#chapter 1: access granted

[coolmagoloraskblog]

[dearestzaychik]

Our Forsakened Destiny.

[ Forsaken x Isekai'd Reader! ]

[ Gender Neutral Reader! ]

TW : Some Cursing then and there..

WORD COUNT : 6,092K words!

NOT PROOFREAD. Please do tell me if there was any mistakes whatsoever!!.. Because I'm not proofreading a 6,092k worded chapter..

.

.

.

.

Chapter 2

.

.

.

.

READER'S POV.

Knocking can be heard at the door, as you opened your eyes to the sounds. You didn't have to reply, As the figure that was knocking at the door started talking either way.

"..Hey, Elliot here. I just wanted to let you know that soon, the rounds start again. You slept for a hefty while, but we decided to wake you up early so that you'll be able to talk to the others. As well as to talk about your Abilities and Role. We'll be waiting downstairs!- No rush for you of course, but Builderman said he hoped you get ready as soon as possible."

Elliot mentioned, before footsteps were moving away until it was no longer there. It was still dark outside, as the realm never seemed to have the concept of day. It would be hard to know what to tell what time it was, but this was probably considered morning for them. You had no time to loose, so you got up and started to get ready. Even if you felt a bit anxious at your own situation, running away from it was not the wisest answer.

Before you headed out, you looked at your Stats and Abilities once more.. and they finally have something written down on them that's for sure.

.

.

.

ROLE : Support.

DIFFICULTY : ★★★★☆

HEALTH : 90

STAMINA : 90

ABILITIES :

Short-term Relief

- Bottoms Up and Cheers!

• This active ability allows the user to give out Pain Pills, making way for a new mechanic, TEMPORARY HEALTH.

If you need a quicker way to provide health, this is the quickest way you'll be able to get it for! This Survivor can share Pain Pills through out the round, and can even save a life in need if used right! It gives 65 health points that diminishes over time. Although.. One wouldn't recommend using it more than 1 time for each survivor.

If a Survivor manages to get their hands on another batch of Pain Pills after the first one.. They'll be inflicted with Nausea 2, and if they were to drink 3, Not only do they get inflicted with Nausea 4, The Health Points diminish faster as well as chipping off 5% of their actual health. This is not able to kill the Survivor, leaving them in 1% health if they were to drink a third time. At last, if the Survivor were to drink 4 or more, they will be lead to an Instant Death depending how lucky they are to live after each drink. The Cooldown is 35 seconds.

The Thrill of our Misfortune

- I don't like this chase, I'm out!

• This active ability allows the Survivor to gain access to three Adrenaline Shots, and is able to give them out or use it on themselves.

More on said, This Survivor not only carries Pain Pills, as well as 3 sets of Adrenaline Shots in which they can drop to share with other survivors or use it for themselves. The survivors are locked into an Adrenaline Rush, no longer fearing the Killer as they get a boost to get away. It can give Speed 2 for 5 seconds, as well as 45 health points that diminishes over time. Once all shots have been used, theres no other way to get these back so make sure you use it wisely. The Cooldown is 40 seconds when used, 35 seconds if dropped for another survivor.

Desperation.

- I don't belong here.

• This passive ability grants the Survivor Nausea 1 every 30 seconds and lasts 15 seconds when they aren't near at least 3 meters to a survivor, but gives Speed 1 for as long as they haven't encountered a Survivor nor a Killer, as well as 30 health points that diminishes over time when their alone and already injured.

This Survivor feels very uncomfortable even when not in a round, its best to provide them with Company to them to make sure they don't feel so.. out of place.

During Last Man Standing, due to the pressure this survivor is experiencing, Nausea 1 will stay for the remainder of the round, and Speed 1 will be given for only 15 seconds before the effect fades away, then 50 health points that diminishes over time will be administered to the said survivor after the effects are no longer present. Because of this, it leaves the Survivor very vulnerable when it comes to Last Man Standing.

.

.

.

Seems like Nausea will be your friend in the long run with the amount of Nausea status effects you can get in your kit. Your kit looked really complicated, hell you couldn't even seem to comprehend it right now to say the least. Whoever planned these abilities definitely wanted you to suffer.

None the less, there was now a Difficulty and your HP stats and stamina changed. It seemed balanced enough, but you still didn't get why you would be Difficulty 4 out of 5. Back then you were just a normal human being working a minimum wage job, nothing can be deemed special to your old life to have an entirely complicated kit like this..

Getting ready, you opted for a quick shower before changing into clothes that was exactly the same as your last pair before slipping on shoes and opening up your door, only to see a figure with a Pumpkin head opening their door at the same time as well.. Dussekar stared at you as you stared at him, having a minute of silence as both of you didn't move, before of course he took the intiative to break the silence.

"You must be the new survivor of this morning. You're presence will hopefully, be lovely."

Dusekkar stated, his legs never seem to touch the floor as he levitated off the ground. Honestly, you almost forgot he spoke in rhymes and riddles. Mentioning your presence, you remember how some survivors have different opinions of one another, as back then your friends mentioned about tensions and relationships between characters during the time you played..

"..Hello, Goodmorning."

You replied, even if it wasn't day at all outside the window, it seemed to be considered Morning for them. Dusekkar nodded in acknowledgment, holding their staff as he went ahead to the Lobby. You followed close by, fiddling with your hands. Soon enough both of you made it through the hallways, reaching the Lobby where the rest of the survivors are. Shedletsky and Builderman spotted you first, seemingly looking at something as Shedletsky raised their hand.

"Yo, Dusekkar and New comer! Over here!"

Shedletsky yelled out, signaling for both of you to come near. As you did, they seemed to have been looking at your stat and abilities. Seemingly investigating and looking at what you can do.

"It seems like they're a support."

Builderman blankly stated, looking at the stats as he seemed to have already figured out your kit faster than you did. Looking up at the message, there was something stated there.

NEXT SURVIVORS FOR THE NEXT ROUND...

Builderman

Two Time

Chance

Pharmacist

Noob

007n7

Shedletsky

Pharmacist.. That might be the title your called as. It seems like there were only 7 survivors playing this round, the others that weren't mentioned seem to get a break for one round at least. Its weird how you were called Pharmacist than your actual name, but its a decent title none the less. A Pharmacist, huh. Right, that was what you wanted to be when you grew up. But you never managed to suceed in actually following that career path, with that said.. There was indeed a reason why you wanted to be a Pharmacist back then, but you can't seem to remember why. Snapping you from your thoughts, Dusekkar, Shedletsky, and Builderman were looking at you, seemingly waiting for a Reply.

"Well?"

Shedletsky said, tapping the table as he waited for your response. Builderman shook his head, seemingly making up a decision for you.

"..They didn't seem to hear what you asked, but its fine. They can stick with me so that we can avoid that passive of theirs."

Builderman stated, glancing at you before he looked at your abilties and stats once more. He will most likely and definitely help you during this, considering he was a support as well.

"Also, This might be for you as well. It was in front of the front door earlier."

Builderman quickly added, seemingly remembering something as he picked up a Belt that had 3 adrenaline shots, as well as a container for Big Batches of Pain Pills.

"If that's one's case, then I shall take my leave. To prepare for the next round, is my current top priority."

Dusekkar said, patting you on the head as they seemed to have acknowledged your abilities.

"This shall be your first round, So one will wish you Great Fortune during this expedition."

Dusekkar wished you Good Luck, but in a somewhat fancy way.. None the less, he meant well that's for sure. Without waiting for your reply, they levitated away seemingly off to do their own thing as they weren't up for this round.

"Dusekkar is always so conservative, but I tell you he means well!"

Shedletsky said as he glanced at the Pumpkin figure gradually faded away from View. After Dusekkar left, he looked at you with a positive smile.

"There's still time until the round starts! Why don't you get along with the other members of the team? Off you go now!"

Shedletsky said, seemingly wanting you to interact more with the others as he gave you a little nudge that you needed to walk away. Giving you a thumbs up before talking to Builderman about the upcoming round.

In the actual Lobby, most of the Survivors were there. Even some of the survivors that you didn't manage to meet yesterday were there as well, all of them minding their own business or preparing for the next round. Elliot seemed to spot you as he waved, coming up to you with a bright smile.

"Hey, Have you met Builderman and Shedletsky yet? I heard they wanted to discuss your abilities. None the less, I won't be there to support you next round sadly.. But Im sure Builderman will find a way to teach you how to be a great support for the team!"

Elliot mentioned, patting you on your shoulder as they seemed to have hoped to teach you how things worked around here. A figure behind Elliot seemed to appear, looking behind him as they had a blue shirt and green pants.

"I-is this the new survivor..?"

They said, stumbling on their own words as they looked to be a bit afraid by your presence. Elliot looked behind him before smiling again, moving aside and showing the said figure. Noob jumped at the sudden movement Elliot did, but they still managed to stand still without freaking out at least.

"Meet Noob! Don't worry, They're nice."

Elliot stated, but the second sentence seemingly more so to Noob than for you. Noob looked at Elliot and then back at you as they didn't seem to know what to reply, after all they were described as Quiet and Withdrawn even after gaining more friends from this Realm..

"..Hello, It's nice to meet you Noob."

Deciding that you should take the first move this time, They seem to flinch as you offered your hand for a hand shake. After a moment or two, they took your hand and shook it lightly. Avoiding your gaze as they looked down.

"..It's nice to meet you too."

They replied, still a bit frightened but they managed to give a small smile. You took your hand away as you can feel someone staring at you, looking behind, you can see a pale-skinned robloxian with black scene-like hair. Just blankly staring at you as you stared back at them. It was a silent showdown as none of you seemed to speak up about the awkward staring contest between you both. Before of course, Elliot stepped in once again.

"..Ahh, that person over there is just Two Time. They might come off at the wrong glance at first but their decent."

Elliot stated, mentioning how Two Time is known for being a little bit insane in the membrane.. None the less, Two Time diverted their gaze in another direction as soon as Elliot is finished, seemingly off to their own little world once more. In another corner of the room, There seemed to be a person with a blue shirt, having a burger ontop of his head. But before you can even get any interactions with him, Noob patted your shoulder as they signalled you to look up, seeing that the timer's countdown was almost over.

"T-The round is almost starting.."

Noob said, stammering between their words once more as they seemed to be preparing themselves for this round even if they looked like they didn't want to participate any longer.

"..Good luck, You two."

Elliot stated, looking at you and Noob with a look of worry. You weren't even given time to say anything as your vision faded to black.

[ THE ROUND HAS STARTED. ]

Opening your eyes, You seemed to be in the Glass Houses map. Nobody seemed to spawn near you, so for the time being you were alone for now. What did spawn near you was a Generator, you might as well complete it to for the team and to not be completely useless.. While doing the Generator, there was seemingly a Menu you can open during the round, floating beside you as you can see the remaining time of the round as well as both your stats and your other teammates stats. This was definitely gonna be useful later on deciding who can get prioritized for temporary healing and actual healing later on.. A sudden feeling of panic eased within you, as your heart was beating louder and louder. Was this the passive ability you had? But it hasn't been 30 seconds yet, and you were just halfway done with the machine when Sudden Spikes appeared from the ground and blocked most of your exits besides the exit that you had to walk up through stairs to get out. Looking up, You could finally see the Killer as realization sets upon you.. John Doe was the killer. Probably from last round's events, the other killers were probably notified of your coming. And looking at his face, he seemed to look like he found the right survivor to toy with.. along with that, A sense of Nausea slipped within you, what a great timing of events.

"..So, This... is the New Comer."

John Doe managed to say, even though he was mostly mute in the actual game, in this reality you find yourself in he actually is able to talk but seemingly not much, showing how the Corruption affects him. Enough about needing to talk to the killer, You can do that any time. Right now, you didn't want to die. Especially the fact that you have not ever experienced death in this realm once, getting Impaled by a spike and ripped apart into two was NOT a pleasant way to die. Immediately shotting up to your feet, you quickly made your way up the stairs to the somewhat second floor of the building even with the Nausea you had during this. Looking down, you were steered away for a bit due to the height. In game, you were just playing a silly little pixel game. So the drop didn't seem much at first, but now that you're actually here.. it was steeper than expected. But John Doe was following close behind you, so you had no other choice but to Jump. Jumping off, you survived the jump successfully, but you lost balance as you landed and fell to the floor while at it. You swore you could hear John Doe's laughter up there, seemingly seeing your pathetic attempt to get away from him.

"You need to work on that landing of yours."

John Doe stated, easily following behind you as he jumped off so effortlessly and landed successfully as well. He was about to hit you with his clawed arm before..

BANG!

The sound of a explosion ran out through the air, pausing John Doe's movements as both of you looked at the side, seeing Chance who had a awkward grin, holding his now destroyed gun that exploded on him instead of stunning the killer.. Well, it did seem to stun John Doe at least from the sheer stupidity of the situation, so Mission Failed Successfully?..

Seeing the Opportunity at hand, You stumbled onto your feet, before running at Chance as you handed him Pain Pills before running off in another direction. John Doe seems to have scoffed at this action, before immediately changing targets as he chased Chance, who looked to be very grateful for your ability to say the least. After you deemed you've ran far enough, you stopped to catch your breath, noticing how your body trembled just based off of how much your hands shook. Right, all that you did was something you acted upon instinct. You didn't actually expect to be able to pull that off, especially knowing how Lazy and Carefree you were back then.. Clapping can be heard, as you looked up to the source to find Shedletsky, impressed by what just happened.

"Not bad at all for someone who just got here Yesterday!"

Shedletsky stated, before he suddenly got hit by a wrench as he winced from the pain. Stumbling back to the side, he revealed Builderman who was seemingly behind him this whole time.

"Talk later, Chance needs someone to distract that thing."

Builderman stated, behind him a Dispenser that he has built for the round. Shedletsky realized this as he checked the status, with Chance only having 67 HP left, and 30 of it was his actual health. Seems like he got hit once already, and with that Shedletsky quickly left, waving a quick goodbye as you were now left alone with Builderman.

"..I didn't manage to find you before your Passive activated, so I do apologize for that."

Builderman suddenly stated, checking the status of his machines as he noticed that his Sentry was down. Before you can even say anything in reply.

"You think ya' can handle being Alone for a bit? I just need to place down a sentry for these sentinels."

Builderman stated, looking at you as he adjusted his tool belt. You could only nod in reply, he gave a small smile and started walking away.

"Your work is much appreciated."

And with that, Builderman faded out of your view. Your left alone with the dispenser.. Oh wait, someone was near the dispenser and you didn't even notice until now. Not even Builderman seemed to notice him before he left, As 007n7 was near the Dispenser getting healed. It seemed that he just got here, having serious wounds as he was probably hit pretty badly by John Doe probably when he started chasing Chance, probably Body Blockeing so that Chance wouldn't die right off the bat. You didn't need to say anything else, remembering how Meos used to yap to you about 007n7's backstory to say the least.. if you were right, this man was the Adoptive Father of c00lkidd. 007n7 seemed to notice you staring at him, before he averted his own gaze.

"I understand if you do not want to interact with me in any way, but I do hope my presence and background doesn't dissuade you from helping someone like me.. But I don't blame you if you do of course..-"

007n7 stated, still looking away as an awkward tension fell before you two. You almost forgot, Almost every survivor disliked 007n7, especially knowing his misdeeds in the past. But you yourself didn't know much about him, only knowing about him being an Exploiter back then. None the less, he seemed to be trying his best to help the team with body blocking despite the situation. You didn't really know how to reply back to 007n7, especially with this heavy tension in the air. You could only look at the man before you with sympathy, before you dropped one of your Adrenaline Shots. While at that, 007n7 looked surprised that you even gave something. He hasn't done anything good for you, has he?..

"..Thank you for your work."

You muttered out, slightly repeating what Builderman said to you. 007n7 looked surprised as he looked at you with such shock. You stood back up and left him with the Dispenser, not bothering to look back as he himself didn't reply to you. Only grabbing the Adrenaline Shot you gave him as he stayed a little longer near the dispenser to heal up.

