit her at all. Girl. Only that fit her; not too much not too little.

Extremely meager though.

- Circa August 1980; from the doctor’s diary. Entry number 5:

The forest hasn’t spit out bodies in a while. It is all too quiet, the lack of new subjects is tragic; the latest experiment has been a failure and the more time passes the more substances I produce deteriorate. Without fresh subjects cultures do not survive. Even the Industrialist trades slower; slower and with a very steep price.

It didn’t use to be like this, but then again, even the trade of corpses ends up spiking in value inside a forest that devours even the dead. -

The air in the old forest is unnervingly dense and foamy. The doctor sits on the porch, the bandages on his face screeching in the unnatural dry air. Around his shelter howl those beasts that had once, perhaps, only been rabid wolves; the forest is surprisingly inactive. His cells are empty, and blood and mud have been drying for days on the slab of his crude operating table.

The Industrialist has not been seen in days; the weeping of the banshee no longer echoes among the branches in the night, and only the whining of wounded dogs populates the dense clearing of dark trunks that surround him.

Something’s wrong.

And the doctor can’t tell if that is the calm before the storm or just the last gusts of a hurricane that throws a few fleeting drops as a last farewell to the rubble of its destruction.

A shot in the distance breaks through the still calm of the forest. The doctor loads the revolver. Twelve nights have passed since the last body was found near the edge of the woods, the count will not start again with his own. In the absurd silence of the early hours of dawn his ears seem able to pick up any noise between the barricade of bark, a feeling of bravado he had learned to control despite the fictional sense of protection it offers him.

A second shot, clearly closer, the crows’ croak, flock in a swarm from the northeast part of the fronds; The doctor aims. Broad shoulders and clear view, arms outstretched but ready to receive the recoil.

Frantic sound of footsteps, a third shot, silence.

- Paranoia chases him like a rabid dog, at the well while quenching his thirst, with the axe in his hand as he uselessly gnaws at the edge of the woods. The Industrialist shows up late at night, the grotesquely disfigured eye shining in the dense fog of the darkness. «Madness is eating at you doc!» He laughs, the enormous weight of the cart that drags after him physically impossible to be hold on his shoulders alone.

The air around the being stinks of death and wet earth -in this specific order-, on the leather aviator jacket stands out the single wound that must have ended the life of its previous owner, a bloody bullet hole straight to the heart. The doctor rarely lingers in frivolous gossip but the currencies used by the forest are devious and multiple, unfortunately sometimes a shred of information is worth more than a whole tank of gasoline.

«What can you tell me about the shots?» The man whines in laughter, the ravenous scar on his face clamps into an evil snarl giving him a somewhat animalistic expression. «Carcasses trying to survive doctor, there is little to no use for the bullets they so desperately cling to; they all end up in my hands sooner or later.»

It’s a nice way of saying he doesn’t know shit about it; the doctor can only afford one dead man for his cultures, the Industrialist doesn’t do discounts.

The sunset pours from the barricades into the windows and hangs its terrible scarlet light to the splinters of the boards that grant him the peace of an empty shelter. Another night, of pricked ears and a few hours of sleep stolen from the terror of simply existing, is approaching.

- What wakes him up is the cold bite of his own scalpel, two yellow eyes in the night, mountains of hirsute and black hair, the wild look of someone ready to kill. «One misstep and I swear on my life I’ll take yours.» The blade of the knife presses malignant on his jugular, the soft weight of the intruder presses on his chest, the doctor is the victim of a cage of thin limbs that just vaguely bend out of nature. «You have my word I will do no such thing.»

The little devil huffs and puffs, a weird mixture of desperation and impish satisfaction from being able to put him against the metaphorical wall swirling on a crazed face covered in dried blood and scratches. «I need to pass the night.» Another struggled breath. «In here.»

- The girl looks like the malformed breed between a banshee and a savage; what in the night had looked like a dark mane, in the faint lights of dawn tames itself into a skein of dirty and knotted hair; sickly yellowish scleras follow his every movement with little than less of fervourus madness; the bright gaze that in the night had filled him with terror now only the ashes of a flame stuck on a dull and tired face.

Outside the refuge some dogs sniff and howl possibly drawn by a novel smell. The girl doesn’t seem hurt; despite being covered in splotches of blood no oozing cut appears to be feeding the still scarlet halos in her clothes.

The doctor’s old bones, hunched over in the stiff position, are beginning to creak and give way with each change in his posture, and he is beginning to resent the chair he had chosen for the night. The girl just sits there. If not for the pin-like irises she keeps glued to his figure he would have assumed she was dead. In rigor mortis even.

But she is not, weirdly perched up on the mouldy table, she dangles every now and then a thin leg all bruised up and scratched. It’s not a nervous movement; it’s irregular and way too distanced in between to look somewhat unconscious. She is doing it on purpose as if the sporadic movement was aimed at giving her a more human-like appearance.

Had he not heard her speaking with his own ears, the doctor, would have guessed her a clone, the deranged replica of some poor girl who was by now dead in a ditch near the edge of the forest. Her clothes could have been something to go by in determining if she was part of The Forest or not, except the little menace doesn't allow him to sit, walk, or straight out exist in her immediate proximity, let alone have a proper look at her clothes.

At that distance -however- they look somewhat detailed. She seems to wear some sort of sports uniform for a team the doctor could never guess the name of, a pair of beaten-up boots completely out of place with the rest of her attire, and a couple of elbow and knee pads.

«I want you to go to the bathroom, shut the door, and count loudly and slowly to a hundred, once you’re done I won’t be here.» There it is. She has a lisp, her esses almost hiss in her mouth and the sound of the speech impediment makes her voice old, yet somehow youthful; rough, broken yet similar to a mouse’s squeak. It has a rusty-like quality to it, as though it has been suppressed for a very long time and yet it also sounds like it’s her first time using her own voice.

Click The next bullet enters the chamber, the barrel clicks and the pistol dangles in front of his vision. During the weirdly spaced hours of the night, in between a groan of the wood and the cry of a Banshee in the distance the girl had switched her preference from the scalpel to the gun; his bag, kicked open while he was still asleep, lays at her feet in the empty space underneath the table she sits on.

The doctor is not above admitting she looks like a proper little killer, not the beast he had imagined her to be while pressing down on his ribs and up on his throat with the blade, but still a proper inhabitant of the forest.

The doctor hums, gets up, and shuts the door behind him.

One minute she’s in, the next she’s out, in, out, in and out. The girl knows she’s not supposed to be there, not because she shouldn’t but simply because why would she? It’s like a fever dream, one step she knows why that is the wrong path to walk on the next she’s completely lost to the very reasons of: why in the first place she is supposed to be walking in the middle of a forest.

She knows why she’s in shorts and knee pads but not her name, weird. No, give it a minute…

…There, now she doesn’t know the reason behind her wardrobe choice either.

- The man looks -quite frankly- easy to put down. But nothing really seems to stay dead in that godforsaken place, so she better not cry victory yet.

— She kinda feels bad about it. Not in a traditional way and not as much as she should but she does feel bad. The man sits uncomfortably between fifty and sixty of age and for all she knows he could have been her father, her teacher in middle school or the driver of the bus she used to take every day to get to work. His face, lost to her the moment she steps foot outside the refuge, holds a somehow warm feeling in her memory.

The forest feels empty and vast; her stomach growls and the need for food starts to nag at her senses; her gait is swinging and with each step she takes her stomach digs deeper into the empty muscles of her belly. It feels like she’s digesting herself, a weird sensation that makes her curse the Gods for not having demanded food back at the man’s house. She had a gun, the old man underneath her, and clearly the upper hand. Yet; still, here she is, starving in the middle of a clearing that reeks of mould and spores.

She desperately wants to sit, to fall to her knees and then face-first into the gruff, dry grass under her boots. She shouldn't; she can still see the man’s house, although almost completely closed off from view by the thick fronds of the surrounding trees, and so she should also get the reasoning behind why it’s still not safe to just give up and rest for the day; but the missed night of sleep the previous day and the hunger that is devouring her insides are just not cooperating.

It was purely out of luck that she stumbled upon the man’s refuge, covered in blood and panting like a dog. She had been attacked, by whom she cannot recall; she just hopes by three and no less, otherwise the other her had just wasted precious bullets.

She can feel the forest changing her, exchanging a naivety she no longer feels her own for a callous way of existing. It’s weird, revolting, and world-changing, a sensation that curls its fingers into her brain and twists and pulls until she is swaying the way it wants. The girl loses her balance, the protection on her knees only vaguely defusing the impact; the entire clearing is spinning around her, a sense of dread and angst clawing at the back of her throat settling in her solar plexus-

Something warm and wet soils her hand and licks a long stipe up to her elbow. «What the fu-»

The thing is big and pastel purple. And so, so out of place.

— It’s not following her. It just sits there with glossy, big, and bulging eyes staring straight through her. Furthermore, it looks harmless, not in general, just towards the girl —nothing like the beasts she has encountered navigating the forest, looking ready to kill her at any given opportunity. No, the thing is almost quirky and uncanny, but in a sweet and funny way.

Apparently, it’s also a decent deterrent for dogs, when whistle to it follows the girl and overall looks pretty well trained. Tamed may be better to say. The salamander-like animal has a long row of teeth that snaps occasionally at the few wild dogs the duo encounters, someone clearly tempered with it, three metal tubes enter its abdomen on each side leaving behind gaping holes oozing a purple substance that looks sticky and unsafe.

Nonetheless, the girl is happy she is no longer roaming the woods alone.