As you roamed around, with the machines being completed and picking up a Bloxy Cola along the way.. You happened to spot Chance once more, He doesn't seemed to be getting chased anymore, meaning John Doe went after a different target as he was sitting down leaning onto the wall while flipping his coin. He seemed to have spotted you as well as you went up to him.

"..Thanks for the Pills back there, It definitely made me see another day that's for sure. You think you can spare me an Adrenaline Shot at the moment?"

Chance asked, fixing his hat as he had a new gun that was fixed as well. With that, he stood up despite his Injuries as started flipping his coin once more.

"Oh.. Sorry, I can't give one at the moment. I just gave one to 007n7, and I can't give another one for a few seconds. But I do have this.."

You replied, taking out the Bloxy Cola that was hanging off your belt as you gave it to Chance. He only nodded and took the Bloxy Cola you gave him, not bothered by the fact that your Adrenaline Shot was currently unavailable.

"Oh, That Awkward Fella? Its all good, he deserves it for sparing me a hit or two. But Two Time on the other hand... wasn't so lucky to get away."

Chance mentioned, frowning at the thought. You didn't even realize Two Time was dead, looking at the Survivor's list and Two Time was indeed in fact dead. Every other survivor took a hit besides you and Noob, who was probably hiding and doing the last machines for this round.

"..None the less, I appreciate the gesture. Don't worry that fella got transported back to the Lobby and didn't actually die but... It might take you a while to get used to it so that's just a heads up for you."

Chance said, looking at you as he grinned once more. You could only wonder something that happened earlier, and your curiosity got the better of you.

"..Why did your gun explode on you?"

You asked, before a short silence filled the air. Chance's expression went blank, probably remembering the pathetic attempt at trying to stun the killer earlier. until it was replaced with a toothy grin, as he tried forgetting that ever happened.

"That's because I load extra gunpowder in it, nothing more, nothing less.. Its all good though, so you don't have to worry."

Chance stated, trying to save himself some dignity as he continued to flip his coin infront of you, but it always seemed to land on tails. Which seemingly made him more frustrated to say the least. Who wouldn't be?

"Now why would you do that..-"

Chance paused once more from your question, thinking about it before he shrugged, flipping his coin once more as it finally started landing on heads.

"..'cause where's the fun in that?"

He said with a proud grin, before he stopped flipping his coin as he finally got 3 charges. While at that, he started walking away once more.

"I would ask for more Pain Pills, But Shed needs it more right now. I'll go ahead and find either a Medkit or Builderman's dispenser somewhere here, but its best you go to Shed's aid."

Chance said as he left, leaving you more dumbfounded than ever by his own answer. So this little shit just loads in extra gunpowder for shits and giggles.. you could only sigh at his answer, before taking the initiative and got moving once more. After all, Shedletsky and the others still need your help. but you can't help but feel a bit guilty about Two Time's case. Even if you were a support that had healing abilities, your abilities were only there to give relief momentarily. You weren't paying attention to the Survivor Status as well, so you wouldn't even know that Two Time was dead if Chance didn't point it out. You remember how the whole entire fandom hated Two Time specifically, the intense backlash they gets due to their "useless" kit made everybody dislike them. You can't help but reminiscence on the times where Peanut tried to defend Two Time's horrible kit with their own life.

As you walked further and further from the direction you were once from, you could slowly start hearing yells and chattering amongst the silent night. As you got closer and closer, you could spot spikes from the ground. Your definitely getting close. As you ran, you could see John Doe still chasing Shedletsky due to the fact he had half of his health left. With your CD finally over, you used your ability as Shedletsky gained extra health temporarily as the Pain Pills quickly kicked in. John Doe seemed to pause from this, before he slowly turned to you, seemingly fuming with rage.

"..You annoying, little BRAT."

John Doe stated, before he suddenly started chasing you. This was most definitely your queue to run as John Doe followed close by, his anger seemingly reaching its peak from you healing the survivor he was chasing after. Who wouldn't be? After all, you yourself raged when an Elliot healed a survivor you were about to kill back when you were the killer.. Okay, that really shouldn't be the focus right now. Especially considering how close John Doe really was to you and the fact your stamina was running out.

It wasn't long before you felt a sharp pain at your back, being slashed by John Doe. His slashes were absolutely painful, but you weren't dead just yet at least. You got back at your feet as you looped around John Doe, going back to where you left Shedletsky. As you went back, you can see Shedletsky and Builderman with a sentry deployed right in front of them. Before you can even seem to get to them though, Spikes appeared from the ground as not only did it hit you, but blocked the pathway to them as well. Landing onto the ground, you couldn't help but wince in pain. Before you can even try getting up, you were kicked so that you wouldn't be able to. The very person that stood before you was John Doe, who definitely had intentions of murdering you with how bad his glare burned onto you. He scoffed, his spiked arm going under your chin as he forced you to look up to his Malicious Smile.

"..You're out of Luck, you bothersome fool. I'll make sure your first death will be a painful one."

John Doe said, as he was about to strike you with his other clawed hand once more.. Hah, You really fucked up this time, didn't you? Nobody and Nothing can save you now as you closed your eyes and waited for the inevitable until...

.

.

[ The Round has Ended. ]

[ Survivors Won. ]

.

.

.

.

JOHN DOE'S POV.

Seeing this New Survivor flailing around on the ground like a pathetic worm felt great. Especially after all the shit they pulled off as well. It was fun at first, but its starting to get irritating knowing this Survivor was another annoying support to say the least. But he couldn't help but Smile, seeing how frightened they really are. A taste of their own medicine, they said. This was just another victim for his own games, as he was about to strike them before..

Everything went black, he was back in the Lobby again. As he processed everything that was happening, he felt his anger rising once more. Grabbing something and throwing it across the room, that very item that was thrown being a Sword. And the person right across him was 1x1x1x1, almost getting hit by the said Sword but none the less remained Unphased as she stayed quiet. What a weirdo.

"..Seems like the new Survivor got under someone's nerves pretty quickly..."

A voice rung out from the room, with c00lkidd stating the obvious. Scoffing from his statement, glaring at the child as c00lkidd immediately put their hands up and shutted up, not wanting to make him angry even more. Jason didn't seem to be present in the main room, probably off to do their own thing. John Doe didn't have any more business done here as he went back to his room, his spiked arm dragging across the floorboards. He only managed to kill 1 survivor from the 7 survivors last round.. He'll make sure he'll wipe them all next time.

"..H0w B0th3rs0m3 1nd3ed."

1x1x1x1 stated, agreeing at John Doe's last statement as he looked up at a screen that was broadcasting the round as the screen only shown a Pain Pill left on the ground before the screen itself finally went away.

.

.

.

.

READER'S POV.

You waited for the inevitable to happen, expecting something painful yet.. nothing seemed to happen. Opening your eyes, your back to the Survivor's Lobby as you were sitting on a Table with the other remaining survivors. You actually survived that, and your injuries seemed to be gone. But where it was felt sore and a bit painful if touched to say the least, but what matters was that you survived. Your hands were shaking once more, but this time you couldn't tell if it was from fright because of the experience or if it was from the sheer happiness that you managed to actually survive. Some of the other survivors like 007n7 and Noob seemingly got up from their seats and went away, probably to have either some alone time or back to their room.. or both. Chance got up as well, walking up to Elliot and asking for a Pizza. Two Time was no where to be seen, and Shedletsky and Builderman stood up as well, but seemingly looking at you as they seemed to be relieved.

"..You did well, I'm honestly surprised how ya' managed to survive that

Builderman stated, his accent seemingly slipping in as he looked at you with a furrowed expression. Although his words were definitely sincere, his furrowed expression was practically screaming the fact that he seems to want to scold you for your reckless actions, but didn't as you were new after all, its common for this to happen..

"I wonder how Lucky this New Addition can get.. I swear, you might be even more lucky than Mr. Exploding Gun over here."

Shedletsky stated, mentioning the failed attempt of a stun from Chance as he probably was looking at each survivor status during it to find out what was happening.. Chance came back, with pizza in his hands as he scoffed, frowning as he didn't want to remember that once more.

"..That was only one time during the round...-"

The other survivors started chatting amongst themselves, With Shedletsky and Chance seemingly teasing and making fun of eachother's misses as Builderman just seemed to watch like a disappointed parent while Elliot watched as if he has seen this multiple times already. Everybody seemed to be so well connected already.. well, most of them at least. But something felt off, and you couldn't help but wonder yourself.. Will this Peace last forever? Who knew. But right now, enjoying this moment felt like the right thing to do.

Your enjoyment was definitely short-lived though, as you felt someone pull you away, unable to see who it is as they pulled you away from everybody and out the Cabin without anybody noticing. Looking behind you, you could see Two Time who stared blankly at you. You couldn't help but feel uneasy again as their stare was off-putting to say the least.

"..Oh, Hello... Do you need anything?--"

You asked, looking at them as you noticed they had a few bandages around certain parts of their body where John Doe probably slashed them at. before you can even finish your sentence though, Two Time cutted you off as they were quick with their words.

"007n7 never told you their name during the round, and I'm sure you didn't interact with him earlier.. How did you manage to know and mention his name when you spoke with Chance earlier?"

Two Time stated, mentioning the fact that you slipped up and said 007n7's name when talking to Chance earlier. They were really observant, and you felt like if you lied they wouldn't buy it. You were forced in a tough spot to say the least, this turned out far more worst than expected. Someone is already managing to figure you out and it hasn't been even a week yet. You couldn't help but feel frightened once more, a cold shiver went down your spine as your face to face with Two Time who wants answers. You know that whatever you will plan to answer, there will definitely be consequences for each one.

WARNING :

Major Decision Making up ahead.

Surprise! Interactive Choices appear! It seems like someone already got suspicious of you, and it was Two Time none the less. Whatever you choose WILL affect on how the story would go, so choose wisely!

.

.

.

.

TAGLIST

@takingnap55 @vyn-nn @g4tyjust4tw0 @ilikedrinkingsoda @subspacekisser1 @m-just-call-me-that @yukinaabutlazy @ms-sh0rtcak3 @no-hearts-included @agenteighter @bombcake @jawzwix

[ If your tag is white, for some odd reason I can't seem to tag you! (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠) ]

[ If you want to be apart of the Taglist, don't be afraid to ask! ]

NOTES

AAAAA... VERY SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT!! I've been busy since I'm currently undergoing my last few weeks of the School Year and is heavily bombarded with school work.. Next chapter might take a while to upload considering I still have to finish up every single one of my works, but none the less I'm kind of glad I got this out of the way.

The reason why Reader doesn't maintain their Injuries because of the little headcanon I have where Survivors that DO survive the round will have the luxury to not experience any wounds, while Survivors that do perish in the round are forced to deal with the wounds until all the rounds that are prepared for the day are completed. Then they can actually rest then pray to spawn that it heals up quickly before the next round of 'games.' I thought of this headcanon because I wanted a Punishment for 'failing' to survive the rounds and also because I see Spectre doing this to the Survivors to make them suffer more.. this is further more shown when Reader is faced with Two Time which they had bandages around them, as well as in Chapter 1 with Guest 1337 themselves having bandages around their body when the Reader met them after the round was over.

For this series, theres a lot soon to come! But right now, things are definitely getting more serious. There will still be some silly moments then and there, but there will be more decision making sitiations in the future! I think thats all I have to say for now. Thank you for your patience!

EDIT :

NGL GANG.. I ALMOST LOST THIS FIC!.. ITS OKAY PROBLEM IS SOLVED BUT OH MY DAYS THIS WOULD'VE BEEN A LONG CHAPTER DOWN THE DRAIN..

[reilemon]

♥︎Amore Immortale♥︎ Ch.3

Chapter Title ♥︎ Awakening The Muse ♥︎ ch. 1 𓂂 ch.2

♡︎ synopsis: The idea of leaving feels bitter - and not just for you.

♡︎ pairing: vampire!Xavier, vampire!Zayne, vampire!Rafayel, vampire!Sylus x fem!reader (separately and together)

♡︎ tags: a little bit of fingering

♡︎ word count: 8.6k

♡︎ a/n: I feel like i need to address the setting - this is set in a mix of Victorian/Regency era, and I'm just adding what I find most fitting into the story. Also, this a fanfiction with vampires after all.

♡︎ Thanks to my dearest friend and beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @ cafekitsune

The gloomy light of late autumn morning filters through the thick curtains, barely lighting up the room. You blink awake slowly to the familiar chill of the room, a reminder of your usual morning discomfort. But today, there’s warmth—a solid, soothing presence pressed against your back, an arm draped around your waist.

Last night wasn’t a dream.

The realization makes your heart skip. The memory of Xavier’s lips on yours, the scrape of his teeth along your neck, his hips —it all rushes back in vivid detail. The ghost of those sensations makes your thighs press involuntarily. The small movement seems to rouse him. Behind you, Xavier stirs, his arm tightening slightly around your waist, his face nuzzling closer into the curve of your neck.

“Are you awake?” His soft, sleepy morning voice too disarming.

You nod, the sound catching in your throat as you lean further into him. His lips press a tender, lingering kiss to your temple.

“No fever.” he murmurs. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel good.” The truth slips easily from your lips. You feel more at ease, more alive, than you have in months. “But what about you?” you ask, your voice soft as you shift slightly in his embrace. “Are you in any pain?”

Xavier’s response is a low hum, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and any intent to press him evaporates the moment his lips graze your skin. He places a kiss, so gentle it feels like the brush of a feather - then another, and this time his tongue follows, wet and warm against your pulse point. A soft moan slips past your lips before you can stop it, your hips instinctively pressing backward against him. That’s when you feel it—his hard cock against the soft flesh of your ass. Your body stiffens for a moment, but the firm grip of his hands on your waist encourages you to move again.

His lips linger on your neck, sucking lightly, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His hand slides from your waist to tease the curve of your side, skimming the silk nightgown that has bunched up around your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem, but you don’t stop him. When his hand slips beneath the delicate fabric, trailing slowly up your thighs, your breath hitches, the ache intensifying as his fingers glide over your damp underwear. You part your legs instinctively, granting him access as his fingers dip under the lace and find your slick folds.

“You’re so wet, honey.” he whispers against the saliva-slicked skin of your neck as his fingers glide slowly between your folds. “Tell me when to stop, okay?”

You nod weakly, your breath hitching as his fingers slide up and circle your clit. A soft whimper escapes your lips before you bite down hard to muffle it. Xavier’s hips grind against you, the thin silk of his pajama pants doing nothing to hide the hard length pressing firmly against your ass. His free hand grips your waist, holding you firmly in place, while his lips drag wet and hungry along your shoulder. Then his hand dips lower, before one finger slides into your dripping entrance.

“Xavier…” you pant, your hips rolling instinctively to meet his movements. His finger curls inside you, hitting that perfect spot while his hips grind harder, his cock rubbing against you through the flimsy fabric, making your mind spin.

But then—a knock.

The sudden, sharp sound cuts through the haze like ice water, and your body stiffens. Your legs clamp together instinctively, trapping his hand in place, your arousal replaced with the burning flush of embarrassment. Xavier stills immediately, his breath heavy against your neck. For a second, neither of you move, but then, Xavier groans against your neck. He reluctantly pulls his hand from your panties, the sudden loss of contact leaving you aching and flustered. But before you can catch your breath, he does the unthinkable.

“Come in.” he calls out.

Your heart stops. Pure, mortified panic washes over you as you scramble away from him, tugging the duvet up to cover yourself. Your cheeks burn, your mind racing for any excuse that could explain why Xavier is in your bed. The door slowly creaks open, Zayne standing at the doorstep, the ceramic wash pitcher in his hands. His eyes widening for a split second as he takes in the scene before him.

“Am I… interrupting?” Zayne asks as his gaze flickers between you and Xavier.

“Not at all!” The words tumble out of you too quickly, and you clutch the duvet tighter around yourself, wishing it could swallow you whole.

Zayne steps inside and sets the pitcher down on the small wooden stand by the basin, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. You can’t tell if it’s concern, judgment, or something else entirely. Your mind races as you try to fill the silence. The pitcher of rose water—a morning ritual since your arrival—had always been there when you woke. You realize now that it must have been Zayne, quietly tending to your room while you slept off the fever.

But this is the first time he’s caught you awake, and with Xavier no less.

Zayne clears his throat. “I brought the rose water, as usual.”

“Thank you.” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier, on the other hand, remains infuriatingly composed. He leans back casually against the headboard, his gaze flickering toward Zayne with a faint smirk.

“Anything else you need, Zayne?” Xavier asks, his voice smooth.

Zayne’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, but he shakes his head, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll let you know when breakfast is ready.” he says softly.

As he steps back toward the door, your eyes follow him, your heart still racing. When the door clicks shut, you let out a heavy breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You don’t speak. You look at Xavier with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

He meets your gaze, amusement flickering in his expression as he leans closer, his voice low and teasing. “Not mad at me, are you?”

You shake your head quickly. “Zayne would’ve come in anyway.” you mumble.

Xavier chuckles before leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, before he gets out of the bed. Just as he’s about to step away, he lifts the hand that had been between your legs, his fingers still glistening faintly. Your breath catches when you watch him slip one finger between his lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Sweet.” he murmurs with a faint smirk.

You’re too stunned to say anything, your cheeks burning as he puts on the silk robe, heading toward the door. Before he steps out, he glances back over his shoulder.

“I’ll bring you breakfast instead of Zayne.”

You nod, still clutching the duvet. “Thank you.”

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone with the storm of emotions. Your fingers move unconsciously to your lips, the memory of Xavier’s lingering touch and Zayne’s gaze playing over and over in your mind.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Xavier leans back in the armchair, his pajama shirt lies over the armrest, revealing faintly healing wounds and a few scratches. Zayne sits nearby on a wooden chair, a small tin of ointment and fresh bandages on a small table nearby. Zayne’s deft fingers work skillfully, peeling back the old bandages to examine Xavier’s injuries.

“You’ve been straining.” Zayne says after a moment. His gaze flickers to a small, reddened wound on Xavier’s abdomen. “This one especially—it’s not as far along as it should be.”

“Doesn’t hurt.” Xavier says with a small shrug.

Zayne raises an eyebrow, “Right.” he says dryly. “And that wouldn’t have anything to do with an unusual exertion this morning?”

Xavier finally meets his gaze. “Define unusual.” he replies lazily.

Zayne shakes his head slightly after a moment, going back to his work. “I’m not going to pry.” Then, he presses gently against the wound, earning a brief wince from Xavier, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “You should stop aggravating this.”

Xavier chuckles softly but says nothing, his gaze drifting toward the fireplace.

As Zayne finishes tying up the bandages, the silence stretches between them, interrupted only by the scrape of the chair’s legs as he moves to stand. Xavier’s voice stops him in his tracks as he’s about to approach the door.

“She likes it here.” Xavier says, eyes fixed on the low flames in the fireplace.

Zayne’s brow lifts, waiting for more.

“She deserves to feel comfortable.” Xavier continues after a beat. “That’s what matters. Not...who she spends time with.”

Zayne studies him for a moment. “And you’re okay with that?”

Xavier exhales a quiet laugh, though there’s no humor in it. His gaze finally lifts to meet Zayne’s. “I’m okay only because it’s you guys.”

The weight of that statement lingers before Zayne’s lips twitch into a smirk. “Even Sylus?”

Xavier lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, but then a soft chuckle follows. “Even Sylus.”

Zayne chuckles, shaking his head as he moves toward the door. “Good to know.”

Xavier watches him leave, his gaze returning to the flickering firelight as the door closes.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You finish the last sip of tea, the clink of the cup against the saucer breaking the silence of your room. You meticulously gather the plates, stack them neatly, and pick at a few stray breadcrumbs on your lap, brushing them onto the tray on the bedside table.

The quiet gives you space to think, and your mind wanders - recklessness was never something you embraced—except once. And now, here you are again. Your gaze shifts toward the curtains, the weak daylight barely filtering through. The isolation of this mansion, the enigmatic men, their hushed conversations—it should all make you uneasy. Yet it doesn’t.

You feel a warmth spread through your chest as you think of Xavier, his soft words, and the way he held you. Your cheeks flush as the memory shifts to this morning—the way his touch set your skin aflame, the way your core was dripping for him, before Zayne knocked on the door. A sharp wave of embarrassment follows, and your hand flies to your burning face. Zayne. What must he think of you? Sharing a bed with Xavier after only a few days in the mansion.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Something about this place, these people, makes you want to stay. Even though you barely know them, the connection feels magnetic. It’s foolish, perhaps even dangerous, but it feels real.

You exhale slowly. You can’t sit here forever, hiding from Zayne.

Just get up.

You shuffle toward the wardrobe, fingers brushing over the few dresses. You choose a modest dress this time—something simple, something that wouldn’t draw too much attention. Pulling it on, the fabric glides over your skin, and you’re stunned how this one fits you so well. You tug it into place and turn toward the golden hand mirror on the bedside table. You hold the mirror up, angling it to catch your reflection. The bruise on your forehead is barely visible now, fading into a faint shadow of itself. Your face looks healthy, but you wish you had some blush and tinted lip balm with you. Your fingers instinctively graze your lips, wishing for that hint of color, but you can only shrug.

Then your eyes widen.

A faint mark rests on the curve of your neck. A hickey. Heat floods your cheeks as the memory of Xavier’s lips on your skin comes rushing back. The gentle sucking, the teasing graze of his teeth… You place the mirror down, hands trembling slightly. He did that. You go back to the wardrobe, and relief washes over you as your eyes land on a shawl of soft Kashmir wool. You drape it over your shoulders, carefully positioning it to cover the bruised side of your neck. It’s cold in the mansion, after all. You take a deep, shuddering breath and go to pick up the tray.

Just as you reach for it, a sudden knock startles you—a rhythmic, playful tap that’s far too casual to belong to Zayne. Hoping you’re right, you turn toward the door.

Opening it, you’re greeted by Rafayel’s vibrant smile. He tilts his head, studying you with an amused gleam.

“How’s our little patient feeling today?” he asks with the usual teasing lilt in his voice.

You can’t help but return his smile, his energy as infectious as always. “Much better.”

“Good, good.” he says, nodding. Then, his grin widens. “How about a little tour? Want to see my art studio?”

The unexpected invitation takes you by surprise, but your heart leaps at the chance to explore more of the mansion. “I’d love to!” you almost squeal. “But I should return this first.” You gesture toward the tray on the bedside table.

Rafayel waves a dismissive hand, stepping back into the hallway. “Don’t worry about that. Zayne will grab it. He’s the neat freak here.”

“But—” you start, glancing back at the tray.

He’s already walking away. “Come on, cutie,” he calls over his shoulder. “While we still have some daylight.”

With a small sigh and a lingering glance at the tray, you decide to follow him.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Rafayel steps inside first, “Welcome to my sanctum!” he says with pride in his voice as he holds the door open for you.

You step inside, and your mouth falls open. The room feels like an entirely different world from the rest of the mansion. It’s intimate, bright and bursting with vibrant colors. The curtains are drawn back from floor-to-ceiling windows, and despite the gloomy autumn weather, the room feels radiant. Your eyes flit over the artistic chaos—blank canvases stacked against the walls; brushes and palettes scattered on almost every surface of the room. The walls are a masterpiece in their own right, nearly every inch adorned with Rafayel’s works. In one corner stands an easel with a canvas you assume is still in progress, and across from it is a large, plush sofa draped in deep blue velvet.

“Messy, I know.” Rafayel says, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. He stands by the window, watching your reaction with a pleased smile, his arms crossed casually. “But every artist needs a little chaos.”

You can only nod, still taking it all in. As you move deeper into the room, you find yourself drawn to the paintings on the walls. You approach one – a painting of a tranquil moonlit cove, the waters calm, reflecting the moon and the stars shining above. Your gaze shifts to another piece nearby, this one completely different. The sea is wild and chaotic, its waves crashing against jagged rocks under a stormy sky.

“The sea feels alive in your work.” you murmur.

Rafayel steps closer, his hands tucked into his pockets as he watches you. “The sea has always been a muse of mine.” he says. “It’s unpredictable. Serene one moment, devastating the next.”

You nod, your eyes still glued to the artwork as you move along the wall. “I’ve never really had the chance to see it much.” you admit quietly. “There’s no sea anywhere near where I grew up. And now…” You trail off, glancing at the forest outside the windows.

“A pity.” Rafayel says. After a moment, a smile tugs at his lips. “Next time I visit the coast, you’ll come with me.”

The offer makes your heart skip. The idea seems almost too perfect. Your cheeks flush slightly, and you look away, unsure if he means it or if it’s just idle conversation. Still, the warmth in his tone makes you want to believe him. “I’d like that.” you say softly, finally meeting his gaze again.

His smile widens slightly. “Good.” he says simply before stepping aside, letting you admire the rest of the paintings.

Rafayel walks over to the easel and sets the canvas aside to dry, its vibrant red paint glistening faintly in the light filtering through the window. Meanwhile, your attention is drawn to a desk in the corner, cluttered with pencils, charcoal, and sheets of blank and sketched-on paper. You step closer, fingers hovering over the mess, your curiosity piqued. Amid the sketches, one catches your eye. A detailed portrait of Zayne, his sharp features perfectly captured while he’s deep in concentration, writing something.

Rafayel’s voice cuts through your focus, soft and amused. “Found my rare collection, have you?”

You glance up briefly. “Is this Zayne?” you ask, your voice tinged with surprise.

“It is.” he says, stepping behind you. “He was writing reports or something like it. Didn’t even notice I was sketching him until I was nearly done. He wasn’t exactly thrilled when he found out.”

You smile at the mental image. “I can imagine.”

Rafayel lets out a dramatic sigh. “It’s always the same with them. None of them will sit for me, so I have to catch them when they’re too focused—or too tired—to complain.”

Your gaze drifts to another sketch, and you carefully pick it up. This one is of Sylus. The bold strokes suggest motion; he looks almost alive on the page. His silver hair falls forward slightly, framing his features as his fingers rest on a piano perhaps.

“Is he playing here?” you ask.

“Yes,” Rafayel answers, leaning casually against the desk now. “He doesn’t like interruptions, so he made the perfect model that day.”

Your fingers brush over the edge of the paper as you marvel at the sketch. “You’re really talented.” you say, your voice soft with awe.

“Praise me more.” Rafayel teases with a smug grin.

You laugh lightly and set the sketch aside, your eyes falling on another. This one makes your heart skip. It’s Xavier, seated in a chair reading a book. You take a moment to admire the way Rafayel sketched his fluffy hair falling loosely over his forehead, dreamy eyes lost in the pages.

You clear your throat, hoping Rafayel doesn’t notice the way you linger on the drawing. “It’s incredible how you’ve captured... all of them.”

Rafayel steps closer, peering at the sketch. “They all have their moments.” he says, his tone more reflective now. “A person’s energy comes through when they’re completely at ease—or completely themselves.”

Your blush deepens as you silently agree, the image of Xavier feeling too vivid. As you set the sketch down, you glance back at Rafayel. “I always loved the old paintings of goddesses and mermaids when I was younger. They seemed so... ethereal.”

Rafayel tilts his head slightly, his interest clearly piqued. “But not the paintings these days?”

You shake your head with a small sigh. “Not really. They’re all so gloomy. And the subjects—don’t get me wrong, they’re beautiful—but they’re always so... proper. Layers upon layers of fabric.” You smile softly. “No more goddesses, no more mermaids.”

Rafayel chuckles. “Oh, I know what you mean. Believe me, I’ve tried to liven things up around here.” He glances at the scattered sketches on the desk. “I even tried to convince the others to pose for me. Nude. Purely for the sake of art, of course.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you can’t help but laugh. “What did they say?”

“Oh, they were mortified!” he replies, his tone dripping with faux disappointment. “I almost had Sylus. But then he changed his mind. I think he was messing with me all along.”

You laugh harder, imagining Rafayel going around the mansion and pestering the men to take off their clothes. But as the idea of nude paintings lingers in your mind, your cheeks flush a little.

Rafayel notices, of course, the way your laughter turns into a shy smile. For a moment, his gaze softens. “You know,” he begins almost carefully, “I’d be more than happy to turn you into a mermaid.”

The suggestion catches you off guard, your breath hitching. “Oh,” you stammer. “I - I don’t know -”

Rafayel quickly holds up his hands. “Only if you want to, of course!” he adds, his tone reassuring. “No pressure. I just think you’d make a stunning subject, that’s all.”

You bite your lip, glancing down for a moment as his words sink in. The idea is both enticing and a little intimidating.

“Well,” you say softly, meeting his gaze again, “maybe... one day.”

Rafayel grins, the easygoing charm back in full force. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Rafayel moves around the desk, his hands rummaging through the clutter. His lips press into a line as he searches, finally pulling free a worn sketchbook. “Ah, there we are!” he says triumphantly, holding it up. He turns to you. “Care to sit for me? I’d love to sketch your portrait.”

You blink. “Oh, um...” You hesitate, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of your shawl. “I can’t even remember the last time I had a portrait done.”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow, his playful smile faltering slightly. “Really? That’s odd.” He tilts his head, about to ask why, but quickly decides not to. Instead, he shrugs and waves a hand toward the large, plush sofa against the wall. “No matter. Sit down, get comfortable.” He flashes a reassuring grin. “We’re gonna fix that today.”

Grateful for his ever-light-hearted energy, you cross the room and sink into the sofa, smoothing your dress as you settle. Rafayel pulls the wooden chair from the easel and sets it across from you, sketchbook and pencil already in hand. He pauses, squinting slightly as he examines the light and shadows on your face. “Hmm,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to shift. “Turn your face just a bit. No, the other way. Chin up—.”

You follow his instructions, moving this way and that.

“Just a little more... turn your neck this way.”

You adjust as he asks, tilting your head, and for a moment, Rafayel pauses. His gaze lingers, catching on something just below your jaw. It’s faint, but there—a soft, blurred mark, blooming on your neck. Rafayel’s eyes narrow slightly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. A soft smirk forms as his gaze flickers back to yours. You don’t notice; you’re too focused on staying still, your gaze pulled somewhere to the side.

“Perfect.” he says. “Hold that pose for me.”

You nod slightly, oblivious to what caught his attention. Rafayel leans forward, the smirk lingering as his pencil begins to move, capturing you on the page. His eyes flicker to yours every few moments, studying the planes of your face, the slope of your neck, the way the light dances over your features. You try to hold still, focusing on anything to distract from how exposed you feel.

Your mind wanders to Xavier - what is he doing now? Is he still with Zayne, having his injuries tended to? The memory of his warm hands against your skin from this morning flashes in your mind. A flush blooms deeper on your cheeks, and you stiffen every muscle in your body to prevent yourself from fidgeting. You wonder if he notices the faint blush creeping over your cheeks.

He notices, of course. His pencil pauses mid-stroke, and he leans back slightly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You know, if you stay that stiff, I’ll have to draw you as a statue instead of a person.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips despite yourself. “Sorry.” you murmur. “I’m not used to this.”

“I can tell.” he replies. “Tell me—have you ever taken painting lessons?”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “I did, actually. A long time ago. My skills are… very rusty now.”

Rafayel’s eyes light up with intrigue, his fingers playing with the pencil. “Well, I’d be more than happy to refresh your memory.”

The offer catches you off guard, and your eyes widen slightly. “Oh, I couldn’t.” you say quickly. “There’s no way I could afford someone as talented as you.”

He chuckles at your words, shaking his head. “Nonsense. Consider it my pleasure. I’d enjoy seeing you rediscover those skills.”

You’re still in disbelief. “You really mean that?”

“Of course!” he says, his smile widening as he glances back at the paper in front of him. “And trust me, it’ll be good practice for me, too. Teaching someone is an art in itself.”

The warmth of his words fills your chest, easing some of the tension you’d been holding. “I’d like that.” you admit softly.

He leans forward slightly, still eyeing the very rough sketch. “So… Did you grow up in the village?”

You shake your head, hesitating. “No... I moved there a year ago.”

“And before that?” he presses gently.