- Along the paved dirt road there is a tractor, some crates engulfed by the growing moss, and a couple of sturdy roots peaking from the earth they inhabit. The girl lacks a reliable method -or the patience- to pry most of the crates open, she manages to smash in the moist plank of one of the oldest but loses her temper at the others, kicking and wasting energy on petty displays of her disappointment.

The first real structure the party encounters is a house half eaten by an old extinguished flame, charcoal black walls stand unfazed by time and the moss growing on them.

It looks manageable, somewhere The girl could live, at least for this night, she is not sure she will be around the next day, it’s a sensation she has been carrying with her since she flew the scene of an almost kidnapping -on her part-, it’s like being already dead, she imagines it’s the sensation a death row inmate feels while waiting for his execution.

Well, all of these things don’t really matter though because the girl has eyes and thoughts only for the middle of the room. On a splintering table sits a chipped plate, on the dusty ceramic slab: a sandwich.

There is mould festering on the rock-hard bread but the girl’s stomach is growling, an empty pit swallowing her pride and disgust. The girl licks her lips and stares emptily at the disgusting sight, a small flock of fruit mosquitoes is buzzing around the rotting meat inside, the animal snuggles its bony head on the palm of her hand, uselessly dangling at her side, her brain too starved to consume energy on the circular and repeating thoughts that are feasting with her rationality.

She’s starving, and there is nothing easier to chew on than hunger itself.

To no one surprise, she pukes.

- Circa August 1980; from the doctor’s diary Entry number 6:

Rio is gone. I would love to think the girl responsible for that, but a hundred seconds are simply not enough to convince that beast to move. It must have wandered away in the night. Still the girl’s fault, even if indirect, but at last something less deliberate. -

When she comes back to her senses a stray ray of sun is filtering through the fronds of the woods above her head, she’s lying on the collapsed ceiling of the building, the salamander curled against her is framing with its massive body the side of the girl that was facing the missing wall of the room; a couple of steps to her right a puddle of puke still reeks of rancid but it looks like something was dragged over it partially cleaning but also smearing the liquid. The animal yawns and licks its lips with a slimy three-forked tongue. “Ew.” is the only thing the girl can think of when the realization hits her, only half expecting for the sound to never leave her mouth. What purpose would it have?

What she isn’t expecting though is the second figure in the house. «You were knocked out pretty good now weren’t you, little lamb?» The animal spins around, enclosing the still-sitting girl in its long tail, teeth bare and a recognition for the voice that the girl would find calming if not for the aggressive reaction it elicits. Rifle on his shoulder and leg propped against the remnants of the doorframe a man is waiting for her next move.

The pistol tucked in the waistband of her sports shorts is heavy with a relevance for the situation the Girl is too stunned to understand. She only has three bullets, maybe not enough, perhaps too many, she can’t calculate the probability of her success.

Seconds tick away longer than minutes then, finally, she speaks: «What do you want?» The man dismounts the rifle from his shoulder, a dangerous warning she’s sure he’ll go through with if compelled to, a lazy expression on a half mauled grin now fully at her display. «I’m a businessman lamb, the right question to ask here is what do you want. Little thief.» The last sentence is punctuated by a click of the rifle and its swinging in the opposite direction of the girl, the long barrelhead now pointing at the salamander.

«I’m no thief!» asserts the girl, the beast circling her in an anxious attempt to protect its territory, looking for comfort the girl simply doesn’t know how to give.

«Are you not?» A moment of silence. Is she? She can hardly recall the encounter with the man the night before, how is she supposed to know if she ever stole something in her entire life? She had been a teenager, now did she? She feels old, she knows she had lived before this, but she doesn’t know how or when or for how long; she had been petty and stupid, a long time ago, maybe in a mall, maybe rummaging through her mother’s purse but now she is nothing but a pile of flesh and muscles, completely deboned of every structure that once held her very unique shape.

«No.» it’s her last verdict. Although shaky.

The man hums. «Very well little lamb, if you are no thief then I suppose we could trade like the two honest people we both are.» An amused laugh, softer than the scarce wind that is able to surpass the thick wall of wood. «Shall we?» And with this said, he lowers his gun.

He does have things she needs, a couple of wires, some matches, and a watch he laughs at her for even looking at. She refrains from looking at the ammo, not everyone in this hell must know she has a gun; if they all want to paint her as a defenceless little girl so be it, she’ll get the element of surprise in her favour.

She trades a few scrap metals and a couple of pills she would rather die than try for herself found in the only crate she was able to smash into.

Besides looking terribly dangerous the man is chatty in an obnoxious way, almost annoyingly so and despite knowing he’s not supposed to be amusing, terror is simply something he doesn’t stir.

He’s not that tall, around 5 foot 8, relatively skinny, clearly disfigured but still pleasant to the eyes.

At least she’s wary of him, it’s not enough but it’s something. The girl curls into her own growling stomach, her back the arch of a question mark «It recognises you.» if the man likes to speak why not try her hand at some useful information? «He sure does.» hums him popping two of the pills she just traded with like they were candies. «Why?» She’s not good at it. Too assertive and too invested in the conversation to sound casual. As if on cue the man barks a laughter and moves some lazy steps in her direction. «You are so bossy lil lamb, what’s in for me?» «What?» «For the gossip, what do I get in return?»

The girl looks around as if to try and find something that could pique his interest; the gun pressed to her lower back burns to be used, as a threat or as a bargain she’s yet to decide. «I’ll do you one for free. -he precedes her- One on the house since you managed to survive in this silent, silent forest.» The man, once again, eats away at the distance she so desperately relies on, lazy steps that contrast so strikingly with her vigilant state, he leans in, the beast feral with anxiety, as if to murmur her a secret. «He’s the doctor’s. Have you met the Doctor?» She swallows, hand still, the girl doesn’t want to reach for the weapon, even if every fibre of her self is screaming for it. «No.» A wide smile, sharp teeth and the stench of flesh and blood. «Good for you. He’s not very friendly.»

The girl doesn’t know who “The Doctor” is, the information is of no use to her, unless…

«And how much do you think The Doctor is willing to pay for the animal back.» A beat of complete silence then the roar of a laugh. She shouldn’t have said that.

«You’re smart aren’t ya? Not enough to shut it when you get a good idea tho.»

The man looks like he’s about to grow a full set of sharp teeth and clean her flesh straight from her bones. Now he’s frightening.

And only now did the girl seem to notice that the scars on his face look like the striping of a wolf’s fur. A terrifying sight on a face so disfigured in certain areas and yet so pristine in others. The girl feels uneasy staring and yet she can’t seem able to stop, the scars catching on the low light of a sun engulfed in murky leaves twisting and stripping his muzzle of any friendly attributes it might have had.

She’s no frightened kid though «He doesn’t seem to like you that much, would you be able to wrestle him all the way to the doctor’s house alive and well?» It’s a weak strategy, a desperate attempt. The wolfish man sneers. «You’re a smart lamb.» It sounds more like a retortion, something she shouldn't be proud of, The Girl flies a hand to her back, the cold metal of the gun a few inches from her fingertips, the animal puffs up in defence, making itself bigger. The man growls and then yells.

A low, powerful, bark; the growling of teeth as sharp as kitchen knives. The salamander whines and scurries away in fear, the body of the girl used as a shield. «His name’s Rio and he’s a fucking coward.» He's so satisfied it makes her blood boil, expression lax and a toothy grin on his disfigured face. He shrugs once, and then twice as if the first one wasn’t directed at her, nothing more than an afterthought. «Have it your way lamb; I’ll see your corpse at the Doctor’s liar.»

Dividers from the insanely talented @saradika-graphics here on tumblr To be specific this is their "The Last of Us" dividers set <3

#arcane #singed arcane #arcane singed #singed x reader #singed x oc #posted on ao3 #under the same name #bilingual shit i don't know how to address #arcane silco #silco arcane #darkwood game #Arcane x Darkwood (game)

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dstryvampres · 3 months

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Smoke Signals

Jonathan Crane x Reader

Summary: Dr Crane is tired of you talking back.

Warnings: smut, fingering, age gap(reader is early 20s, crane is mid 40s), power imbalance, brat taming(I think??), reader is a smoker, dub con, p in v, unprotected, praise, degradation, spanking, creampie

Word count: 2.2k

The trek to Dr Crane office on the fifth floor was quick and easy, seeing as there was no one else using the elevator because it was so late at night. When you push open the door to Dr Crane’s office it creaks, alerting him immediately to your presence.

“I thought I told you to quit smoking before you come to my office,” is what Dr Crane decides on greeting you with. His face is stern, pen in hand as he writes out a statement on a student’s quiz.

“Yeah, well I was fiending all day and they don’t let you have a smoke within 15 meters of the psychology testing centre. Hard to get a smoke break in,” You quip back, hanging your tote bag over the back of a chair before sliding between it and Dr Crane’s desk to sit.

“Well, if you won’t quit all together, you could at least have the common courtesy to not reek of it near me,” He scoffs, clicking his pen and setting it down on his desk.

You toy with the fabric of your sheer black tights as Dr Crane sets aside whatever he was working on before and brings out two sheets of paper. Two rubrics, one for him, which he settles in front of him, and one for you, which he flips towards you.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Dr Crane asks, standing up from his desk and heading towards the table near the window. He clicks on the kettle, staring at it for a couple seconds before he starts to hear it bubble up before he turns to you again.

“Just any tea is fine, except ginger, I want something herbal tonight,” you reply, rummaging through your tote bag looking for a pen to use for tonight.

“So herbal tea?” Jonathan asks, shaking his head at you in the corner of your eye.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I said,” you sit up straight once again when you find your pencil case, plopping it down on Dr Crane’s darkwood desk.