You bite your lip, unsure what to say, “I – “ you pause, searching for the words.

But Rafayel cuts you off, “What about now? What do you do in the village?”

You let out a small sigh of relief. “I work at a bookstore.” you tell him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s quiet, but I like it.”

He listens to you talk about how your day in the bookstore looks like, which books are your favorite, how you pester the owner to order some newer releases. When you steer the subject towards your favorite paintings and artists, he joins you with an amused smile, revealing to you their techniques and some gossip he heard from someone or read somewhere.

You don’t even notice how long the conversation went on for until he gets up and starts lighting the candles. The sun has almost set.

“Now, stay still, cutie.” He says as he sits back on the chair.

You follow his instructions, tilting your head just so. The tension in your shoulders has eased, and you’re no longer hyper-aware of every shift of his pencil. There’s a reliance to Rafayel, beneath the playfulness— something that draws you in like a moth to a flame. His charm, which initially felt almost too dazzling to look at directly, now feels more like a beacon.

Your gaze shifts to him, unable to resist studying him as he works. The slight furrow of his brows as he focuses, the way his wavy, dusty-purple hair falls into his face, how the soft light illuminates the delicate angles of his face. His lips, soft and plump, smile softly when his gaze locks with yours. It’s not fair how effortlessly captivating he is—how he seems to belong to another world entirely. Your eyes trail over his hands, the way his fingers grip the pencil. You wonder how many hours he’s spent perfecting this skill, how many pieces of himself he’s poured into his work.

Your think of Xavier – how his presence is so different—quieter, steadier, like a peaceful spring night. Both Xavier and Rafayel are intoxicating, but in completely different ways, and the thought of being caught between them is as thrilling as it is overwhelming. You shift slightly on the sofa, the weight of these thoughts pressing on you. It’s absurd, isn’t it? To feel this pull toward them both—and not just them. The other two occupy a quieter corner of your mind, impossible to ignore. You barely know them, yet you can’t deny the way their attention makes you feel alive.

A pang of guilt stirs in your chest. Is it selfish to want to hold onto the warmth of their attention?

Rafayel glances up, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of curiosity. You quickly look away, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re awfully quiet.” he teases gently, breaking the silence. “Lost in thought?”

His voice pulls you back to the present, the playful lilt in his tone making your lips curve into a faint smile.

“Something like that.” you murmur. Then you clear your throat and ask, “How did you get into painting?”

His hand pauses, the pencil hovering just above the page. Then he resumes, his tone casual as he replies, “Ah, well, I suppose I’ve always painted. When I was younger, it was my escape.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

He chuckles softly. “It was something I could control, you know? No matter what else was going on, I could lose myself in my work.”

You glance over at the easel, where the vibrant paint of the unfinished canvas glistens in the faint light. The brushstrokes seem almost chaotic, and you wonder what could have inspired such vivid intensity. Your mind flickers back to last night—their hurried footsteps, the tension in their voices as they returned from… wherever they’d been. Before you can dwell on it, Rafayel follows your gaze to the canvas.

“Don’t think about it too much, cutie.” His eyes glint with amusement before his focus is back on the paper in front of him.

You smile faintly, but the lingering weight of his earlier words doesn’t quite leave you. There’s more to him than the playful charm he wears so effortlessly—something deeper, something you feel drawn to unravel.

“Do you sell your work often?” you ask.

Rafayel hums thoughtfully, his pencil pausing again as he considers the question. “I don’t, personally. That’s where Thomas comes in. He handles the patrons and all the tedious business things so I can just… paint.” he explains. “He can be a headache sometimes. Always breathing down my neck, asking for more pieces. Thankfully, he’s off gallivanting somewhere far away right now. Blissful silence.”

You laugh softly, imagining a disgruntled manager trailing behind Rafayel with endless demands.

“You’re holding up well.” he says. “The sofa isn’t too unbearable, is it? I’m almost finished.”

Before you can answer the doors to the studio open without warning. There’s no knock, no announcement, just the sound of footsteps. Your head turns, startled, and your breath hitches when you see Xavier standing in the doorway. A blush creeps up your neck, accompanied by a fleeting pang of guilt—as though you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

Rafayel doesn’t even flinch, his ever-playful demeanor intact. “Ah, Xavier.” he drawls, straightening slightly in his chair. “You know, it’s polite to knock. What if I’d been changing?”

Xavier’s expression is serious at first, but it softens when his eyes land on you. His lips twitch into a faint smile as he greets you, his voice low and warm. “Hey.”

“Hi.” you manage, feeling oddly self-conscious under his gaze. “Rafayel was, um, drawing me.”

“Oh, indeed I was.” Rafayel interjects, rising from his chair with the sketchbook in hand. “And I’d say it’s a masterpiece, wouldn’t you agree?” He moves to sit beside you on the plush sofa, holding up the sketch like a prized trophy. Xavier steps further into the room, taking the empty space on your other side, the proximity of both men has your pulse quickening.

When Rafayel flips the sketchbook toward you, your breath catches. The likeness is uncanny—your features perfectly captured in soft pencil strokes, delicate yet precise. You look lost in thought, your gaze distant yet wistful.

“It’s... beautiful.” you say quietly, unable to tear your eyes away.

Rafayel smirks, leaning back against the sofa. “Naturally. You’re an excellent muse. We should make this a regular thing.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “You posing—or perhaps me teaching you how to paint again?”

His comment makes you glance at Xavier, whose jaw tightens ever so slightly.

You smile nervously. “Sounds good to me.”

Xavier shifts beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. Rafayel notices but says nothing, his playful smirk returning as he hands you the drawing, his fingers grazing yours.

“Thank you.” you murmur, as you stand from the sofa. Xavier rises alongside you, his hand brushing the small of your back, guiding you towards the door.

You step into the dimly lit hallway, carefully holding the paper, your thoughts swirling. Xavier lingers behind for a moment, exchanging a few quiet words with Rafayel, his voice low enough that you don’t catch what they’re saying.

Xavier steps into the hallway closing the door behind him. His very presence makes your guilt spike.

“I… um—” you begin, gripping the edge of your shawl, your steps faltering slightly as you descend the staircase. “About Rafayel—”

Xavier glances up at you over his shoulder. Before you can tumble further into an explanation, he shakes his head slightly, stopping in his tracks to look at you properly.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” he says. “You’re free to spend time with whomever you like. That’s your choice.”

You blink, surprised to say the least. “I just—”

“Really,” he interrupts again. “As long as you want to spend time with me too… I’m happy.”

His words catch you off guard, a wave of relief washing over you at his reassurance. Yet, the faint vulnerability in his voice doesn’t make it easier.

“I do.” you murmur. “Want to spend time with you, I mean.”

He nods with a faint smile, the kind that makes your stomach flutter.

Then, right on cue, that same stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud rumble.

Xavier’s smile breaks into a quiet laugh. “Let’s go to the kitchen, bunny.”

You nod sheepishly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. He leads the way down the stairs, the tension from moments ago melting as you descend toward the kitchen.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The cool air of the corridor shifts as you approach the kitchen, a comforting warmth greeting you before you even step inside. The faint clatter of utensils and the rich, savory aroma of something hearty and familiar makes your mouth water. Xavier gently pushes open the heavy wooden door, and you step inside.

The kitchen feels unexpectedly intimate. Despite the mansion’s grand size, this space is cozy—a large wooden table dominates the center, with chairs tucked neatly underneath. Before you can take in the rest of the space, your eyes land on Zayne’s broad back. He’s standing by the stove, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms as he stirs a large pot of potato stew. Then Zayne turns, his sharp features softening slightly when his hazel-green eyes land on you.

“Ah,” he says, straightening and resting the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. “My apologies, I’m late on lunch today. I wanted to make something heavier for you now that you’re feeling better.”

The thoughtful gesture makes your chest tighten. “Oh, you didn’t have to go through so much trouble.” you say quickly. “I’d have been perfectly fine with just cheese and bread.”

Zayne shakes his head. “It’s no trouble.” he replies simply, turning back to the pot and giving it another stir. “Though, I admit... I might’ve forgotten how long a proper stew takes.”

The admission makes you smile. The sight of Zayne standing over a pot of stew feels strangely endearing.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you offer, stepping closer, eager to ease another wave of guilt bubbling inside you. “I’d feel better if I did something.”

Zayne waves a hand, dismissing the idea. “No need. It’s nearly done.” He casts a brief, pointed glance at Xavier, who’s leaned against the counter, arms folded, eyeing the pot. “Though... keeping him away from the stove would help.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Xavier, unbothered, raises a hand in mock surrender. “I know, I know.” he quips, the teasing in his voice drawing a faint huff of amusement from Zayne.

The tension that had been lingering between the three of you dissipates slightly. You take a seat at the table, as Zayne busies himself finishing the stew. Xavier joins you, settling into the chair beside you.

While you wait, your eyes wander across the kitchen, taking in the details you hadn’t fully noticed before. The space is warm and inviting, the delicious aroma of Zayne’s stew providing you comfort. Yet, despite its coziness, the space feels... sparse. The countertops are almost bare, save for small jars of spices tucked into a corner, a bowl of pears, and a glass dome with cookies. There’s a basket with a few leftover ingredients from the stew—a couple of potatoes, a stray carrot and cloves of garlic—but no sign of the bustling fullness you’d expect from a kitchen in a household of four grown men. Especially men who look as fit and well-built as they do.

Your brow furrows slightly. Do they keep everything in a pantry somewhere? That explanation feels thin. And then there’s the absence of a cook - the mansion itself exudes a sense of wealth and status, even with its air of abandonment, therefore they would have employed one. Your fingers lightly brush the edge of the wooden table, the faint texture grounding you as your mind spins with questions.

“You okay?”

Xavier’s calm voice brings your swirling thoughts to a halt. You blink, realizing you’d been staring absently at the countertop, your wandering gaze betraying you. Your eyes meet his.

“I’m fine.” you reply quickly, offering a small smile as you push the questions to the back of your mind. “Just... thinking.”

Xavier tilts his head slightly. “About what?”

You hesitate for a moment, then decide on something safer. “I was wondering about your wounds, are they healing?” you ask, your gaze flickering briefly to his bandaged hand resting on the table.

He shrugs “They’re fine.” he says with a small smile. “I just needed a long nap after sleeping all night.”

The nonchalant way he says it draws a soft laugh from you. “A nap?” you tease lightly. “You must have the miraculous ability to heal in your sleep.”

He chuckles. “Something like that.” he replies, his fingers drumming softly on the table.

The lightness in the kitchen settles again.

But it doesn’t last long.

The door swings open, the chill from the outside air cutting into the cozy space. You look up, startled, as Sylus strides in, his long coat still draped over his broad shoulders, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. His eyes land on you first, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he utters your name. “You’re looking well.” he says, his voice smooth as ever.

“Thank you.” you reply softly, before his gaze shifts.

“Xavier,” Sylus says, his tone sharpening as he addresses him. “We need to leave. Now.”

The urgency makes your stomach twist. You glance at Xavier, hoping for some kind of explanation, but his expression darkens, his brows drawing together in irritation.

“Right now?” Xavier asks, though it’s less a question and more a resigned statement.

Sylus nods once. “Right now.”

Your confusion deepens as you watch the exchange. Whatever’s happening, it’s clear it’s serious—serious enough to pull Xavier away.

Xavier exhales a quiet, frustrated sigh as he stands up. He glances at Zayne, who turns from the stove and meets his gaze, offering him a slight nod. You swallow hard, unsure what to make of the silent communication between them. Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling more like an outsider than ever.

Xavier looks at you then, his expression softening slightly. “I’ll be back soon.” he murmurs, though the warmth in his voice can’t seem to calm you this time.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, a mix of disappointment and unease swirling in your chest.

Sylus waits by the door, his eyes briefly meeting yours again, but he says nothing more before stepping out into the hallway. Xavier follows without another word, closing the kitchen door behind him.

The space feels emptier now, despite Zayne’s presence. The sound of the stew bubbling on the stove should have been comforting, but instead, it feels distant. You stare at the table, your fingers absently brushing over the polished wood as the silence stretches. Disappointment lingers at Xavier’s abrupt departure, and the silence that follows only amplifies your awkwardness.

Being alone with Zayne feels… different.

He had shown you nothing but care and kindness since you arrived, tending to your health with a skilled, no-nonsense efficiency. You owe much of your recovery to his tinctures and teas, and yet, sitting here with him feels almost stifling. Maybe it’s his presence—steady but imposing, his broad shoulders and stoic expression giving him an air of authority, that makes you feel exposed - like he’s dissecting every move you make and judging every word you say.

Or maybe it’s the memory of this morning, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long when he saw you in bed with Xavier. Your cheeks heat at the thought, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. He hadn’t said anything about it, but the weight of his gaze had been enough to make you feel like a child caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“I - ” Your voice falters, and you quickly close your mouth, unsure of what you were even about to say.

Zayne turns then, his eyes flick to you, unreadable. “The stew is done.” he says, his voice even.

You nod. “It smells amazing,” you manage, your words feeling clumsy in your mouth.

He hums in acknowledgment, turning back to the stove.

You lean back in your chair, willing yourself to relax. He’s just Zayne, you remind yourself—the same man who checked your fever every morning and left rose water by your bedside without fail. There’s nothing to be nervous about. And yet, as he moves to ladle the stew into a bowl, the silence between you is thick, each second stretching longer than the last.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

As you finish the last spoonful of stew, your gaze drifts to Zayne, who’s busy tidying up the counter. When he served you earlier, you’d asked if he was going to eat too, but he’d simply mentioned having already had a meal before turning back to clean.

You clear your throat softly, feeling the need to show your gratitude. “I could… make dessert, maybe? To thank you—for the stew.”

Zayne turns, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he looks like he’s about to refuse, but then his lips twitch into a faint smile.

“Dessert, huh? What did you have in mind?”

Relief washes over you, and you straighten a little in your chair. “Something simple. Maybe a simple cake or a quick pudding? If you have the ingredients, that is.”

Zayne lets out a soft chuckle. “We have the basics.” He nods towards the cookies in the glass dome. “You’d be doing me a favor - the cookies we have now are barely sweet enough for my taste.”

His rare warmth eases some of the tension in your chest, and you smile. “Well, then, it’s settled.”

Zayne moves toward one of the cabinets, opening it to reveal a few neatly arranged jars of flour and sugar. “There’s no cookbook, though. Probably buried somewhere in Xavier’s library.” he says.

“That’s not a problem for me.” you reply, already standing and accept the apron he hands you. You tie it around your waist as your gaze sweeps the kitchen, landing on the bowl of pears. “How about pear bread pudding?”

He nods. “That’ll do. I’ll grab what you need.”

Together, the two of you begin peeling and slicing the pears. Your eyes drift to Zayne’s hands and forearms, noting the way his muscles move while he deftly peels the pears. The movement is steady, almost hypnotic, but then something catches your attention—the faint, pale lines scattered across his skin. Scars.

These aren’t the kind of scars you’d get from a slip of a knife or an accidental burn in the kitchen. They crisscross his toned arms, etched into his skin like mementos of past suffering. You can’t help but wonder what kind of life could carve such marks into a person.

The question lingers on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow it down. You turn your attention back to the loaf of stale bread in your hands. Zayne doesn’t seem to notice your moment of curiosity—or if he does, he doesn’t let on. He peels another pear, the blade gliding easily beneath the skin.

As you carefully measure the sugar, your apron slips loose around your waist. Before you can fix it, you feel Zayne’s presence behind you.

“Hold still.” he murmurs, his deep voice so close to your ear. His fingers brush against your sides as he reties the apron, the knot tightening securely at your back.

“Thanks.” you say softly, glancing over your shoulder. He doesn’t step away immediately, his eyes dropping to the bowl in front of you.

“You might want to add another spoonful of sugar.” he says, his tone deadpan.

A small laugh escapes you as you scoop up another spoonful, sprinkling it into the mixture. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Just a preference.” he replies, his attention lingering as you start to stir.

You’re becoming acutely aware of his close proximity, as he leans slightly over your shoulder. Your hands falter for just a second before you glance up at him.

“Do you always supervise this closely?” you tease, though there’s a sprinkle of nervousness in your voice.

His eyes glint with amusement. “Only when sweets are involved.”

Your heart skips a beat at the way he says it, but he steps back, giving you space. You shake your head with a small smile, focusing on the task at hand. It’s hard to connect this version of Zayne—the one standing close enough to tighten your apron and fuss over sugar—with the intimidating man who tended your wounds with a detached manner.

As the preparation continues, the conversation flows into lighthearted topics. You and Zayne chat about desserts, where he shows a surprising level of enthusiasm while talking about his tastes. You’re amused to learn that his sweet tooth is much stronger than you expected, and he listens intently as you share your fondness for pastries and puddings.

But the talk of desserts sends a quiet pang through your chest, your thoughts drifting to your kitchen back home. You’d spent hours there, experimenting with recipes or simply baking to pass the time. It’s been four days, you realize. Four days since you left your little house unattended.

As Zayne crouches near the brick oven, tending to the fire, he glances your way. You’re quiet now as you arrange the bread and pears in the pan, your shoulders slightly slumped.

Before he can ask if something’s wrong, you break the silence.

“I think I should probably leave soon.” you say softly, not meeting his gaze. “Maybe even tomorrow. I’m feeling much better now.”

Zayne pauses, stunned by the suddenness of your words. But his expression remains composed when he straightens.

“You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you want.” he says. “You’ve barely had time to fully recover, and you’ve already done so much today. Tomorrow might be pushing it.”

You glance up at him. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve all already done more than enough for me.” you murmur, your fingers brushing a crumb off the edge of the pan.

Zayne’s jaw tightens, but his gaze softens. The words hang between you, both of you acutely aware of how much you’ve come to enjoy each other’s presence, even in such a short time. You let out a breath and shake your head slightly. You carefully hand the pan to Zayne, who steps forward to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he does.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The kitchen is quiet save for the gentle clinking of spoons against plates. The spiced, sugary aroma of the pear bread pudding lingers in the air, and each bite feels like a soothing balm to your soul. Zayne is seated across from you, his expression soft as he savors the dessert, clearly pleased with the outcome.

“This is...” he begins, pausing as if searching for the right word. “Perfect. Definitely better than those disappointing cookies I’ve been settling for.”

His praise warms you, and you smile shyly. “I’m glad you like it.”

Zayne nods appreciatively, finishing his plate and leaning back slightly. His green eyes flick to you, the corners of his mouth tilting upward in a rare, genuine smile. “If this is what happens when you’re in the kitchen, I think you should take over from now on.”

You laugh softly, but it feels bittersweet. Moments like these—a quiet, shared meal, the simple joy of baking for someone else—are rare in your life. The thought of leaving the mansion, leaving Zayne’s sweet-tooth satisfaction and the newfound connections, settles like a rock in your chest. Your mind drifts to Xavier, how he lit up when he talked about the library. And Rafayel, with his infectious energy, promising to teach you how to paint again. A soft sigh escapes your lips before you can catch it.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes catching the change in your demeanor.

You nod quickly, offering a small smile. “Yeah, I just... I’ve really enjoyed being here. It’s been very different than what I’m used to.”

Zayne’s expression softens. “The place has felt different too.” he admits. “You’ve brought a lot of life here, more than you probably realize.”

The blush creeping to your cheeks makes you drop your gaze to your plate, your thoughts swirling. Could you really leave this behind so soon?

Zayne stands up and places his empty plate in the sink. “You know,” he begins, leaning against the counter, “this place is big enough for you to stay longer. No one’s rushing you out.”

You glance up at him, your heart fluttering.

“And from a medical perspective,” he continues with a faint smirk, “I’d say you should rest more. Maybe even ask for more time off—head injuries aren’t something to take lightly.”

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to leap at the idea, to stay longer, to give yourself more time in this strange, enchanting place. But another part worries about imposing, about overstaying your welcome.

Zayne seems to sense your reluctance. “Just think about it.” he says, his tone softer now. “I’m not saying it lightly.”

The sincerity in his voice makes you realize that someone like Zayne doesn’t say things without meaning them. As the warmth of the dessert settles in your stomach, so does the thought of staying just a little longer. Though, this morning's worries linger—you've been reckless, diving headfirst into an unfamiliar world. Each moment with these men draws you deeper into their orbit, like a storm you can't escape.

But the recklessness… doesn’t feel bad.

Even if reason screams that staying is foolish, you want accept the offer. Then, you’ll at least get to know them better, and that makes it less reckless… right?

Still, the thought of your lonely house, being unattended for days now, tugs at you. And then there’s your job at the bookstore; the vacation you hastily took won’t last forever. If you’re going to extend your stay here, you’ll need to figure out both.

Your gaze returns to Zayne.

“I… I’d like to stay,” you say softly. “but I need to go back to the village first. My house has been empty for days, and I need to stop by the bookstore. I’ll see if I can get more time off.”

Zayne’s calm demeanor remains intact—but there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes. Relief, perhaps.

“I understand.” he says. “I can accompany you tomorrow.”

You hesitate for a moment, before nodding. “Okay.” you agree. “Thank you.”

A small, satisfied smile crosses his lips. “Good. Finish your dessert.” he says, motioning toward your plate.

You take another bite, warmth spreading through you that has little to do with the food. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel so alone.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

@verynormalsstuff @eliasxchocolate @haal07erlj @libriomancer @howvoiceless @celestialforce @tbaluver @zaynesjasmine1 @ladyparamount @xxfaithlynxx @totallytaurus4 @s-ugu @evil-mei @whatarewe-choppedliver @imeverycliche @blackwell-ninja @secretkiseki @kaya-nets @stellablobboo @ssetsuka @celestemcbrim @hanamanefateris

[gendertrickster]

i realized recently that vriska's left eye looking the way it is was what felt like an intentionally hidden detail throughout act 5 act 1, like it was a secret she kept deliberately. every appearance of her sans two in hivebent has her left eye obscured, by lack or otherwise

aside from times shown after she loses her eye, where she wears an eyepatch lens, she is ALWAYS shown wearing the augmented lens — a tool that specifically grants her more agency through letting her forcibly access information otherwise kept from her — and part of me can't help but wonder if it was an intentional mystery kept on hussie's part as to what vriska's eye actually looked like under there. there was never any indication that her left eye actually looked like the shape shown on the augmented lens, and it could easily be assumed, based on every troll aside from sollux, that her left eye looked the same as her right. this feels like a very, very defining thing for vriska in particular to hide. and it absolutely bears mentioning that the first time we ever see what her left eye looks like (one of TWO times in hivebent) is the same beat where it's revealed she was a PROSPIT dreamer

(the other time is [s] make her pay, which is the same idea)

and i feel like there's a couple different directions that hussie could've been wanting to take with this. one of them would be insane, because while it's basically entirely improbable in practice it would extend its way into fucking beyond canon if it were true:

it could, at one point in development, have been the case that vriska manifested her eye looking like that, given that we only see her dream self with this left eye in hivebent. at this point it was already established that dream selves can shape their forms manually to a degree (a la jade), and otherwise draw from the subconscious ideal one holds themself to (a la terezi). and given vriska's reliance on her vision eightfold (which to this point had been suggested as being solely possible through the vector of technological augment8ion) and everything that reliance represents in terms of her personal agency (and lack thereof), it would make sense if this were the reason her eye looked like that as her dream self but not her real self until later when she ascended to the god tiers and those two selves became one

this whole idea is already kind of dubious though, because we do see how vriska (allegedly) looked as a child, and she does also have the seven pupils, since there's also no reason to assume her eye didn't always look like that

but if that were true, why would it be kept such a secret in hivebent, especially by vriska herself?

(i can think of a couple reasons, actually.)

as i mentioned before, even now this "manifested vision eightfold" direction would still hold narrative weight, considering developments around vriska in beyond canon:

in chapter 2 of homestuck^2, vriska's new design is cemented, adding an eyepatch with an infinity drawn on it in her own cerulean swill blood over the wound she sustained just past the edge of canon

she wears this eyepatch, with its unique iconography, for eight years in the plot point, with one very notable exception:

chapter 4, where she is belittled into an episode of age regression, sporting again her glasses (which she had long stopped needing), her redoubled total lack of mental agency (which she really hoped would have been easier to leave behind than this), and her augmented lens (which, as established, she used as a crutch).

the parallel drawn all across here, then, is that her augmented lens is to her "vision eightfold"/seven-pupiled eye as her infinity eyepatch would be to her left eye once she could leave the point behind. and depending on how you interpret the existence of vriska's left eye — whether it was always there and caused her active dysphoria (as a mark associated with cerulean bloods, a textually-stated male-dominated caste) and dysmorphia (it made her look too alien, unlike almost all of her co-players), or whether she manifested it as something she had to have to maintain personal agency despite further alienating her appearance from that of her peers and of her preferred ideal for herself (thus also causing her the same dysphoria/dysmorphia) — that can mean different things.

the point as to whether vriska manifested it into existence is only sort of moot, though — homestuck is a story completely steeped in retroactive continuity, where once it's made clear that something is true, it was always true, and things like that can be manifested into truth by its own characters (a la jake). the state of vriska's left eye was a mystery until it was shown how it actually looked, and from then on it was always true, and was thus also true for aranea. but whether it was always true for aranea first banked on it being true for vriska, due to the trickle-down characterization homestuck is built on. this choice was made before aranea even existed as a character, after all.

and because of the nature of these manifestations, that truth had to come from various parts of vriska's arc in hivebent, like what the vision eightfold meant to her as the one thing she could use to get an edge in a world completely stacked against her. and who else would ever be able to metanarratively manifest such a relevant and contentious part of her own appearance (let alone that of an eye, the vector by which light is received) than vriska serket?

sure enough, after years of painful, traumatic work, she manifests it a second time.

vision infinityfold. unbounded freedom.

[hayateart]

Welcome to the 'Death of the Author' - a Moshang Fan comic. You are at chapter 1 part 1/2 which is a great place to start.

Summary:

Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun are finally officially courting. It should be smooth sailing now, right? Well, no. Airplane discovers a threat that can endanger the whole world's existence. A threat he is to blame for. And that is only one of his problems.

And now, onto the comic:

Chapter 1, part 1/2

Next ->

Masterpost / read on AO3

Consider tipping me on Kofi - also grants early access to the comic pages - currently at Chaper 6, part 3/10.

Thank you @emotionalmorphine for being the fantastic editor you are!

[sungbeam]

nonidol!kim hongjoong x f!reader

living in gray areas of your city, out of the way of gangs and mafia territories, could only keep you safe for so long. it was only a matter of time before you began running into problems, or rather, problems began running into you.

▷ genre, warnings. nc-17, strangers 2 lovers, slow burn, mafia au, angst?, swearing, action, depictions of illegal activities/violence/blood/weaponry, lots of mentions of alcohol, kissing at some point; chapters will have their own warnings as needed but no smut

▷ est. total wc. ~90k // chapter wc. 4-5k on average

▷ posting schedule. fridays @ 8AM PST // to join the taglist, send an ask or comment; if ur on my permanent taglist, then u will automatically be tagged

▷ associated tunes. deep dive (ateez). outlaw (ateez). chaconne (enhypen). selfish waltz (ateez). get it (keshi). aphordite (rini). kazino (bibi). we know (ateez). scene 1: value (ateez). no escape (nct dream). ♫

a/n: big thanks to @sorryimananti-romantic for supporting me thru this endeavor and reading thru the drafts! i appreciate u so much yumi, this fic literally wouldn't have seen the light of day without you 😭💖

The storm bird, koel, or petrel is thought to presage the coming of a bad storm, such that its appearance in a certain region should serve as a warning to its inhabitants of the horror and destruction to come.

ENTER PASSWORD: EYESWIDESHUT

TEASER: ACCESS GRANTED

I. THE WOLF IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING

II. FROM THE WITNESS

III. TRIBUTE TO THE PIRATE KING

IV. WHERE DANGER FOLLOWS

V. COINCIDENCE & INTENTION

VI. GOOD PEOPLE

VII. WICKED BLOWS THE WIND

VIII. WHAT IS NECESSARY

IX. VALUE

X. A CONFIDENCE GAME

XI. DEEPER

XII. THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY

XIII. HONOR AMONG THE DISHONORABLE

XIV. HOW TO KILL A HYDRA

XV. GOOD FAITH

XVI. MAN ON FIRE

XVII. HOOK, LINE, & SINKER

XVIII. BREAK THE WALL

XIX. A PIRATE'S LIFE FOR ME

[hivemuthur]

A Deer and a Man - Ch.4.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit - less debauched than last time (sorry), but we are getting there :') you will notice the chapter count has increased again. I have nothing in my defense.

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 6K

tag: #d&m

summary: You are the eldest daughter of a noble family, soon to be married to one of the most eligible bachelors in the region—Viktor, the adopted son of House Talis. The arrangement is simple: a marriage that secures your family’s wealth in exchange for access to Hextech. What could possibly go wrong?

author’s note: Early today, because I have to socialize later (bleh). @mithrava and @rennethen thank you for reading and enabling me! Also, a reminder, it has a playlist on Spotify.

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

What on earth?

Sleep eludes you. After spending twenty minutes buried under the covers, struggling against your own heavy breaths, you’ve grown so hot you nearly kick them off. You try—desperately—to steer your mind away from the sound, but it echoes in your skull, drills itself into your thoughts, and refuses to leave.

Viktor’s moan echoes over and over, holding both your heart and your core in an iron grip. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your thighs together, as if that might extinguish the warmth pooling between them. But it’s useless. The memory of his voice, raw and unguarded, winds around you like a vice. It trails long fingers around your throat—tight, strangling—down to your chest that refuses to stop heaving, and lower still, to your cunt, which throbs and aches with want.

You swear you can see him behind your eyelids—his body taut with pleasure, the tremor in his breath as he whispered your name into the dark. The conjured image doesn’t disperse, even when you sit up abruptly and open your eyes. The bedcovers are bunched between your legs, pressing against the source of the shame prickling hot across your skin. How debauched.

To touch yourself to thoughts of a man who sleeps just beyond these walls—unthinkable. But you’re drowning in the ache, caught in the memory of how he sounded, how he must have looked, how he must have felt.

A soft whimper escapes you as your hand slides down, tentative at first as you adjust the duvet between your thighs. Your breath hitches when it presses against you with a wet sound, and your trembling fingers brush across the bare skin beneath your undergarments. Soaked. The evident proof of your ruin is right there, a testament to your want for something that rests only a few steps away yet remains out of reach.

You bite your lip, hesitating. But the moment you give in—the moment you let yourself imagine it’s his hand between your thighs—restraint dissolves like sugar on your tongue. You shudder, stifling a gasp as pleasure sparks to life beneath your fingertips.

The pleasure is instant, searing, crackling through you like a spark catching dry kindling. You brace your free hand against your thigh, grasping at your nightgown, nails scratching skin. Your fingers move in slow circles against your clit, and your hips rock back and forth, eyes closed with Viktor’s hips behind them, rutting and jolting beneath you.

It’s impossible not to imagine him. His hands, deft and calloused, working over you with the same precision he grants his inventions—curious, methodical, teasing. You can almost hear the murmur of his voice, the way he might praise your sensitivity, your responsiveness. So eager, love. So easily undone.

Your hands meet at your centre as want overwhelms shame. Hips shift, seeking more, and your breath stutters as you brush your entrance. A choked moan of his name escapes before you can swallow it back.

Would he take his time with you? Lay you out beneath him, worship you with slow, languid strokes? Or would he be urgent, unable to restrain himself after so many weeks of shared glances and unspoken longing? Does he long for you only, or just anyone?

Your thighs tremble. The ache swells, unbearable, and you push two fingers inside, gasping at the stretch. The fantasy deepens—Viktor’s weight pressing you into the mattress, his lips mapping every inch of your skin, his breath ragged against your throat. His teeth sinking in. His cock buried deep within you—what would that feel like? His hands on your ass, groping, pressing crescent marks of his nails into your flesh—where would that take you?