You hear a sigh from the professor as he turns around to look out the window at the rain, his fingers toying around with the packaging of a tea bag. No matter if Dr Crane happens to be your boss, you can’t deny that he’s insanely attractive. Young looking face with high cheekbones, blue eyes that stare holes into your being, dark brown hair that he somehow styles perfectly without trying that hard, all packaged in suits that do him far too many favours. Sure he has a slightly bitter attitude, but you’re no better. With all the times you snap back and push his buttons he’s far too patient with you, and seems to genuinely care about your well being. Whether that care is actually genuine or is just to avoid having to find another TA, you’re not one hundred percent sure.

A click comes from the kettle, and soon enough Dr Crane sets down a steaming mug in front of you before sliding into his own chair with a mug in his hand.

“Thank you,” you say, blowing on the steaming liquid in hopes to cool it down quicker.

“Don’t burn yourself.”

Dr Crane grabs his pen before directing both of your attention to the rubric and assignment guide. He drones on about the basics, word count, percentage to dock based off of just principle things, before delving into more important specifics to the assignment. For a supposed research essay, the need to include the students own fears into the mix was a weird choice to be a necessity. There’s no need to ask about it, the conditions for the assignment have already been set in stone, the due date is in about a week.

“Everything making sense?” Dr Crane asks, looking at you, eyebrows furrowed together.

You nod in response, reaching over to grab a highlighter from Dr Crane’s collection across the table. Maybe you should bring up the weird conditions of the assignment…

“Actually, just one thing confuses me about this assignment,” You start, looking for any signs of anger from Dr Crane, knowing just how often you seem to push his buttons before continuing, “why do the students need to disclose their own fears in this assignment, it’s supposed to be a research essay on different ways the brain copes with fear.”

Dr Crane clenches his jaw, looking away from you annoyed. Acting like you were questioning the fundamentals of grammar and not some strange one off point he decided to add to this assignment. He shakes his head, taking off his glasses and laying them down on the table.

“You’re not the one running the class, are you?” Dr Crane asks, voice showing just thin his patience has become in a matter of seconds.

“Well, obviously not, but I’m just-”

You’re cut off with the screeching of Dr Crane’s chair as he stands up, walking towards the door. Fuck, is he going to leave? Is he going to ask you to leave? Are you being fired out of one of the best looking jobs on your resume? When you hear the click of the lock on the door, you’re not sure if your fate is better or worse than any of the options thought of before. Nevertheless, your body tenses up and your head starts to fog up, whatever is going to happen you don’t think it will be too pleasant.

“You know what? I’m so sick of you always thinking you know better than me,” He slowly walks over to you as he speaks, shoes clicking on the linoleum floor of his office.

“I don’t think that,” you respond, voice strained. Now he’s standing over where you’re seated, forcing you to look upwards at him. You feel so small and powerless in this moment. Maybe, it’s only now and here, in this position, that you finally remember that this man holds your entire future as a psychologist in his hands.

“I want you to remember who has more leverage here, who can get you into the best jobs in the state,” it’s like he can read your mind.

You gulp and close your eyes. You’ve spent the last year and three months of your masters degree and time as a TA under Dr Crane pushing back against him, challenging the man. You’re sure that it’s here, in his locked office that he will give you a piece of his mind before dropping you completely. Leaving you and your master’s thesis to flounder in the last half of it, beg for anyone to aid you in the specific thesis everyone knew only Crane was suitable to supervise at this university. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Please, don’t drop me and my thesis. I won’t challenge you ever again, I’ll do anything you want, please,” you beg, opening your eyes to stare at Crane’s. Hoping the eye contact would connect with some deeper part of him, but his blue eyes stared back, cold and emotionless.

“Anything?” Crane asks, quirking an eyebrow at your begging.

“Yes, anything. I’ll get on my knees and beg you, I’ll mark every assignment myself-”

“Face the table and put your hands on top of it,” Crane demands.

“What?” Your mind short circuits at his request, not expecting something like that.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to challenge me ever again?” Dr Crane sighs, crossing his arms, waiting for you to obey.

You follow his request, placing both your hands on the table, looking down at the dark oak wood. It’s cold underneath your palms, but that doesn’t help with the sweat accumulating onto your palms. Dr Crane hums behind you, seemingly happy with your compliance to his request. He kicks your feet away from the desk, making your butt stick out more.

“Now, I want you to spread your legs for me,” Dr Crane puts a hand on your ass, squeezing the flesh. Your eyebrows furrow, taking a second too long for his liking and earning a slap to the ass, you quickly move to spread your legs.

“Good girl,” Dr Crane hums, massaging the spot where he hit you previously. You whine in response, feeling a heat start to grow in your cunt.

Dr Crane smacks your ass again, a little lighter than before, almost teasing. His other hand is placed on your ass, both hands move down to your thighs, then back up to your ass, this time sliding under your skirt and flipping it up. Your pink panties are visible through the sheer black tights causing Dr Crane to sigh out.

“You feel how hard I am, slut?” Dr Crane asks, you hear the smirk in his voice as he presses his hard-on into your ass. You moan, feeling the weight of it press into your wet cunt and soiled panties.

Quickly Dr Crane rips open the thin fabric of your tights, allowing for direct access to your panties and cunt. He feels your wet heat through your panties, quickly moving them to the side to expose your cunt. You moan as the cold air of his office hits your cunt.

“You’re so wet. Do you let all your professors fuck you? Or am I a sort of desprate case?” Dr Crane cooes, ghosting his fingers over your exposed cunt.

He runs his fingers up and down your cunt, collecting your wetness over them before pushing them inside of you. The intrusion is so unexpected it makes you gasp, pull away from it briefly. He fucks you with his fingers shallowly, at a bored pace. You push back onto his fingers, begging for more. Dr Crane removes his finger from your cunt, and you whine in response.

“Fuck, you’re a desperate whore huh?” Dr Crane laughs, giving your ass another harsh slap.

Behind you Dr Crane unzips his pants, freeing his cock. He lines it up with your hole and just stays there. No matter how much you try to push back and whine for him to put it in he isn’t moving.

“You’ve been such a bitch, I don’t think you deserve my cock. Why don’t you beg for it?” you can hear the cocky look on Dr Crane’s face just from his voice. Though it doesn’t seem to matter much as you open your mouth to beg.

“Please Dr Crane, I’ll be such a good girl. You can use me anytime and I’ll never be a bitch again, as long as I have your cock, please doctor please,” you plead, wiggling your hips.

“Good girl.”

Dr Crane pushes inside of you. His cock is average length, but stretches you out in a way no other man ever has. It makes your head spin as he spears you on his cock.

“Fuck, I didn’t expect a whore like you to be so tight,” Dr Crane pants out, putting both of his hands on your waist.

He pulls out of you slowly, before slamming back into your cunt. Setting a brutal pace as soon as he slams back into you a second time. Only faltering when he smacks your ass. You yelp out each time, before pushing back onto his cock. Dr Crane continually stretched you out and hit the most sensitive spots inside of you. Your legs start to shake half way through, the only thing stopping you from crumbling being Dr Crane’s cock and hands. He pushes you back on him each time, almost demanding you take him in further.

“You fuck me so good doctor,” you moan out, “Can I cum doctor?”

“Yeah, cum all over my cock dumb slut,” Dr Crane says, speeding up the pace.

One of his hands reaches down from your hips to your clit, rubbing fast and hard on it. A touch so hard and borderline painful on the sensitive bundle of nerves tips you over the edge in mere seconds. Your knees buckle. Stars flood your vision. Your boss fucking you through the whole thing.

You start to weep from overstimulation, tears welling in your eyes when you come back from your high. Dr Crane is still fucking you in the same brutal pace.

“Sluts like you don’t get breaks until I come too,” Dr Crane snarls out at you and your weeping, earning another sharp smack to your ass.

The tears spill out over your eyes as you cum again all over his cock. Your walls clenching and seizing around Dr Crane so hard his cock becomes painful as it pumps in and out of you.

He speeds up and his pace starts to become more aggressive, until Dr Crane stills inside of you. His cum rushes into your cunt, holding himself inside you after both of you have finally come down from your high. Once Dr Crane pulls out of you, you feel as his cum comes spilling out of your cunt.