Would he whisper your name the way he did in the dark? Would he beg? Would he just take, until there’s nothing left of you?

Your body tightens, winding itself into a coil of pleasure, so close to snapping. You squeeze your eyes shut and imagine him beneath you, between your legs, coaxing you over the edge with whispered praise, the softness of the bedcovers doing nothing to mimic the sharp angle of his hips. Your wrist begins to ache, but you don’t stop. With each pump, each circle of your fingers, each sloppy sound you draw from yourself, you picture him—his cock inside you, his tongue, oh—in your mouth, as he struggles to breathe and steals your air.

Come for me, my darling.

The tension unspools all at once. Your back arches, fingers faltering as waves of pleasure crash over you, muffled gasps swallowed by the darkness of your room. The aftershocks ripple through you, as your own weight crushes your hand, leaving you spent, trembling, your body still pulsing with the ghost of his touch.

But when the bliss recedes, shame takes its place, sinking heavy into your chest. You roll onto your side, heart still hammering, and stare at the ceiling.

Sleep still doesn’t come easy. It grips you tight, then spits you out as you toss and turn, waking with a sweat-slicked forehead, only to fall back into a shallow slumber—not nearly enough to recuperate.

In the scenic world of your dreams, each island is occupied by a different version of Viktor. Some are shrouded in darkness, full of his lust-ridden eyes and filth spilling from his mouth. Others are tender, his kind hands brushing your hair, his lips pressed softly to your neck.

When morning finds you, it is all mingled into one desperate fantasy that pales in the first rays of the sun. Eliza has invited it into your bedchamber by drawing open the curtains that once shielded you from the outside world. She notices the shadows beneath your eyes immediately.

“Dear Lord, Miss. Have you slept at all?” Her brows draw together in concern. “Should I call for the doctor?”

You wince at the crust between your thighs and curl yourself into a ball when her hand comes to your forehead. “No, that won’t be necessary,” you reply with a weak smile. “Just a bad night.”

She only nods, offering you a bath and one of the softest dresses you own. For a moment, you feel an odd urge to retreat into what is familiar—to consider a short stay, to shield your trembling heart from Viktor. But you decide instead to stay true to yourself, to embrace this newfound self-awareness.

Silence weighs heavily between you and Eliza as she gathers your hair into a loose half-updo and rests her hands on your shoulders. In the vanity’s reflection, her expression is distorted by worry.

“Would you be willing to accompany me on a walk today?” you ask timidly, and her face brightens in an instant.

“My lady, I would like nothing more.” She leans in, so her face is next to yours when your eyes meet in the mirror. For a brief moment, her smile lifts a weight from your chest. You place a hand over hers before heading downstairs to face your fears.

Descending the stairs, you brace yourself against the quiet hush of the house at this hour, the low murmur of morning routines settling into place. When you reach the breakfast room, you find Viktor already seated at the table, his posture uncharacteristically lax, his usual sharpness softened by the telltale weight of a poor night’s sleep.

He glances up as you enter, his gaze lingering for a fraction longer than is customary before he straightens, drawing a chair beside him with a quiet scrape of wood against the floor. “Good morning,” he offers, voice hoarse from disuse, though his tone is gentler than usual.

You hesitate for only a moment before taking the offered seat, smoothing your skirts as you do. “Good morning,” you return, studying him in earnest now that he is so near.

The dark circles beneath his eyes are as prominent as yours must be, his hair settled in the unkempt state. His sleeves are pushed up, revealing his forearms, the long fingers of his left hand curling idly around the handle of his teacup. You imagine those fingers elsewhere.

Flush rises in your face, but you cannot seem to look away, and to your dismay, he notices.

His brows knit together, his cup pausing just before his lips. “Is something the matter?”

You startle, heart leaping against your ribs. “No—nothing at all,” you reply hastily, reaching for your own tea to mask the tremor in your hands.

He does not look convinced. If anything, the curiosity in his expression deepens. He studies you now, the corner of his mouth twitching ever so slightly, as though on the verge of teasing. He laps at this moment, shameless, studying you back—checking if his memory did you justice last night. It’s nearly vulgar, the way his eyes glaze over your lips, while he conjures the image of your nose pressed to the base of his cock.

He blinks it away and when you offer nothing further, he exhales through his nose and takes a sip of his tea before speaking again. “Jayce will be visiting today,” he informs you, shifting the subject. “We have a number of tests to conduct outside—for safety measures, of course.”

You nod, grateful for the change in conversation, though your mind remains clouded with the remnants of last night’s thoughts. He says nothing more, but his gaze lingers a beat longer than usual before he turns back to his breakfast.

The urge to confront him clatters in your chest, but you say nothing. It swells within you until you startle at the unexpected weight of his hand resting on your shoulder as he prepares to part ways and return to his work.

"Are you certain all is well?" His warm breath fans your cheek as he leans in from behind you.

“Y-yes. I just—” You stutter, then take a steadying breath before adding, “I had a restless night. It happens to ladies too.” You offer him a weak smile.

Viktor regards you for a moment, then, with the faintest hint of amusement curling at the corner of his lips, says, “You are welcome to come watch. We are expecting quite a spectacle.”

You nod with a smile, exhaling in quiet relief when Viktor’s hand lifts from your shoulder. The warmth of his touch lingers, but he has already turned away, his mind no doubt returning to the task ahead.

Later, when Jayce arrives, you and Eliza retreat to the gardens, settling upon a blanket in a sunlit patch of grass. She fusses over you at once, insisting upon fetching an umbrella to shield you from the sun’s embrace.

“Eliza, do not be ridiculous,” you chide, swatting her away playfully. “The last thing I wish is to cower in the shade like some delicate flower. I should like to drink in the warmth while it lasts.”

Eliza huffs but relents, though not without a muttered remark about the perils of freckled skin.

Feigning an air of studious repose, you both pretend to read, though your attentions are drawn more to the spectacle unfolding nearby. Across the lawn, Viktor and Jayce, accompanied by a few of their men, set about hauling various pieces of equipment into place. The sharp glint of metal catches in the sunlight as they work, assembling some contraption whose purpose is lost on you.

Eliza, ever observant, tilts her head and murmurs, “I had quite forgotten how handsome Master Jayce is.”

You smirk behind your book. “Have you now?”

Eliza flushes at once, busying herself with smoothing her skirts. “It was merely an observation.”

“And a fair one,” you admit. “He is not yet married, you know.”

“Oh, do not tease me, Miss. Stories such as that occur only in novels.”

You lower your book to regard her more seriously. “And why should they not occur in life as well? Jayce has a good heart, and he has not been spoiled by the vanity of high birth. If ever there were a man who might upend such expectations, it would be him.”

Eliza hums, unconvinced, but her gaze lingers upon Jayce as he wipes the sweat from his brow, sleeves rolled up and muscles taut beneath the weight of his work.

After a moment, she turns back to you with a curious tilt of her head. “And what of Master Viktor? Do you suppose he is inclined to romance?”

You hesitate. Then, before you can stop yourself, the confession tumbles forth. “I am not certain. Though, last night…” You pause, cheeks warming. “I heard him.”

Eliza blinks. “Heard him?”

You nod, looking down at the book you have yet to read a word of. “In his chambers. He—” Your voice falters. You dare not confess that you lingered, that you listened, that you had been unable to tear yourself away from the sounds of his pleasure. “He spoke my name. While presumably...” you say, rolling your eyes and mimicking the undignified gesture with your wrist.

Eliza’s pupils widen and a slow, knowing smile spreads across her lips. “Oh, Miss. If that is not a compliment, I do not know what is.”

You scowl, but she only giggles, nudging your arm. “Perhaps Master Viktor is more interested in romance than he lets on.”

You swallow hard, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts. If only you could be so certain. Eliza must sense the shift in your mood, for her teasing smile fades, replaced by something softer. “Do you miss home, Miss?”

The question catches you unprepared. You open your mouth to deny it, but the words do not come. Instead, a sudden, aching realisation settles over you. You do miss home.

First and foremost, Peggy.

For all Eliza’s kindness, she is not Peggy—your dearest confidante, your partner in mischief. Peggy would not simply listen; she would have devised a scheme by now, some daring, ridiculous plan to chase away your doubts. Your father comes to mind next, his steady presence a quiet comfort, then your youngest sister, with her boundless energy. Even your mother and your middle sister, with their sharp words and keener expectations, linger at the edges of your heart.

You had known marriage would be lonely. You had prepared yourself for it. But the knowledge does little to dull the sting of its reality.

Your gaze drifts back to Viktor and Jayce, who stand some distance away, deep in discussion. Or rather, in bickering. Whatever disagreement they are engaged in seems good-natured enough, for at one point, Viktor swats at Jayce’s leg with his cane, earning a bark of laughter from the taller man. Jayce retaliates by ruffling Viktor’s hair, and though Viktor scowls, there is no real heat behind it.

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I do miss them,” you admit at last. “But…” You glance at Eliza, offering her a grateful look. “I feel less lonely now that you and I have grown closer.”

Her face brightens with surprise, then warmth. She squeezes your hand briefly, before turning her attention back to the men.

By now, Jayce and Viktor have donned peculiar goggles, their expressions set with determination. Across the lawn, their men take a few cautious steps back, as though anticipating trouble.

The tests are about to begin. The moment the device hums to life, the very air around you changes. A low, resonant vibration shivers through the ground, thrumming through the soles of your feet. Viktor and Jayce stand before the contraption—a strange, intricate assembly of brass and glass—both men fixated on the pulsating Hex crystal at its heart.

A flash of blue light crackles along its surface, tendrils of energy licking outward like living things. The swirling light grows in intensity, wrapping around Viktor and Jayce like a vortex, whipping the edges of their clothes. The wind carries loose strands of Viktor’s hair, his amber eyes wide, reflecting the otherworldly glow.

And then—

Weightlessness.

You barely contain a gasp as both men begin to lift from the ground, their boots losing purchase on the grass below. At first, only slightly, as though the earth is merely reluctant to let them go—but then, effortlessly, they rise, suspended in the dazzling blue light.

Eliza clutches your arm, her breath hitching. “Oh, my word…”

Your jaw slackens as you watch. It is breathtaking. Impossible. Beautiful.

Viktor, in particular, is radiant—his usual sharp focus overtaken by sheer, unbridled joy. He throws his head back, laughing, his body twisting weightlessly in the air. His arms stretch wide, as though embracing the sky itself. You have never seen him like this. Never seen anything like this.

Jayce, too, looks stunned, though he steadies himself enough to throw Viktor a triumphant grin. “We did it!” he shouts over the crackling energy.

Viktor turns, his gaze immediately seeking you out. When he spots you, his smile grows impossibly bright, and he gestures enthusiastically. “Come, come!”

The invitation alone is enough to send you stumbling forward, Eliza at your heels. The closer you get, the more tangible the energy in the air feels—buzzing against your skin, making the hairs on your arms rise.

And then—Viktor moves. Or rather, floats.

His body shifts towards you, as though the very pull of your presence guides him. He hovers effortlessly, reaching out—and before you can even think to step back, his hands find your shoulders. His touch is warm, grounding, despite the weightlessness that suspends him between earth and sky.

A second later, Jayce reaches for the control panel, his fingers closing over a lever. “Alright, I’m bringing us back down.”

He presses the switch. The device gives a sharp whir—and Jayce immediately plummets. You let out a startled cry, but Viktor does not fall. He has already found an anchor. You.

Your hands instinctively grasp at his arms, steadying him as the energy dissipates and gravity reclaims its hold. He descends smoothly, a stark contrast to Jayce’s graceless tumble into the grass.

The moment Viktor’s feet touch the ground, his exhilaration overflows. Without hesitation, without a shred of restraint, he pulls you into his arms.

Laughter spills from him, bright and unguarded, his breath warm against your ear. You barely have time to register the embrace before he tightens it, holding you against him in a moment of pure, unfiltered joy.

His embrace is firm yet breathless, as though he cannot quite believe this moment is real. His arms wrap securely around you, his fingers splaying across your back, pulling you flush against him. He is warm—warmer than you expected, his body thrumming with exhilaration. You feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours, the hammering of his heart against your own, so fast, so alive.

The scent of him—ink, metal, something smoky—fills your senses, mingling with the residual crackle of energy still clinging to his shirt. For a fleeting second, it feels as though the world beyond this embrace does not exist.

Slowly, hesitantly, he draws back, his hands lingering at your waist as if reluctant to let go. His breath is still uneven, his amber eyes alight with triumph and something else—something softer, unreadable.

Your own breath catches as you look at him, the words slipping past your lips before you can think better of them.

“Well done.” Barely a whisper, but the way his fingers tighten against your waist tells you he has heard it. Eliza, beside you, claps a hand over her mouth.

Jayce groans from where he lies sprawled on the ground. “Glad someone had a graceful landing…”

Viktor exhales a breathless chuckle, shaking his head as he stoops to retrieve his cane. With a practiced motion, he plants it firmly against the ground, regaining his balance before turning his attention to Jayce.

“Come now, you have survived worse,” he chides, though the mirth in his voice is unmistakable. “We should return to the lab—seize it while we are at it.” His eyes gleam with unspent excitement, the thrill of discovery still alight in his expression.

Jayce groans again but pushes himself up, brushing the dirt from his slacks with exaggerated indignation.

Viktor turns to you as he passes, his fingers brushing over yours in a fleeting squeeze, a silent moment stolen in passing. “I shall meet you at dinner,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost reluctant to part.

You barely have time to process the warmth left in his wake before Jayce, still massaging his bruised pride, grins in your direction.

“I hope you enjoyed the show, ladies.” He throws an exaggerated wink your way before sauntering off, and Eliza—ever the proper one—dissolves into a fit of giggles behind her hand.

You cannot help but feel giddy. No matter what you try to occupy your mind with, thoughts of Viktor persist, pushing aside all else. The day passes with a constant symphony of noises from the lab—laughter, shouting, clattering, and the unmistakable hum of crackling energy. Each sound only fuels your anticipation, a restless excitement thrumming beneath your skin.

Disappointment strikes deep when dinner is served and neither Viktor nor Jayce appears. You try to mask it, but the restless energy betrays you. Your fingers twist and twirl through your hair until stray strands fall loose, a tangled mess of frustration. Your knuckles ache from habitual cracking, the small pops doing little to soothe your agitation.

If you focus enough—if you close your eyes and let the world around you fade—you can still feel him. The press of his chest against yours, the warmth of him seeping through his shirt, the steady, urgent hammer of his heartbeat against your ribs. The memory is so vivid it is almost tangible, lingering like a ghostly imprint on your skin.

You take all those feelings with you to the music room, deciding that there is nothing left to do but return to the one thing that still brings you joy. Splayed across the pianoforte before you lie Treatise on Harmony by Jean-Philippe Rameau, Tentamen Novae Theoriae Musicae by Leonhard Euler, and an extensive collection of Bach’s fugues. A research project of your own—one you have undertaken to avoid going fully mad in your new setting and to occupy your mind with something other than lust.

You strike a chord and let it ring, watching the vibrations shiver through the strings inside the pianoforte. The numbers should make sense—the inversions, the counterpoint, the structure—but as your fingers move over the keys, you feel more than you calculate. Bach’s Fugue No. 2 in C Minor is a puzzle, each voice layering over the other with a precision that should be mathematical, and yet there is something intangible about its beauty. You reach for Tentamen Novae Theoriae Musicae, flipping back to the section on harmonic progressions, and trace your finger over Euler’s reasoning. The numbers align, but why does it feel like something is missing?

You take up your quill and scribble hurriedly in the margins of your parchment. “Subject enters, response at fifth—why not third? Sequence here, but resolution delayed.” You underline the phrase twice before trying again, this time exaggerating the delays, the suspensions, the moments of tension that seem to define the piece. You play the same passage forwards, then backwards, experimenting with what happens when the pattern is altered. There is logic here, rigid and elegant, but it bends at the hands of the composer, shifting like light through stained glass. You exhale sharply, pressing your palm against the keys in frustration before shaking out your hands and beginning again.

Hours pass in this feverish study. The candle beside you drips wax onto the table, your ink smudges where you’ve scrawled notes too hastily, but you feel yourself inching closer to something—understanding, perhaps, or at least a language that bridges the gap between mathematics and music. When you run your fingers through the treatise and look down at the scattered sheets of your research, a strange sense of accomplishment settles over you. You are building something here, even if you do not fully grasp its shape yet.

You stretch, arms reaching overhead as a satisfied sigh escapes you. The flickering candlelight casts long shadows across the music room, the hush of evening soaking into your bones. Your spine pops as you roll your shoulders back, only for a voice to break the quiet.

“Am I interrupting?”

You startle slightly, turning towards the doorway where Viktor stands, his head tilted, both of his hands resting on the cane. He looks softer in the dim light, the remnants of excitement still faint in the curve of his mouth, though his eyes are heavier now, wearied but bright.

You blink at him before glancing at the clock on the mantle. “Oh—is it so late already? Did I miss Jayce leaving?”

Viktor steps further inside, his gait careful and slow. “Yes,” he confirms. “He did not wish to disturb you.” A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “He’ll be back, though. There is more work to be done.”

You huff a quiet chuckle, shutting the book before you, but before you can move, Viktor leans over your shoulder, glancing at the papers scattered across the piano. “What is this?” His voice holds more curiosity than mere politeness.

You hesitate for only a moment before answering. “I’ve been trying to crack musical structures with mathematics. Mapping out the patterns in counterpoint, the proportions in harmony—seeing if there’s an underlying logic to it all.”

Viktor hums, intrigued. Without another word, he props his cane by the piano’s side and lowers himself onto the stool beside you. The space is narrow, leaving little room between you; your arms brush first, a fleeting contact, but then his thigh presses flush against yours—a solid, warm presence beneath the fine fabric of his trousers. The contrast is startling, his frame always appearing lean, almost delicate, yet here, so close, there is undeniable strength in the way he settles beside you.

Your breath catches as you glance at him. His mouth is slightly parted, as if caught between thought and speech, and just beneath the crisp edge of his collar, the palest shade of pink dusts his throat. Whether from exertion or something else, you cannot say, but the sight of it sends a slow, curling heat through your own chest.

He scans the pages with the sharp attention you know so well, his fingers lightly skimming one of the sheets, careful not to smudge the graphite. “May I see?” His voice is low, edged with curiosity, as if he is already dissecting your findings in his mind.

You shift to make more space, though the bench allows for little. His thigh remains firm against yours, the warmth of him seeping through layers of fabric. “Are you not too tired?”

He shakes his head. “No. I am still… coming down from today.” A faint grin flickers across his face, still charged from the earlier success, his eyes glinting in the dim candlelight. “I would like to see what you have discovered.”

“I take it your hunt was successful today?” you ask, tilting your head towards him, your voice laced with admiration.

“Very much so. Almost captured it.” His gaze lingers on you as he adds, quieter now, “Show me yours.”

There is something nearly intimate in the way he says it, in the way his eyes search yours as though anticipating more than just an answer.

You hold his gaze for a moment, something unspoken crackling between you, then turn back to the keys, settling your hands in place. “Alright,” you murmur, pressing the first note. “Listen closely.”

“You see,” you say, flipping to a fresh sheet of parchment, “Bach’s fugues are not only compositions but structures. Patterns that can be predicted, even formulated. The counterpoint follows a strict set of rules, almost like an algorithm.” You lift your hands to the keys, playing the subject of the fugue in C minor slowly, breaking it down note by note. “This opening phrase? It’s repeated in each voice, transformed by inversion, diminution, augmentation—it’s predictable, and yet, it still surprises.”

Viktor watches your hands, his own fingers hovering near the keys as if resisting the urge to join in. “It is… elegant,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between you. “Music following principles of logic. I had not considered it in such a way.” He glances at you, a flicker of something thoughtful—something intrigued—crossing his face. “Will you show me more?”

You nod, taken aback and set your fingers back on the keys. He does not interrupt, nor does he feign polite interest. No, he listens—truly listens—with a furrowed brow and an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. You can see his eyes scanning sheet music, your notes and then flicking back to your fingers. Gears shifting beneath his forehead.

And then, as if the thought has slipped from him unbidden, he says, “You are quite something else than I thought you were going to be.”

Your fingers still on the keyboard. You blink at him, caught between curiosity and caution. “What do you mean?”

Viktor does not answer. Or rather, he chooses not to. Instead, he watches you for a beat longer before something softer overtakes his expression. Without thinking, he lifts a hand and brushes back a stray lock of hair that has fallen across your cheek. The touch is fleeting—so light it almost does not register—but the warmth of it lingers.

“Forgive me for not joining you at dinner,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, edged with more than just a plea. “I have not forgotten, I just—”

“That’s alright,” you cut in before he can finish, offering a small, knowing smile. “I kept myself busy.”

Viktor nods. And then he forgets himself again—his hand returns to your cheek as he drifts closer to you. For a moment, just a fraction of a second, you could swear you feel his lips against yours. Then—no, they pass you, landing instead on your cheek in a touch that sears. His face brushes against yours, and the faint roughness of his stubble grazes your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

As if pulling himself away takes effort, he exhales a quiet sigh, his breath warm against your ear. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I should go wrap things up in the lab.”

Viktor rises, smoothing his waistcoat with one hand while the other reaches for his cane. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice still carrying the remnants of something unspoken.

You swallow, your thoughts a tangle, and barely manage to stammer, “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you slump back onto the piano bench, your pulse thrumming in your ears. The moment his footsteps fade down the corridor, you lurch upright, gathering your skirts and hurrying toward the stairs. By the time you reach your bedchamber, Eliza is already there, laying out your nightgown with the efficiency of someone who has been long awaiting you.

Meanwhile, Viktor ascends more slowly, his body protesting the long day but his mind unwilling to settle. The weight of success lingers on his shoulders—tonight had been triumphant in more ways than one—but another heaviness clings to him, less defined, yet no less consuming. As he nears your bedchamber, his gaze flickers to the side.

The door is ajar.

His steps should carry him forward, past it, toward the solitude of his own room. But his body betrays him. His grip tightens on his cane, and before he can think better of it, he hesitates. Then, slowly, he takes a step back.

From the sliver of space left open, he sees you.

Eliza stands behind you, unfastening the buttons at the back of your gown. The fabric parts slowly, slipping from your shoulders in a languid descent, revealing skin he has only dared to imagine—smooth, shifting with each breath you take. His mind had painted many pictures of you before this moment, but none compared to reality.

He knows your bare feet well, the delicate arch, the way your toes curl when you’re deep in thought. He has traced the shape of your ankles and calves in stolen glances, admired the way your skirts swayed around them when you read in the garden. But this—this is new. The curve of your spine, the faint shadow where your waist narrows before rounding into the swell of your hips. The dim glow of candlelight kisses the fine lines of your shoulder blades, making them appear almost fragile beneath the softened linen of your chemise.

He should turn away. He knows he should.

But his breath hitches, fingers tightening around the handle of his cane as his gaze drinks you in. He can see where the thin fabric clings to you, revealing the faintest suggestion of the body beneath, the softness he has never touched. The dip at the small of your back, the way your hair spills down, loose and wild, a few errant strands curling against the nape of your neck. He wonders, fleetingly, if they would feel just as they had beneath his fingers earlier—silken, warm, and far too easy to get lost in.

Something pulls at him, something deeper than simple want, more stubborn than reason. He pushes it aside with the petulance of a five-year-old, unwilling to let it take root. No distractions.

He moves only when Eliza’s voice startles him. “My lady, what bothers you so, hm?” she coos. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Make sure the door is closed,” you say, and Viktor flees like a coward. Nearly stumbles on the way but manages to remain unseen, the click of the door catching up with him by his bedchamber.

Eliza watches you for a moment before returning to her task, smoothing out the fabric of your nightgown. You draw in a breath, steadying yourself, and with another heavy sigh, you finally confess, voice quieter now. You tell her of your arrangement and admire the composure she offers you, not making a single facial expression through it. “The terms… We agreed there would be no expectations between us. No obligations,” you say weakly.

Eliza listens carefully. When she speaks again, her tone is thoughtful. “Well, would my lady prefer to be with another man?”

You shake your head almost instantly. “No, I don’t think so. Worse, I think I have grown quite… attached to Viktor.” The admission sits heavy in your chest, the weight of it more than you expected.

Eliza only hums, gathering up your day clothes. “You’re not the only one not taking full advantage of the arrangement, then.”

You shoot her a questioning look, frowning slightly. “How would you know?”

Eliza steps closer, leaning in with a knowing smile. “Ah, that’s because not a soul passes through these grounds without the staff knowing. And I can assure you, not a soul but comely Master Jayce has visited, nor has Master Viktor wandered off. Not even once.”

Seeing the crease of concern slashing across your forehead, she rests a reassuring hand on your shoulder and says quietly, “If I may… I can think of a worse fate than falling in love with one’s husband, my lady.” And suddenly, it strikes you how ridiculous all of this is—how you’ve been circling each other, two creatures wary and restless, trying to avoid a snare that was never laid out. A thought—or rather, a feeling—lashes through you, sharp and undeniable: that what you’ve been hunting has been nudging at your heel all this time. And that it is nearly captured.

[zepskies]

Series Masterlist - Every Second Counts

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him. 

Song Inspo: "Machine" by Amber Run

AN: Here we are! The continuation series of A Line and a Half. Think of that story as a prologue, if you will. Because this road's about to get bumpy...

Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) Eventual smut, mentions of drug addiction, PSTD, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, and plenty of feels.

Chapters:

Prologue: A Line and a Half

Part 1: Permission Granted

Part 2: Family Reunion

Part 3: Timer Starts Now

Part 4: Mountain Man

Part 5: Damn Worth It

Series Complete

Sequel Stories:

Lost Time** When Russell takes longer than usual on a job out of town, you realize how hard it is to live half a life with him.

More of This** Welcoming Russell home, where he belongs.

Bubbly On your first vacation together, you and Russell take advantage of the hotel hot tub.

Breaking Point Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?

✦ Part 1: One Step Ahead of the Past

✦ Part 2: One Chance

To be continued...

⋆˙⟡ Get notified when every new story drops! Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. 💜

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

RS Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[s1eepy-bear]

‧୨🌿୧ ₊˚ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥・𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

pairing: robert 'bob' reynolds x ex shield agent! f!reader

synopsis: it's your first day on duty and you bring donuts for the team. a silly morning encounter reveals bob's hidden vulnerabilities. you quickly developing an unexpected connection with him.

content: no y/n, silly, fluffy, cute, slow burn

warnings: MDNI! not proof read, bob's abs lol

a/n: i finally thought of a title for this series! i wonder if i'm getting too hung up on everyone else's interaction with the reader, should i focus more on her interactions with bob? let me know <3 Chapter 1

That night, a soft, balmy breeze billowed your open curtains, bringing with it the faint, persistent pulse of New York's distant hustle and bustle.

You lie in bed, soft sheets enveloping you as you try to drift into sleep. Behind your closed eyelids, a persistent image gnawed at you: Bob’s red, shy face. 

A sliver of guilt hangs heavy in your chest for having flustered him so abruptly. You now have a level of access to those in the spotlight that SHIELD had never granted you, and the excitement of your new proximity to the New Avengers had entirely swept you away. You must remain professional.

Just two years ago, Bob slowly inked New York City away into darkness, turning people into shadows one by one, causing severe damage to the city and resulted in numerous injuries.

With this in mind, flirting feels frivolous and irresponsible when confronted with the ghosts of his past. And if he is in a vulnerable head space, you don’t want to be the one to take advantage of it, even if it's unintentional. This isn’t the kind of crush you can afford to have.

With these thoughts plaguing your mind and the heavy exhaustion from the busy work day, you slowly drift off to sleep.

༉ ✧˚₊

The following morning, the sun drenched the landscape, laying a shimmering, translucent veil over everything. A gentle breeze dances through the air, the sun is still low on the horizon.

You woke up extra early to drop by the charming donut shop you frequent to grab breakfast for the whole team. You opted for something simple, sugar donuts, until you learn everyone’s preferences.

You walk into the tower from your car, the bag of donuts in hand, thoughtfully greeting the other workers maintaining the tower along the way.

The light above the sensor in the elevator beeps green when you touch the access key to it and whirs into motion, swiftly bringing you to your desired floor.

The common area where the team welcomed you yesterday is now dark due to the curtains being drawn. The space is quiet, spared from the steady, low hum of the air conditioner running. You check your watch: only 6:10. Most of them are probably asleep.

You decide to take this time to brew some fresh, actually hot, coffee. While the pot gurgles, you tidy up various spots in the common area and kitchen: throw pillows on the floor, a bag of Goldfish crackers left open, a few books and magazines scattered around, dishes in the sink, cereal pieces that didn’t make it to the mouth, expired things in the fridge.

The smell of the fresh brew fills the space as you continue to busy yourself with noting down numerous items, food, and snacks for restocking. You silently note to yourself to get everyone’s phone number so they can get ahold of you if they ever need something.

“Oh, good morning,” Yelena says as she walks out from a corridor, which you learned from her yesterday, leads to the gym.

Her face shiny from a thin sheen of sweat as she makes her way toward you, wiping the sweat off with the towel around her neck. Her short blonde hair is pushed back with a headband.

“Good morning, Ms. Belova,” you greet her back with a mellow murmur, the sound soft enough not to disturb the early morning quiet. 

“No, no, none of that,” she plops herself down on one of the leather bar stools by the kitchen island, the stool legs scraping faintly against the floor.

You tilt your head, a question forming in your head. The coffee maker gives a final satisfying beep, its brewing cycle complete.

“Just Yelena,” she clarifies. 

 You smile at that, “Well, Yelena, would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

You collect two mugs from the cabinet, the ceramic cool beneath your fingers, and fill them both with fresh coffee. Wisps of steam rose lazily from the dark liquid. The rich aroma blossoms in the air as you set one mug before her. She nods appreciatively.

“So, you think Bob is cute, huh?” Just as you take a sip out of your mug, Yelena inquires suddenly with a playful glint in her eyes. The unexpected question catches in your throat, forcing a sharp, spluttering cough.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” your initial serene expression crumples, replaced by a deep flush rising to your cheeks. You lower your cup to press your fingers between your eyebrows in a flustered manner.

Yelena laughs, a low, throaty sound, propping her elbows on the counter.

“Come on, you wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it.”

“It’s not that I didn’t mean it, it’s just…it was unprofessional,” you avert your gaze, suddenly the bleak marble counter looks very interesting. 

“Who cares!” She lightheartedly rolls her eyes. “We’re hardly a professional organization. You just said what was on your mind.”

“Still,” you insist softly, tracing the rim of your mug with your thumb, the ceramic now warmer due to your body heat and hot beverage.

The Watchtower's dormant systems hummed—a low, almost imperceptible sound that seemed to amplify the awkward quietness. Your downcast eyes catch the wrinkled paper bag of donuts—your saving grace.

“Anyways…care for a donut?” You ask as you hold up the bag. “I settled for something basic since I don’t know what everyone liked. Let me know if you have any preferences,” Yelena gives you a knowing look, taking a deliberate sip of her coffee to hide her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. She is letting you off the hook, for now.

Yelena reaches for the bag, her fingers lightly hover as she carefully chooses what must be the perfect one. She takes a huge bite and lets out a genuine, drawn-out groan of pleasure. “Mmm! This is good, actually good, better than whatever dad tries to make.” 

You let out a quick exhale of a laugh. The tight knot of tension in your chest finally loosens. You pluck a donut for yourself, not bothering with Yelena’s meticulous selection process.

Even with her teasing about Bob, a warm wave of relief washes over you. You've found a connection with at least one person on this team. Well, there's Alexei too, but Alexei is friendly right off the bat, like a big, boisterous golden retriever.

As you and Yelena enjoy your donuts, a quiet murmur of conversation and two pairs of footsteps draw steadily louder. 

“Wow, looks real tidy out here,” Walker’s voice announces from just around the corner.