“I’ll give you your share of the papers to mark next monday,” Dr Crane says, tucking his cock away and zipping up his pants. “I expect to not hear any confusion about the grading from you, I feel like I explained myself pretty well.

taglist: @paradiseprincesss @xanaxiii @luluartpop

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the-s1lly-corner · 2 months

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Saw that you were doing cotl stuff so can we have a lamb x reader sorta thing were reader was one of the first followers the cult had making lamb have a soft spot for them 👀 it can be how a follower was starting a fight with the reader and lambert immediately stopping it despite just coming back frim a crusade and sent the follower to the stocks? No pressure at all i just thought it'd be a fun scenario :3

Lamb with a soft spot for follower!reader

writing this and posting it immeadiately to kind of show off im writing for COTL as well now- any COTL requests sent after like- idk 24-48 hours will be put in the queue like any other request notes: reader is lambs first follower, admin is still trying to figure out how he wants to write lambs personality, approaching this with how he personally perceives the lamb CWs: none

its so obvious to everyone else in the cult that he has a soft spot for you, regardless of if he tries to hide it or not

always without fail agrees to any request you have for him; going out to get something from darkwood to even sacrificing someone

you can get away with most anything, as well, whether it be because he lets it slide or because most of your fellow cult members are too intimidated to snitch on you

instantly breaks up any fights you get in with followers, sends them to prison until he feels theyve been through enough

youre probably his first disciple, or at least one of the first and boy are you dedicated

its not just lamb tending to you and spoiling you, you return the same energy and not just because hes your leader

brings you things he finds while on crusades he thinks youll like- gifts, food, and so on!

you have matching robes, making you stick out from the rest of the followers

imagine having a tent next to his, assuming you dont just outright share with him- always checks in with you before heading to bed if hes not out on a crusade

i dont think he would ban you from going out and risk getting hurt, if you can fight for yourself then he trusts you to go out and come back

leaves you in charge when hes out for longer than usual so the cult doesnt fall into shambles in his absence

#cotl x reader #cotl x you #cotl imagine #cult of the lamb imagine #cult of the lamb x you #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl lamb x reader #cotl lamb x you #cotl lamb imagine #canon x reader #canon x you #x reader

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parkjayist · 6 months

Text

ESSENCE OF ROMANCE: PROLOGUE

sum park jongseong is in denial, but the truth is undeniable: he's hit a dead end. how can he maintain his title as a world renowned chemist if he can't even advance his own research? meanwhile, you, an aspiring chemist, have faced constant belittlement from your male colleagues as you pursue your own groundbreaking research in isolation. when jongseong finds you conducting experiments in HIS own lab, he's enraged. he's enveloped in fury when he realizes that you two are trying to research the same topic. yet, buried beneath his rage lies a deep sense of desperation, and he's willing to do anything to finally finish his research he's been putting off for so many years. perhaps you're the missing piece in his research (and life).

pairing chemist!park jongseong x female chemist!reader

genre written series, slowburn, angst, fluff, " enemies " to lovers, coworkers au, 1960s au, smarty pants x smarty pants

warnings misogyny, swearing

an okayy here's the (short) prologue! i decided to write it separately from chapter 1 because i want to build the personality for yn first. expect the first chapter soon! here's a PLAYLIST you can listen to while reading! notes would be greatly appreciated ^^

wc 870 (0.8k) SERIES MASTERLIST

abiogenesis – the basis of life. you were always fascinated by the concept of life from the moment your teacher talked about it in your highschool chemistry class. how could one element hold such power, such significance in the grand scheme of existence? how are we, mere compositions of atoms and strands of DNA, capable of achieving feats that transcend the limits of our imagination?

in the bustling chemistry lab of darkwood laboratories, you find yourself cast in the role of a humble lab assistant. you’re definitely not satisfied with your title, but it’s the best you can get for now. once you publish your research, no one will ever look down on you again, and you’re determined to embarrass every man who has ever doubted you with the newfound research you hope to conduct.

but for now, your days are spent in a whirlwind of activity, as you juggle the demands of fetching coffee, replenishing supplies, and assisting the male chemists in their experiments. their commands are curt, their expectations high, and their acknowledgement of your presence fleeting. you often find yourself biting your tongue as you witness the male chemists make mistakes in their experiments. when you try to point out their errors, they brush you off with a dismissive wave, their voices dripping with condescension.

miss (___), let me remind you that you’re just a lab technician, they sneer. let the real chemists handle the hard stuff. they would laugh, pouting at you condescendingly.

with a tight smile and a resigned nod, you comply, masking the frustration that simmers beneath the surface. it's a routine you've grown accustomed to – the sidelining of your aspirations in favor of catering to the needs of your male colleagues.

every day, as the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the laboratory benches, the energy of the lab shifts. as your coworkers leave one by one, you finally have the opportunity to pursue your true calling: researching abiogenesis, the very essence of life's origins. tonight, however, as you begin to immerse yourself in your research, a nagging realization dawns upon you – you're running dangerously low on essential materials.

“shit,” you groaned in frustration.

you hated when you were interrupted in your work. whether it was someone else, yourself or nature, it was one of your worst pet peeves. every interruption felt like a disruption of the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain. whether it was the incessant chatter of your colleagues, the nagging doubts that crept into your own mind, or the unexpected intrusion of nature's stupid whims, each interruption grated on your nerves like sandpaper against skin. there was a rhythm to your work, a flow that you slipped into effortlessly as you delved deeper into your research. every moment lost to distraction felt like a step backward, a missed opportunity to uncover the secrets of life that lay just beyond your grasp. and yet, despite your best efforts to shut out the noise and focus on your work, interruptions seemed to come at the most inopportune moments. the clatter of footsteps in the hallway, the incessant ringing of the telephone, the sudden flicker of the broken lights – each disturbance pulled you away from your work, leaving you frustrated and irritable.

navigating the dark corridors of the lab, you can’t help but feel a sense of uneasiness. as if something was going to pop out and chase you. however you shove these feelings at the back of your head, and you find yourself at an unlocked lab. the faded name of the door reads “J. Park” with a sign below it stating in bold red, “DO NOT COME IN.”

well, he was the one who left it open, you thought. plus, you were only going to in there for a minute ... just to get the materials you needed.

with cautious steps, you enter the dimly lit space. jongseong's lab is, simply put, a chaos of clutter and disarray. test tubes and beakers litter the countertops, their contents long forgotten or left to evaporate into a sticky residue. papers and notebooks are strewn haphazardly across the desks, their pages crumpled and stained with mysterious substances. the air is thick with the scent of chemicals, mingling with the faint aroma of stale coffee. empty coffee cups and half-eaten sandwiches dot the landscape, and random pieces of clothing are placed randomly around the lab.

you brush some crumbs off the table. “what a careless scientist,” you murmur to yourself. “he can’t even follow basic science procedures … i wonder how much money he paid to get his own lab.”

while trying to find the materials you needed, you suddenly felt yourself drawn to the chalkboard at the back of the lab. although the drawing was messy, you could make out the equations and drawings that you assumed the owner of this lab did. just as you were about to piece together what it was about, a voice shatters the silence, sharp and unexpected. you turn around at the sudden intrusion and you find a man standing at the door – his expression mixed with irritation and confusion.

“what the hell do you think you’re doing in my lab?”

next.

-----------------------------------

tagged: @sophiko22 @minseongsworld

#- ESSENCE OF ROMANCE #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fluff #park jongseong x reader #enhypen scenarios #jay x reader #park jay fluff #park jay x reader #parkjayist #enhypen angst #enhypen au #park jay angst

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princesssmars · 1 year

Text

a night in the castle

a vampire jessica and oscar x reader

wc: 6.010 (?>?????/)

working as a tired maid in your town, you have a horrible night and end up at the mysterious castle on the hill. the two owners give you a dinner unlike any other.

contains : fic set in the nineteenth century but its barely written that way. reader is a maid is shunned by the village which includes some misogynistic remarks. polyamory with vampires aka the dream. said vampires do in fact drink blood. threesome with said vampires. oral sex (m>f, f>f), unprotected penetrative sex. reader isnt all there (rightfully so) and the vampires love it.

a/n : yall know i had to do it. this took me forever sorry i cant write smut. enjoy.

living as a maid in your town, you weren't afforded many pleasures in your day to day life. you slept in a shabby room with a creaky and stained bed, spent a large portion of your day cleaning after people who treated you like the dirt you scrubbed, just to go to the bar to drink with the few friends you had until you felt numb.

it was pitiful but it was your life. but one of the major luxuries you weren't afforded was rage.

and as you walk up the muddy path on the hill on the edge of town, your legs burning and your skin shivering, that burning hatred was all you felt.

you had spent an uncountable amount of hours cleaning after one prominent family, the morgan's. you'd spent the most amount of time cleaning their home, and they were fairly kind to you, even if it was mostly their son who spoke to you.

but that didn't do you any favors when the young morgan was accused of having an affair and placed the blame on you to protect his mistress, which led to you being publicly shamed and thrown out of the home, mrs. morgan calling you a harlot who would never find a home to work at in town again.

your mind is running so fast you don't even notice you've picked up your pace, your feet making wet thuds as you head to who knows where. at this point you can be bothered to care, even when a stray branch knicks your ankle.

it feels like an eternity until you finally reach a destination, your body nearly running straight into a large set of dark doors. you look up in surprise to see where you are, your eyes widening when you process where you are: darkwood manor.

you always heard stories as a child about the manor up on the hill on the edge of town, the massive estate looming over where you lived like a constant reminder of the past. your grandmother would tell you tales of it before bed, prattling about the monsters who lived inside who would take away young girls who didn't behave.

eventually your grandfather would come in and assure you your grandmother was teasing, and that the manor was just inhabited by the two reclusive owners and their staff. you'd had more nightmares about it than you cared to admit.

but standing outside of the manor, you don't even feel a smidge of fear. you're too tired mentally and psychically to care about what the owners might do to you for trespassing.

you aren't afforded too much time to dwell in your exhaustion before one of the doors creaks open, soft yellow light pouring out before being blocked by a small frame coming into your view.

"hello, are you alright, dear?" a small voice asks you as your eyes finally adjust to the light to see the person in front of you. its a woman, much older than you judging by the many grey streaks in her hair. she's wearing a simple maids uniform and is staring at you with kind eyes and a smile. the sight of it nearly makes you crumple to the floor, your hurt legs giving out on you as she tries to hold you up.

"its ok, dearie, you're ok now," she soothed, her body nearly wrapping entirely around yours. "how about we go get you cleaned up, hm?"

you nod, rising with her as she wraps one of her arms around you to lead you inside the manor. you barely register the interior of the grand home, your eyes bleary with tears and rain. you can make up the large staircase that swirls upwards into the next floor, and how the walls are dark and filled with intricate designs and paintings.

eventually the elder woman leads you to sit down at a stool in what seems like a wide kitchen, some younger workers scurrying off when she gives them a muffled order. but the mental toll of the days events are starting to settle into your body, your eyes drooping and head tilting to the side.

"now now, don't fall asleep on me now, hun. how about i help freshen you up and you tell me what happened to lead to you coming all the way up here in this weather?" she asks gently, patting you on the shoulder at your tired nod.

and so, as the woman who tells you her name is agnes and that she is the head maid for the lord and lady of the manor softly cleans your face and arms with a damp rag, you slowly start to explain what happened in town for you to end up at the estate at such a late hour. as you repeat everything that happened it hits harder that your life, no matter how much you disliked it, would never be the same after tonight.

right before you start bawling you look up at agnes to see her staring at you so kindly it nearly makes you break. she reminds you of your mother before she sadly passed from an illness when you were young. the maternal way she acts helps to soothe you, even if its just enough to not cry at this moment.

"there, all better. now you look like a proper young lady." agnes smiles at you, tilting your head from side to side to check if she missed any smudges. "well, its safe to assume you can't go back down the hill. you stay right here and give me one second, alright?"

you nod again to assure here you'll stay where you are before she smiles and leaves through another pair of doors on the outside of the kitchen. after she leaves you take in your surroundings, noticing just how big the kitchen really is for just two people, though you suppose its normal for such a large home.

feeling better now that you're clean, you figure agnes wont be upset if you explore the kitchen a bit, getting up and admiring the kitchen. the walls are composed of a patterned brown wallpaper, with the floor being a brown wood and counters made of a darker brown wood. you trail your hand across the top of one of them, noticing how smooth and clean they are. the kitchen is impeccably clean, actually, even thought supper time was merely a few hours ago and there is'nt a pot or pan in sight.

just as the thought crosses your mind, the sound of the door opening causes you to whip around, holding your hands behind your back guiltily. you expect to see agnes but instead see someone that nearly makes you pass out in nervousness.

instead of agnes a woman stands in the doorway, her fancy clothing telling you she is the lady of the manor. she's wearing a a gown, the black and red fabric standing out against her pale skin and red hair. her eyes stay on you while you observe her, the pale blue staring into your own. when she entered her face looked furious before she saw you. your hands start to fidget under her gaze.

"oh, dear, why are you up and about? i told you to stay sitting so you would'nt tire yourself out anymore!" agnes worries, moving from behind the lady and rushing over you to guide you back to the stool.

she turns toward the lady. "i'm sorry, ma'am. she's just a little bit out of it because of what happened."

"that's quite alright, i cant imagine what it must be like to have gone through all that she's been through." the woman says, her voice low and almost haunting. she steps closer, bringing her fingers to grip your chin and tilt your head to look at her.

"my name is jessica, the lady of the manor. i reside here with my husband, oscar. i'm sure you might have heard of us?"

"y..yes i have. just stories as a child." you whisper.

she smiles, almost like she knows exactly what you speak of. "i'm aware of the tales. but i can assure you that no one in this house is a monster." you briefly catch the faint smile on her face and the look she shares with agnes.

"but i can assure you that in this home you will be cared for. agnes will arrange a room for you and some fresh clothes for you to change in to."

before you can even object agnes walks out of the room and jessica takes your arm in hers to lead you to another part of the house. seeming to sense your curiosity, she encourages you to ask questions about the house and its architecture, answering any question you ask no matter how silly it sounds in your head.

she leads you up the staircase to the second level, taking you down a long hallway before stopping before a slight open door, opening it and gesturing for you to head inside.

following her direction, you slowly walk in to the room to see a bedroom straight out of your dreams. its big but not too large to feel overwhelming, having a four poster canopy bed, some dressers, a nook near the window presumably for reading, and a quaint sitting area near a fireplace.

"i hope its to your liking. we can have you moved to another room if you'd like-"

"no!" you nearly shout, slightly embarrassed at how you cut her off. she does'nt seem to mind though, simply looking at you in a way you cant interpret.

"its amazing, thank you. i swear soon i will hopefully be back on my feet and out of your way."

"nonsense, don't rush yourself, precious," she assures, stepping forward to rest her hands on your shoulders, continuing that unbroken eye contact from before, "you are welcome to stay in our home as long as you'd like. we rarely get guests from the town these days, so its nice to see a new face. especially one as lovely as yours."

the shock of her words makes your heart take a beat so suddenly you're scared she will be able to hear it. you feel bashful, not used to getting many compliments about your attractiveness. you cant help but want her to compliment you more, feeling like you'd give anything for her to call you beautiful.

"alright, there's something on the bed you to change into. another maid will be waiting outside if you need help getting dressed. she'll lead you to the dining room when you're done." she explains.

you're eyebrows knit in confusion, her face amused at your confusion. "you'll be having a meal with me and my husband. its only right you meet him and get some food into your system. trust me, he'll adore you so don't be worried."

you don't voice how that makes you worry more, instead telling her "thank you again for everything." before she leaves the room and you're left by yourself yet again.

the weight of what's happening finally settles in and you feel euphoric, struggling to quiet yourself as you jump on the bed and cheer for yourself. from a maid rejected by town to a guest at a local manor in the span of an hour. this is crazier than your wildest dreams.

composing yourself, you stand up and move to the dress that's been left for you on the end of the bed. picking it up doesn't help quell your excitement, the clothing being prettier than anything you've ever worn or even been able to afford. better yet its beautiful, being a white color with hints of f/c.

when changing you do have to invite your helper, catherine, inside to help you do up the back of your corset and the rest of your undergarments before finally helping you into your dress. your initial shyness fades as you begin to speak to each other, the both of you being around the same age and seeming to have the same interests. most of your friends looked away when you were thrown from the morgans, so it's nice to have a new one here in this strange place.

once you've finished getting dressed catherine leads you back down the hallway and stairs, through a new wider set of hallways before you eventually arrive at the dining room.

it's massive, to say the least, and the ceiling is covered in a gorgeous mural that trickles down the walls to keep the room regal yet creative. there’s a large table in the middle of the room, enough fancy chairs to seat at least 20 people.

“and you must be y/n,” a voice booms, pulling your attention from admiring the room to the person now speaking to you. he walks over to you faster than you can comprehend, seeming to cross the room in a manor of seconds. you don't have time to dwell on it before he clasps your hands in yours, shaking then up and down in a peculiar handshake. “my name is oscar, welcome to our home. i hope my wife and our staff have show you enough kindness to persuade you to stay.”

the lord is greeting you so nicely but you feel bad for barely paying attention to his words to take in his looks. you can see why he and his wife are married, to say the least, as he is incredibly handsome. he has slightly curled dark brown hair with eyes to match. he's wearing a suit just as extravagant as his wife's, mostly black with red and white accents. the coloring stands out greatly against his tanned skin and better unifies him and his wife as one. he lets out a little laugh as he notices your staring.

"um, yes. they've been nothing but kind to me," you manage to stutter out, slightly embarrassed at how you let yourself be so rude. "thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your home. i'm sure you've heard of my predicament, so i'm more than willing to pay off your kindness with service."

"y/n, you're our guest. we want you to enjoy your stay here. don't worry about any of that now." jessica projects from her seat at the table, watching your entire exchange. she gestures to the chair across from her for you to sit, oscar quickly guiding you to the end of the table to take your seat which he politely pulls out for you and pushes back in.

as soon as the lord sits in his seat, a few servants exit the kitchen to start laying out the meal. before you can even blink a full plate of food including some of the best-prepared meat you've ever seen, a fresh steaming bun of bread, and a good heap of vegetables is laid in front of you. you notice how the lord and lady aren't laid meals, instead, both of them are poured a dark red wine into their glasses.

"aren't you both going to eat?" you ask, trying to be as polite as possible.

they share a look and softly laugh to each other, in on a joke you cant understand.

"don't worry about us darling," jessica comforts, raising her glass to her lips and taking a languid sip before licking the leftover liquid off of her upper lip, "we'll be just fine like this. don't be shy and enjoy the meal."

and so, you dig in. the food is phenomenal, your eyes nearly rolling in to the back of your head much to your hosts amusement. after giving your compliments to the chef, they start up a shared conversation. they ask numerous questions about your life, what you loved and enjoyed doing, and more. it made you just a tad uncomfortable to be the center of attention, but a part of you deep inside craves more of it.

"i cant believe that woman would do something so cruel to a pretty little thing like you." oscar says, his face pinched in anger as he takes a long swig of his wine.

"precisely what i was thinking darling. y/n seems far too sweet to do such a thing. we are deeply sorry that happened to you, dear." jessica agrees, rubbing her hand up her husbands arm while looking at you.

"well its not completely..i-i guess she had a little reason to worry," you stutter out, your shoulders hunching as the two of them stare at you in signal for you to keep talking. "someone had blabbed about something that happened a while ago with a friend of mine. me and her son had started to get close so i guess she presumed that i would...try to do something with him."

"hm. it looks like you were wrong, my love," oscar hums to his wife, "she's not as innocent as you thought."

jessica chuckles, brining her glass back up to her wine stained lips. you notice how dark and thick the wine looks and cant help but want a taste. "i'm alright with being wrong this once. you know how i love a surprise."

"if you don't mind telling us, y/n," oscar calls you back into the conversation, " what ever happened with your friend for the townspeople to assume you would do something wrong to the morgan's son?"

the dining room goes silent when you don't answer, only the faint sounds of the workers in the kitchen being heard throughout. you contemplate how to explain to your hosts that about a few weeks prior you admitted to your close friend that because you'd been so busy with working these past few years you'd yet to lay with, let alone kiss, anybody else. after laughing and assuming that you were joking, they'd reassured you that it was ok and even offered to be your first kiss as a friendly gesture.

things escalated and before you knew it you had gotten yourself into a heated makeout session with your closest friend. you swore each other to secrecy but you assumed they had told one of your other more gossipy friends who spread it through the grapevine.

“you do not have to tell us if you do not wish to, dear,” jessica comforts, “the last thing we would want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

“thank you, but i don't mind. i trust you.” your eyes strain as the words leave your mouth. you’ve only known these two for a few hours at this point but there is something about them that calms you. t makes you feel safe with them. “i kissed one of my friends a few weeks ago because i never had kissed anyone at that point. i thought they wouldn't tell anyone but…word got around.”

“im sorry that happened to you, y/n. something like that should be sacred. the act of giving yourself to another person should be special, especially for someone as sweet as you.” the redhead moves her hand ross the table to clasp it with yours, wearing a soft look on her face.

“exactly. if that were us we definitely wouldn't betray your trust in such a way.”

“oscar please, you sound so vulgar.” jessica chastises him, the man giving her a rogue grin that sets off a spark in your lower stomach. “anyway its getting late, do you think you'd like to head to bed, y/n?”

your mouth opens to reply but nothing comes out. your thoughts are conflicting, a tug of war between your head and…something else. something darker.

“what did you mean when you wouldn't treat me in that way?”

the couple share a look as oscar tries to hold back his smile from broadening.

“would you like us to show you?”

when you were a teenager, your grandparents had given you the much-dreaded talk about marriage. how unless you would get a job they would have to marry you off to one of the wealthier men in town. your grandmother didn't see any reason to be avoidant of the conversation and decided to inform you about what most men wanted from women, and what would happen to you on your wedding night. she seemed to have avoided the worst of it with her husband since they were very much in love, but she had heard stories from other women whose husbands weren't so understanding.

fortunately for you, your new partners were nothing of the sort.

after your inquiry and frankly embarrassingly enthusiastic consent to what they wanted to show you, the lord and lady had gently guided you up to their bedroom before softly undressing you while praising you and your body.

“do you know how beautiful you are, my love?” jessica runs her slender hands up your arms, the woman standing in front of you as her husband undoes your stays behind you.

“i wouldn't mind hearing it some more.” you smile, letting out a squeak when you feel oscar’s hands squeeze your sides.

“how lucky are we, my love, we’ve got a gorgeous maiden with spunk all to ourselves.” oscar smiles.

“look’s like someone’s heard our prayers,” jessica whispers into your neck, the feel of her lips on your skin driving your mind hazy and your eyes to shut in bliss.

oscar finishes undoing your clothes and brushes the shoulders of your dress off of you to the ground, your hands instinctually coming up to cover your chest before the man holds them to your sides.

“don’t be shy, you're gorgeous,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to the other side of your neck and your cheek. at your nod, he continues his hold on your arms as he sits on the bottom of the bed, sitting you in his lap before wrapping his arms around you.

jessica sits at his side, her body turned so she can still hold and touch you. her hands move up and down your shoulder, as she presses a featherlight kiss to it. when she pulls away you take her wrist in your hand and bring up her hand so its in front of your face. she watches you as you admire her, the smooth lines and wrinkles of her hands and bring it to your lips for a kiss.

“such a sweetheart. we really did get lucky, my dear.” she says to her husband.

“and she tastes even sweeter.” oscar agrees, biting your neck and chuckling at your small yelp. “i say we indulge in her, frankly im sick of waiting.”

jessica places a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “i love it when we think alike, darling.”

before you know it you're lying down on the soft covers of the bed with jessica resting near your head oscar settling between your legs. it’s slow but intense, the way they kiss and suck and bite every bit of your skin until your skin and your brains are on fire. its made worse but so much better when the man drags his tongue up from your entrance up to your clit before giving it a long suck.

“oh my god-” your moan is cut off by jessica’s kiss, her tongue quickly entering your mouth and dispelling any thoughts in your head. the burning feeling at the pit of your stomach grows hotter when her hand trails from your cheek down to your neck before resting on your left breast, circling the nipple before giving it a rough squeeze that makes you let out a squeal.

“you’re so sensitive, my dear,” oscar mumbles into your cunt, using his hands to spread the lips of your pussy and stick his tongue straight into your hole and groaning at the moan it pulls from your throat. before this evening you rarely had thoughts of hurting another person, but its happening again when he pulls away from between your legs and your arms jerks to pull him by the hair back down.

you're given only a few seconds of recuperation before the two of them switch spots at record speed, oscar giving you a heated kiss while jessica throws your thighs over her shoulders and starts to eat you out just as ravenously as her husband did.

its only a few more minutes of pleasure before the look in jessicas eyes from between your legs and the sting of oscar’s teeth as he bites and sucks your neck before you feel yourself come to a release.

“thats it, oh that's perfect, baby,” oscar’s voice rings in your ear, the gentle comforting in your ear making your climax all the more powerful. you don't even notice your hand is trembling until he grasps it with his own.

the lady comes up from the apex of your thighs and brushes the red hair out of her face. when her eyes meet your own she smiles, and you clench your thighs together at the sight.

she giggles and squishes the fat of your thigh with her hand, moving forward to give her husband a quick kiss to his cheek, “i believe our dear is still a little pent up, my love. i think it’s time we seal the deal.”

the way they talk about you while barely acknowledging you causes your core to clench harder than you’d like to admit, a whine coming for your throat that brings their attention back to you.

“dont worry, sweet girl. our fun isn’t over yet.” the lord runs his hands down your chest and torso as he and his wife swap places yet again, his body hovering over yours. he smirks as he sees your eyes go blank with the feeling of his cock pressed against your stomach. “just give us the word and we’ll stop for the night.”

“no!” you shout, laughing at your own outburst. “i don't want to stop. i want you. please.”

oscar smiles down at you and gives you a kiss so sweet it starts to make your mouth and heart ache. he pulls away and uses his large hands to push your thighs apart to rest between them. able to tell that you’re getting in your head, jessica moves one of her legs to the other side of you, the sight of her bare in front of your face making your heartbeat skip.

“while he’s making love to you i'm going to show you how to pleasure me, is that all right?”

you nod your head so quickly you fear you’ll sprain something.

she smiles at you before moving some hairs from in your face gently cupping your face as she moves to rest her cunt over your mouth, her soft command of “lick” drawing you to stick out your tongue out to lick a long line from her entrance to her clit, and the sound of her moan ignites a fire in you that just wants her to feel as good as she made you feel. you bring your hands to wrap around her thighs and push her further into your mouth and the noise she lets out is nothing short of primal.

your main focus is on bringing the lady to orgasm until you feel something soft and large rub up and down your entrance, the feeling of it rubbing against your clit making you hum into jessica’s mound.

“take a deep breath.” oscar’s voice comes from behind jessica’s body, and she pulls her body away despite your pawing at her thighs to watch your face as oscar’s cock enters you, the sight of your eyes widening and mouth opening ina forced moan making her wetness grow.

they take a few minutes to allow you to adjust to the new feeling, waiting for your nod before oscar starts to thrust at a steady pace as jessica sits back down on your face to muffle your moans. you go back to grasping her thighs with your arms and wrap your legs around oscar’s waist to pull him in closer, the feeling of him inside you driving you up the wall.

all the while the pair are praising you, whispering it over the sounds of skin slapping and moans.

“that's it, carino, lift those hips up. show me how much you want it.”

“you’re tasting me so well, my sweet. just a little harder-oh yes, just like that.”

“gods above you’re gripping me like a vice. better than i’ve been dreaming of-”

you don't get to ask what he means before you feel the same pressure from earlier building up in your lower stomach, but it feels different. you’re squealing and squirming as it builds before you hear jessica let out a drawn-out moan as she squeezes her legs around your head, the taste of her arousal flooding your mouth. she’s panting and her skin is shiny with sweat and you swear you've never seen a person more beautiful.

she moves her body to lay on her side next to you, moving her hands down o rud quick circles on your clit as oscar speeds up his thrusts, lifting your hips to rest your bottom on his thighs to fuck inside you at a deeper angle. you cant even be embarrassed by the loud moans you're letting out before you're reaching your climax. the lovers moaning at the sight and feel of your cunt squirting onto oscar’s lap and chest.

the next few minutes are a blur, the physical toll of the night and the sex finally seeping in and making you drowsy. you feel a soft damp rag wiping down your body, each stroke being followed with a feather-light kiss and whispers. about how long they've waited for this, for you, and how they promise to never let anything hurt you again.

its the best sleep youve had in months.

when you wake up you stretch your arms and take a minute to just relax. its been years since you've woken up and had nothing to immediately do. its nice. you could get used to it.

getting up you see some nice clothes laid out for you, including a note left on the bedstand once you finished getting dressed.

dear y/n,

when you awaken, please come downstairs. we'd like to discuss some things with you.

j & o

the neutral tone of the note forms a cold feeling in your chest. from what youve seen you dont think the couple are the type to take down on their luck virgins, take their innocence and then kick them out. but after yesterday's events you cnt risk putting all of your trust into someone.

after you finish getting ready, you head downstairs, your mind instantly leading you to the large living area downtairs that you pass on your way to the dining room. the floors in the hallways are hard and the sound of your footsteps alerts your hosts to your presence.

"ah, you're finally awake! come, sit with us. we've got some tea and muffins here if you're feeling hungry." oscar welcomes you, motioning to a spot on one of the plush red couches and the treats on the table surrounded by them. jessica is sat lounging on one of the couches, a thick book in her hand.

you give a strained smile, walking over to sit on the couch before pouring yourself some tea and chewing on one of the muffins. they watch you while you eat, the gazes going back to feeling almost haunting compared to the heated way they made you feel last night.

"as you already know, we have some things we'd like to discuss with you, my dear." jessica scoots closer to your seat, setting her book down on the table and giving you her full attention. she must be able to see the fright on your face because she immediately gets up and sits next to you, wrapping one of her arms around your shoulders to cuddle you. "trust me, it's nothing bad."

"at least nothing bad for you," oscar snickers, dodging his wife's light slap to his leg.

"all we ask is that you hear us all the way through, alright?" jessica asks and cuddles you closer when you nod.

you understand her request when they explain what's been happening to you. apparently, they had been visiting the town in secret for a few months now, and after seeing you in a bar on their first trip they'd gone back frequently to watch you.

the way they explain it makes it seem like they're practically enamored and your heart is starting to hurt with how fastly it's beating.

but they know and give you a moment to relax and take it in, because they can tell when you're upset or overwhelmed. because they also tell you that they are vampires.

it takes everything in your power not to burst out laughing, but as they look at your face it all starts to make sense. the way they only apparently to drink a dark red wine, so thick that you wondered how it could be possible, how they were already enjoying their day in the middle of the night. the coldness of their skin.

"we understand it's a lot to take in. but we have one more thing to ask you." oscar questions while cozying up to the other side of your body.

you nod your head, figuring it couldn't become more shocking than what they've already told you. you're surprised at your calmness, thinking back on how you from a year ago would most likely be running for the hills now.

"we dont want you to just be a maid here. we want you to become one with us," jessica explains, the hopeful smile on her face near blinding, "vampire culture is a bit different than regular human culture so you can marry us if you'd like."

"but we would never rush you." the lord takes your hand in a gentle kiss.

"of course not. we just...we've never felt this way about anyone but each other. but your kindness and your character and your beauty...we couldn't help but to fall in love with you."

you can feel the start of tears forming in your eyes. despite a small rational part of your brain telling you its a trick, that they might just be doing this to reel you in and drink you dry, you believe them. you cant help to when they look at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

"i...yes. i want to be with you." you sigh, letting out a string of giggles when they hug you from each side. it's suffocating and warm and it's the best hug you've ever had.

"gods, you're perfect. this is perfect, we'll tell the maids to prepare more on things to get you accommodated, we made you a few outfits just in case but you'll need more, not to mention more of your favorite foods and-"

you and jessica share a fond but teasing look at her husbands' rambling, the man quickly rushing out of the room as he calls for some of the maids to make preparations.

despite your happiness, you let out a strained sigh at the bubbling anger you felt from last night. everyone on the village called these two beautiful beings monsters in the night while they had treated you poorly based on a liars word of mouth. it fills you with a rage you don't know what to do with.

"what is it, y/n?" jessica inquires at your sudden change of mood. when you explain your anger she agrees, telling you how the worst part of looking at you from afar was seeing how people treated you like less than them.

"among our kind the art of killing humans is rather taboo these days. nothing like how it was when we were children."

"what if it was for a good reason?" you shock yourself with your question, and jessica too based on the look on her face.

she slowly starts to smile. "i think you're going to like it here with us."

#oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac #jessica chastain x reader #jessica chastain #oscar isaac x jessica chastain x reader #smut #fluff #polyamory #vampires #vampire x reader #vampire couple #vampire sex #rpf #oscar isaac rpf #jessica chastain rpf

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years

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Do you do yandere cult of the lamb? If so can we have a one shot of platonic yandere bishops (including Narinder, before the betrayal) x gn!bishop!reader? The reader can either be the oldest or the youngest but they're still old like the bishops

As the youngest of the Bishops, it became very clear that you weren't going to be taken all that seriously. Or at least that’s how you felt your brethren treated you at first.

Your crown, as it did for all its bearers, gifted you with unfathomable divine power--the power of Life, in your case. From that blossomed your own beautiful realm and a legion of followers who were eternally loyal to your cause.

So you shouldn't need any "extra protection". Yet the Bishops always watched you like a couple of hawks, intruding into your temple often without reason. All the wile, you noticed each of their peculiar behaviors towards you specifically..and nobody else.

For instance, one evening Leshy had the gall to interrupt one of your sermons....just to ask if you knew how to perform a Sacrifice of the Flesh ritual.

For Great One's sake! He thought you didn’t know the most basic of rituals in all the lands?!

You felt outright insulted and scorned your elder brother for assuming such things, shooing him away from your temple.

The next morning, you visited your devotion statue and saw a bouquet of camelia flowers laid down in front of it--freshly picked from Darkwood’s finest gardens. Not only that, but there was also a stack of gifts for your followers.

It was an odd yet sweet gesture from Leshy. So you accepted his apology, believing that maybe you’ve been too harsh on him.

Then one day you received news that one of your most devoted followers was kidnapped in the middle of the night--by Kallamar’s own followers.

You knew him a coward, but to do something like this was appalling. The lowest of lows. So you stormed his temple in anger, demanding for their release.

Yet...the squid seemed happy to see you, smiling as he welcomed you despite the fact he clearly pissed you off. But it turns out that he only wanted to talk to you about exchanging doctrines, but didn’t know how else to approach you.

So he ordered his cultists to kidnap your follower to lure you into Anchordeep. And he’s elated to see that it worked! You came for him!

As an apology for angering you, he made those same cultists become violently ill and blessed your follower with good health for the rest of their life. You just scowled at him and quickly left for home with them in tow, insisting that he didn’t use them like that ever again.

Then Heket, the typically arrogant frog bishop, was actually quite sweet to you. Alhough you’d much rather see her true hardiness than this fake persona she puts on specifically in your presence, you don’t complain.

When she overheard your followers were struggling with growing food this season, she took pity and blessed your entire realm with bountiful yields. Every farm plot grew twice as fast.

She hasn't said a word about it, and while you felt like it insinuated that you weren't capable of solving your own food crises..you were grateful for her rare generosity.

Shamura, ever the wiser, suggested a fighting ritual between two of your treasured followers--both of whom desire the title of Witness. Their constant bickering only created rifts in your cult, disrupted sermons, and generally upset you whenever you tried speaking to either of them.

You firmly taught resolution in conversations, negotiations, and forgiveness..no way could you see blood spilt on your temple grounds!

But despite your protests, Shamura had foreseen more disarray within your cult. This was a problem that you could likely ignore, but they couldn’t for some reason. And so they took possession over those two followers one night, filling them with the spirit of warriors, and had them duel to the death for your approval.

It left you horrified, but you did bless the winner with that title, appeasing the eldest of the Bishops.

Narinder was the last in the pattern. Despite being judge, jury, and executioner of all souls who eventually meet him...he actually asked you to decide where the dearly-departed from your cult deserved to be.

He claims it would be “unfair” if he didn’t have your honest opinion. But you objected his request.

Isn’t it his job to make that choice so you and the other Bishops didn’t have to? He was Death, you weren’t, and for him to be influenced by your judgement would surely upset the balance of nature. Of the duties of Bishops.

Why should he put that burden on you? You’ve dealt with the “life” aspect of these souls..so it should be his turn, right?

It didn’t make sense.

None of the Bishops’ actions made sense, you soon realized.

Feeling lost, you sought guidance from Haro. He was quite the enigmatic bird, yet he had a unique connection with your family--ever elusive while simultaneously all-knowing.

You asked him about the behaviors of the others. Why did they act so strange and obsessive over you? To the point of infatuation or committing heinous acts upon your followers or theirs? Was this all just for a minute of your attention?

He revealed to you that a prophecy called for a young Bishop who was fated to keep the balance of Life in the lands. But apparently many “false gods” claimed to be you, and were among the thousands slaughtered until only one remained:

You. The one true god of Life.

Knowing you were finally found, they were swift to take you under their wing, wanting to shelter you from the same mistakes they made growing up. And they did all they could to keep you happy..keep you reliant on them so you didn’t get hurt.

It seems a prophecy indeed drove them mad.

And as Haro flew away into the night sky, you gained a better understanding of the Bishops you called family.

But it also left you uneasy, realizing they could use this against you.

#clanask #anonymous #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #cotl bishops #bishops of the old faith #bishop reader #yandere #platonic

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bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

Sunglasses - Neron 'Creeper' Vargas x Reader

A companion piece to A Perfect Moment

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @est1887 @mysoulisasunflower @drabbles-mc @alexxavicry @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

You still have his sunglasses; Neron realises that the next day when he’s preparing for a run up to Stockton. It’s a fourteen hour round trip and it’s a fucking bright outside, so bright it fucking stings his eyes when he steps outside of his house. The light sensitivity is one of the things that comes with recovery, the long-term cocaine usage has damaged his eyes, not enough for it to cause any real problems, just enough to give him a fucking migraine if he doesn’t shield them.

He thinks it may be too early to drop by the tattoo parlour but he swings by anyway just in case. The door sign says closed but he can tell you’re in, he can hear the music through the door when he raps his knuckles on the glass underneath the gold cursive writing.

The song is something by Lindsey Stirling, he wouldn’t expect anything less. You have that vibe. He’s thinking about the cover she did of Radioactive. The hair, the eye makeup, the energy. Your implement of choice a pencil instead of a violin.

You open the door with a smile that makes his heart rate increase, he swears it gets wider when you see it’s him. He can’t help but break into a grin because your sunniness is infectious. He doesn’t think you realise that you have this ability to put people at ease, it must serve you well with your clients.

The bell above the door jingles as he closes it behind him. It’s the first time he’s been in your shop and he finds himself drawn to the artwork on the walls, beautiful sweeping images with stunning flourishes, highlighted with colour. He thinks this is how you see the world, in shades of vibrancy. It’s a contrast with the sleek darkwood furniture. He runs his hand over the top of a sideboard, admiring the staining of the wood. It’s old, an antique he suspects, possibly an heirloom. He can almost feel the history thrumming through the piece.

You’re in the middle of setting up for your first client but you pause to watch him. There’s something about Neron, his mannerisms, his interest in the world around him, it makes him a joy to be around. He seems grounded, connected to the space around him, living each and every single moment. You admire a person like that, someone who knows exactly who he is and exists purely in the present.

“I’ve got some time if you want to get in the chair.” You tease him, jerking your head towards the seat.

He looks at it almost regretfully. There’s an intimacy when you tattoo someone’s skin, a connection that’s forged, it’s fleeting, a matter of hours but it’s there. The act itself, of committing a piece of someone’s soul onto their flesh is spiritual in a way. People tell you their darkest secrets in the chair, their woes, their happiness. It’s a confessional for those who don’t feel welcome in church.

“I wish, I could.”

He means it you can tell. He’s already a stunning collection of artwork, you know every tattoo has a story, it shows an aspect of your history and personality. You want to ask him about his, you want to trace over each and every piece and learn everything there is to know about Neron Vargas.

“Next time maybe.” You tell him before picking up his sunglasses from the counter you’d set them on. You’d worn them in this morning, a reminder of the man you had met yesterday, the one that made you lose track of the time, that made you laugh, that seemed to get exactly where you were coming from when you explained how you worked. “I’m guessing you came by for these.”

He looks at the sunglasses in your outstretched hand. He doesn’t want to take them; he wants them to be a gift but the truth is he needs them. They’re tailored for his particular type of problem, a similar one to what he thinks you’ve had too.

“My eyes.” He explains gesturing to his face. “I get light sensitive sometimes. It’s an aftereffect…”

He trails off before he can say the words. He’s upfront and honest about his addiction issues but he knows how people perceive it, he’s not a safe bet in the long term, at least that’s how his girlfriends have seen it in the past.

“…of substance abuse.” You finish for him, and he nods, averting his gaze to the ornate panelling of the reception desk. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in your eyes, the pity, he knows he’s fucked this up with you.

“Seven years.” You say into the air between you. “I’ve been sober seven years.”

He tilts his head towards you, meeting your gaze. He doesn’t know what he expects to see because you’ve surprised him. You seem like you have your shit together, he assumed you always had.

“Alcohol.” You tell him. “I used to get so fucked up…”

You don’t finish the sentence and he gets it. It’s a bad place to go back to and he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to tell him anything. You don’t owe him anything for his disclosure.

“Cocaine.” He says, his hand rubbing over the back of his neck. “I’d have a drink, and then a line… Now I don’t do either.”

“Shit, well I guess the both of us are the boring ones at a party.” You say and he laughs because fuck if that isn’t true. He prefers to sit and play cards these days.

“I’d love to stick around.” He tells you earnestly, his sunglasses clasped in his hand. “Shoot the shit some more…”

“But you have stuff to do. I get it.”

And you do, you have a client turning up in thirty minutes and you still need to print off the design onto transfer paper. As much as you would love to prolong this conversation, you need to get moving too. You pluck one of your cards from the top of the reception desk and scribble something on the back before handing it to him.

“My private number.” You tell him. “In case you wanna shoot the shit again.”

He looks down at it and smiles, his thumb tracing over the numbers like they’re braille.

“I’m away in Stockton for a couple of days.” He tells you, tucking the card into the pocket of his kutte. “But I’d really like to see you again when I get back.”

“Send me a text or call me.” You say. “We’ll work something out.”

“Ok.” He says, his cheeks colouring just a little as he toys with his sunglasses.

It’s fucking adorable.

You watch through the window as he leaves, his thighs straddle that bike before he pulls out his phone and then your card, thumb sweeping over the touch screen.

Your cell chimes from behind you, you pick it up as you hear the roar of an engine outside before it fades off into the distance.

My number :) N x

Love Creeper? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#neron creeper vargas x reader #neron vargas #neron creeper vargas #creeper x reader #creeper vargas #mayans #mayans fx #mayans mc

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teabreakpancakes · 2 years

Note

omg, can I request Wu Chang x Gn reader?? I need some angst in my life :') Reader stopped writing in their diary as hunter and disappearing Wu didn't notice until a couple days later . Xie and Fan started asking everyone where they went/what happened to them. The rest is up to you whether you think The Manor owner starts to feel bad and idk return them from the dead LOL or they just gone

Fleeting Light Wu Chang x GN Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Bi'an nears their usual meeting spot, a bright smile on his face as he passes the hedge concealing a small space in the garden. His eyebrows furrow and his grip on the umbrella tightens when he doesn't see them.

"That's odd.. we usually meet here at around this hour and yet they aren't here yet" he mumbled under his breath. He shakes his head, fixing his faltering smile before looking down at the umbrella. "They're probably just late, we should wait for them" he said, talking to Fan.

Fan furrows his eyebrows, pacing around anxiously from within the umbrella, a sense of foreboding falling over him. "Let's check their diary, perhaps it'll mention something about where they are, it's not like they were in their room or in any other areas of the manor" he spoke, a small wry smile painting his face, thinking about how they could possibly be pulling their usual tricks on them.

With long strides, Bi'an makes his way to your room, bypassing Michiko who peered at him with worried eyes. Entering your room, he scans the area, immediately going for your journal the moment his eyes landed on it.

They both swore they heard a thud, their unbeating hearts dropping. There have been no entries for four days. It was an unspoken rule that every resident, no matter if you were a hunter or survivor, had to write in their journal; no more pages? a new one would appear, threw it out? it would return—no one had the right to stop writing in that cursed book, for if you did, you would be given a harsh warning that seemed more like a horrid punishment you'd receive from someone who knew all your fears.

If you hadn't written a single thing in your journal, and if you haven't been used as an example to those who dared to go against the owner's wishes, then that could only mean one thing—you were either gone forever or, you went missing in one of the original maps.

Was it when you were put in the Darkwoods? but... the survivors didn't have any matches there, they hadn't for months.

Without any words, Bi'an rushed out, teleporting to the waiting room. He looked through all of the rooms, searching for miss Nightingale. Fan could only grit his teeth in frustration, Where the hell were you? ran through his head, desperate for any sort of clue.

Bi'an's violet eyes meet miss Nightingales' void ones. He rushes towards the robot, "Where is hunter (Name)?" he asks, tone laced with a profound amount of urgency that shocked her. Never in her time has she heard Bi'an of all people sounding so urgent.

"I do not know" she replies, a tinge of regret evident in her tone. She could see violet eyes trembling with an emotion she couldn't decipher. "They have not been present in the manor for four days" she adds, slowly exiting the room. Before she's fully out of the door, she hears a low yet uncharacteristically solemn "Thank you" from Bi'an, and she swears that she can feel the despair rolling off from those very words.

Days pass, weeks pass, has it perhaps been months? neither of the guards knew anymore; with each match, with each and every one of their movements, they could feel themselves slipping from their usual selves.

They no longer cared much about climbing the ranks as hunters, only ever going hard in matches if they felt that the pain and the emptiness was too insufferable. While they used to at least take a few bites of food, they no longer did so, not without you pestering them to try the new dishes.

The other residents of the manor knew just how much you meant to the hunters, you were their lifeline, the reason they smiled, they reason they were so outgoing on occasion. Without you, they were void of the very thing they needed to live.

Both men felt frustrated with themselves, once more, you've slipped through their fingertips. They missed you, your sweet smiles, your childish banter, your presence—YOUR EVERYTHING.

There was not a day where they wouldn't search for you, daring to venture into all of the areas in search of you; no one could stop them from doing so, no one had the heart to, not when they were so persistent.

Every day, they woke up to the reality of you not being by their side—they felt that if this were to continue, they'd attempt to kill themselves once more, what worth is a living a life without you?

It's been 172 days since we've last saw you dear, just where are you? Bi'an wondered, brushing his fingers against the beautiful engagement ring on his ring finger.

He thinks back to the days where you three were still human, laughing with Wujiu about the memories of you nagging at them repeatedly. For the first time in a while, a smile graces both their faces, albeit being a bittersweet one.

Both men fall asleep together in bed, dreaming of you.

With a soft creak, their door swings open. A head peeks through, wispy (colour) locks disheveled. Slowly, the figure of their loved one approaches them on the bed.

Crystal tears are streaming from their eyes, wiping away the tears falling from Bi'an and Wujiu's faces. "I, I missed you guys so much" they whisper, their own tears falling on their faces.

Their eyes flutter open, wondering about whether or not they were dreaming. Before them, their darling knelt between them, crying into their bandaged hands.

Both men reach out to their "dream", taking away their hands from their face. They brush away their tears gently, as if having done so numerous times.

"I wish... you were actually here" Wujiu muttered, placing both of his hands in his lap with a sad sigh. Curious eyes stare at him, "I am though? the owner put me back?" attempting to wipe at their nose.

They receive dead stares from Bi'an and Wujiu and for a moment, it feels as if time has stopped. Both men snap out of it, pulling their lover into their arms.

"Where did you go?!" "Why did you leave us?!" they both shouted out, crying into your back as they sandwiched you between them.

Surely, you had a lot to explain.

i have learned what hurt/comfort is! ... i think?

@mirology , so like, is this that hurt/comfort thingy?

#lawless.writes #idv.writing #idv x reader #idv wu chang x reader #wu chang x reader #wu chang idv #idv xie bian #idv fan wujiu #gn reader

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