“Smells real good too,” he steps fully into the kitchen, Bucky Barnes following close behind him. They both are in athletic gear, ready for a morning workout.

“Good morning, Mr. Walker, and nice to finally meet you, Mr. Barnes.” Your lips curve upward in a polite greeting. Bucky simply returns it with a nod and a small smile of his own, while Yelena tosses a casual, “What’s up, losers?” their way.

“Some coffee and donuts?” you offer, holding up the bag. Both of the super soldiers accept enthusiastically. While they chat with Yelena, you busy yourself with coffee and mugs.

"Maybe this secretary thing is awesome after all," Walker remarks complacently with a smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement.

“Walker,” Bucky lectures, his voice a low, warning rumble—probably worrying about Walker's statement being rude.

You smile back at Walker as you set their coffee in front of them on the kitchen island.

"Just part of the job,”

You can’t deny that it feels good to have someone acknowledge and appreciate your work, even jokingly. 

༉ ✧˚₊

After a quick breakfast, the others begin to disperse. Yelena leaves to go take a shower, and Bucky and Walker make their way to the gym. 

You inhale your donut in a few quick bites and retrieve your company-issued tablet from your purse, flipping through various tabs, reviewing the team’s schedule today.

Although each person on the team is sent their own schedule, you keep everyone’s, so you can locate someone if you are looking for them, or if someone doesn’t make it somewhere on time, it’s your duty to check on them.  

A quick glance confirms the mission briefing for tomorrow: the whole team, minus Bob. It seems like Val is utilizing the new support staff—you, to keep him company while the team is deployed. While your role for most of the team is to respond when needed, your duties for Bob involve a slightly more active form of oversight. You have to make sure that he wakes up before noon and eats all his meals. 

For now, you sit in the common area with the curtains drawn open, as you review what would be stacks of paperwork if it weren’t digital. The Watchtower is brighter but not much more lively. Today is everyone’s day off; therefore, some go their separate ways to take care of business. You would usually find the quietness relaxing, but the lack of structure is unnerving. It’s not the kind of stressful, rigid work environment you're used to.

You officially met Ava Starr when she strolled past the common area on her way out. Her movement fluid and silent, as if gliding. Her ethereal, pale blue eyes remind you of a fairy.

With your introduction, she simply mutters, “finally, another girl.” A faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Want a donut?” 

How many times have you said the word ‘donut’ today?

“How thoughtful, don’t mind if I do,” Ava says, giving you a nod of thanks before she disappears.

A moment after Ava leaves, just when the air has settled, a soft padding of bare feet against the tiled floor catches your attention. Bob’s eyes are half closed, still lost somewhere in sleep, as he wobbles slowly across the common area toward the kitchen, oblivious to you. Strands of his brown hair stick out in different directions, appearing golden under the sun. You would alert him, but there’s something so captivating about watching Bob just existing, devoid of nervousness or uncertainty. 

He rubs his eye as he yawns tiredly, reaching a hand up under his shirt to scratch his stomach. The fabric rides up, revealing his abdomen. Your eyes widen, and your heart jolts against your ribcage. His baggy clothes make him look unassuming, even scrawny, but the reality is anything but. Beneath the fabric lay an expanse of taut, defined muscles that spoke quiet strength—a sharp contrast that stole your breath. You swallow thickly.

Fuck.

Still unaware of your presence, Bob's eyes finally open fully, drawn by something in the kitchen. His gaze falls on the last donut remaining on a plate. He absentmindedly grabs the pastry and starts feasting. Mid-chewing, he turns, locking eyes with you, and freezes.

“Oh shit,” he says incoherently, you almost didn’t make out his words. He swallows his bite, his eyes wide from surprise or panic, you’re not sure which, “uh, hey…that wasn’t yours, was it?”

You sputter, a fit of laughter hits you all at once, and you can’t seem to take a full breath. Maybe it was because of how carefree he was the second before, but reverted to his usual self in the snap of a finger, or the fact that there’s sugar on the side of his mouth.

Your laughter evokes a bashful smile from Bob, “So, was that a 'no, it wasn't yours,' or do you just enjoy my cluelessness?” He says, his tongue darts out briefly to lick away the sugar on the side of his mouth. 

“Maybe I do, and the donut is for you,” you say, still breathless from laughing. “You’re lucky that I’m here to make sure no one grabbed two.” 

“Thanks,” Bob lets out a sigh of relief, clearly still a bit embarrassed but grateful. "I…I didn’t know that you were going to be here today.”

“Well, Bob, I have a job here,” you tilt your head with an amused smile as you make your way to the kitchen, to him. “And I’ll be here every day.”

“Right, that makes sense…” His voice trails off. 

A quiet elation blossoms within him in your presence, like a breath of fresh spring air. You, with your gentle smile and disarming frankness, are a stark contrast from those who walk on eggshells around him, wary of rattling the Void. He doesn’t hold that against them, but it felt good being treated like he’s a normal person—no serum, no Sentry, no Void.

A tingly, warm feeling spreads across his chest, a feeling he didn’t even realize he missed. His bashful smile softens further, and his gaze, usually a little distant, settles on you with a warmth that matches the new feeling in his chest. He clears his throat gently. "So," he begins, “what exactly is your job with us…I mean, I know you are our uh, assistant or secretary, but what does that entail?”

“Well, just about anything, I can cook for you guys, get groceries, manage paperwork, clean, be good company,” you list, but pause, “speaking of groceries, you guys are very out. Would you come to the store with me? I’m not sure what everyone likes.”

“Oh, um…” Bob's face falls, his blue eyes clouding with sorrow. "The team doesn't like me going outside," he explains quietly. "Because the Void might come out, you know. And that's... not good."

“So you just…stay here all day?”

“Pretty much.”

You soften your gaze, speaking gently. "Val actually mentioned you're allowed to leave the Tower with a companion. You can't conquer the Void by being cooped up all day, Bob. Besides, we're only going to grab groceries, we'll come straight back if you'd like, and I'll be right there with you." You suggest, being careful not to pressure him into something he's uncomfortable with.

“Are you sure?” Bob fiddles with the sleeve of his sweatshirt—you learn that it’s a nervous habit of his.

“I believe in you. Do you believe in yourself?”

Bob seems to ponder it over in his head and eventually takes a deep breath. “Okay…I will at least try.”

“Alright,” you beamed, unable to stop the big smile spreading across your face. “That’s all I ask.”

Your smile lightened something in Bob, drawing a soft, answering smile to his lips.

Bob nodded, his gaze softening as he held your smile, “yeah…”

You tilt your head, a playful glint in your eye. "So, are you flying us or should I drive?"

button divider by @/bernardsbendystraws

[sapphicscholar]

Just saw a post where someone is telling people that any employer can find if you’ve left kudos on smutty fanfic on ao3 because they can pay for a service that will let you see any accounts that have been created with a given email address, so a few (apparently necessary?!?!) words of advice and reminders to breathe:

1) it’s the year of our lord 2025 when email addresses are free and easily accessible. Don’t apply to jobs with the same email address you use to make accounts on AO3! It’s actually that simple! If you don’t want your professional self to be tethered to your fan self, do not do the work for them of connecting these two internet personas.

2) even if you have already used your favorite professional email to open your ao3 (and for some reason refuse to create a new ao3 or use a different email for work), it is actually incredibly difficult to find content you have engaged with compared to things you have written and made publicly viewable or publicly bookmarked. Even that latter category can be locked down to ao3 users only for self-authored works or made fully private for bookmarks. But to see if someone has left kudos on a specific smutty work you literally need to know the work you care about, click into show more under kudos, then search for a username. I used to vet people’s online presences for grants, and I assure you no one is doing this. (And finding comments is even harder bc you have to find a work, view all chapters, then manually click through every single page of comments and search for the username.)

3) I hate to be the bearer of bad news but the techno capitalist surveillance state is so much more insidious and cares far, far less about whether you once left kudos on a 500k word slow burn epic that ends in your fave getting lovingly fisted or whatever the fuck you’re scared they’ll see. It’s not bad to be aware of mechanisms for surveillance, but there are far more significant digital hygiene practices (tho using different emails for different things is a pretty basic one!) and day to day techniques to try to mitigate these risks.

[kyeomniscient]

seventeen ao3 fic recs (pt. 2)

creating a new post for the mid-length fics bc the original post was getting too long - enjoy!

pt. 1 (completed fics, >50k words)

pt. 3 (completed shorter fics, <10k words)

pt. 4 (incomplete fics)

in order of descending word count, last updated 13/12/2024

Cherry Tree Inn (jicheol, 45k, completed)

obsessed with the plot twist in this one! the damsel in distress!hoon x hero!cheol dynamic never fails

The Times We Fell (minwon, 46k, completed)

this one definitely did things to my heart :"") loved the visuals of hockeyplayer!mingyu x figureskater!wonwoo, the development of their enemies(?)-to-friends-to-lovers arc, how their relationship remained strong and steady throughout despite being met with various obstacles and external pressures along the way, how Mingyu rekindled Wonwoo's love for skating not once but twice, just them being a healthy and supportive couple - a beautiful read!

Access Granted (jicheol, 45k, completed)

the jicheol banter was golden in this one

divine pain, pain divine (gyucheol, 44k, completed)

the enemies-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers pipeline i never knew i needed

cut to the feeling (soonwoo, 44k, completed)

this was a character study on emotional self-torture and every chapter was an absolute sucker punch to the gut - loved the sadness and pining for the drama but i also felt like plot-wise the events didn't really justify the intensity of it all as much as the author's other piece :"/ writing was still amazing though!!

gold fever (seokgyu, 43k words, completed)

archer!seokmin x weightlifter!mingyu in a college au - really liked the vibes and writing in this fic :) seokgyu fics are rare and i feel like it's bc their dynamics on-camera mostly revolve around teasing/bickering it's hard to picture anything else, but the slow-burn element brought smth fresh and new to their dynamics and it was such an enjoyable read!

I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens (jicheol, 40k words, completed)

after reading this i think it's safe to say we all need a cheol during an apocalypse

In The Eye of the Beholder (verkwan, 34k words, completed)

half-demon!vernon x blind!seungkwan - verkwan is the softest ship and no one can say otherwise

Get busy living, or get busy dying. (cheolhoon, 31k words, completed)

absolutely living for the dialogue and banter between these two during the counseling sessions - such a unique setting, a v good fic!

secondhand smoke (gyucheol, 30k words, completed)

this was the start of my spiral down the gyucheol rabbit hole: collegiate sport aus will always be superior

just let me know (i'll be on the floor) (verkwan, 30k words, completed)

soft and sweet friends-to-lovers fic that made my heart so warm!! really loved how their relationship unfolded over time, how they took care of each other as roommates, with seungkwan's obliviousness and denial and vernon being so patient with him throughout - 'twas a lovely slice-of-life read that brought comfort and joy :)

A (Revised Guide to Lab Safety) (soonwoo, 25k words, completed)

askjfsds this was an amazing mix of soonwoo peer dynamics in a college au + science!! their lab partners-to-friends-to-lovers arc was really too cute so i'd highly recommend this to soonwoo enthusiasts

tu me manques (minwon, 26k words, completed)

this really captured the feeling of watching 90s & early 2000s romcoms (think before sunrise, chasing liberty, serendipity etc) and was written so beautifully i might cry :"") really loved the travelling aspect of it, the scenic descriptions of each city made the fic so immersive, like i was there along w them sigh

also wonwoo has slight manic pixie dream boy vibes and mingyu is just there lolol

here kitty kitty (minwon, 26k words, completed)

the ultimate cosy fall read - this fic felt like a sip of warm tea by the fire on a chilly autumn evening :)

snowflake, i'll catch you tonight (minwon, 25k words, completed)

this was really cute!! just soft and fluffy vibes in general and characterisation was super on point bc wonwoo is literally winter personified lmao

i thought that space was mine (jeongcheol, 25k words, completed)

jealous jeonghan sad fics are everything

a mix of sun and clouds (soonwoo, 24k words, completed)

lovelovelove aus with interesting professions, and this time they're both working at a weather station! soonyoung being a weather nerd is such a delight to read, and wonwoo's emotional constipation + little acts of service never gets old hehe geguri is amazing

Paradise Lost (minwon, 24k, completed)

sad fics have a chokehold on me and this one definitely takes the cake... was left in tears and i would risk it all to experience it for the first time again

despite this being a post-apocalyptic au, the development of the romance arc was treated softly and gently, that the moments of tenderness between the mcs shone through the violence and ruin that surrounded them. it was a really refreshing take on domesticity, one that took me by surprise, and it's a pity that the author only has 2 works!! i need MORE

Bend (and Break) (seoksoon, 23k words, completed)

fwb-to-friends-to-lovers seoksoon?? another wholesome fic and i loved the build up in this fic, where the mcs are basically doing all but admitting their feelings for each other UGH so cute

175°C for 60 minutes (seokgyu, 23k words, completed)

vv cute baking rivals au!! love how little clues were sprinkled throughout the story and came together at the end to tie things up nicely hehe

Lie Again (gyuhan, 22k words, completed)

the best gyuhan fic (that i've read so far) !! aka the chronicles of one (1) emotionally-unavailable yoon jeonghan where he learns to embrace the notion of Having Feelings ™ ft some of my other fave ships seoksoo and soonwoo

Jack of all trades... (jicheol, 21k words, completed)

absolutely went down a jicheol rabbit hole after this... their dynamics are one of a kind and i love it so much

stillness and motion (seokhao, 21k words, completed)

give me a fic about emotionally-repressed characters that yearn and do everything but communicate and i'll eat it up!! the tension built up between (former) teammates in sport aus are a different breed and i'm absolutely here for it

For Want of Glory (woncheol, 21k words, completed)

secret agent au! loved woncheol's dynamics here, and it's really endearing to read from coups' pov because i love the way he just PINES

you make me feel good (i like it) (soonwoo, 18k words, completed)

no spoilers but this was an absolute beast of a fic that DESTROYED me the best way possible :"") each chapter was succinct yet packed a punch, loveloveloved how the element of time travel was weaved into the storyline!! op you are a genius for conceiving and writing this

Storm Warning (wonhui, 18k words, completed)

jun as a manic pixie dream type here is everything!! ww's feelings are so valid bc if jun was my neighbour, i too, would fall in love right away HAHA

Cold Hands, Warm Heart (jicheol, 17k words, completed)

apocalypse aus always hit so hard and this fic was no exception - i was expecting a much darker arc based on the blurb, but the author managed to transform such a dire situation into one full of love, warmth and hope :") definitely check this one out!! there's also a (slightly) heart-wrenching (tiny) minwon arc on the side

now i'm covered in you (soonwoo, 16k words, completed)

it's the art of dealing with grief and moving on in a sweet and tender fic - highly recommend!

say you want me (cause I need it, all of the time) (soonwoo, 15k words, completed)

this is wonwoo as everyone's dream high school boyfriend lol

choosing the right place to put it (woncheol, 15k words, completed)

15k words of pure domestic fluff :") wonwoo and cheol are so soft with each other in this fic and cheol being so oblivious throughout really takes the cake HAHA

burning the wick at both ends (jeongcheol, 14k words, completed)

getting back with an ex is never a good idea... unless it's jeongcheol

in the dream where I am an island (jeongcheol, 14k words, completed)

rare jeongcheol fic from cheol's pov

full ten (minwon, 14k words, completed)

super adorable strangers-to-roommates-to-lovers fic!! i really loved that they each had their own lives (preferences, habits, jobs and interests) before they met each other, and coming to live together only made their lives better - there's just something about the intimacy of co-existing in the same space with someone, bonding over simple weeknight dinners, developing a shared routine over time :"")

favorite (minwon, 14k, completed)

this was a v lovely friends-to-lovers fic - really loved the timelapse of small moments between them from both perspectives!

helios (minwon, 13k, completed)

a literal masterpiece - great execution of a cool concept, and wonwoo's persona as an artist was really well-crafted!!

runaway (verkwan, 13k, completed)

this fic highlights an inseparable quality about verkwan, that there'll always be invisible string tugging at both of them, keeping them by side by side - amazing!

day ones all i keep around me (minwon, 12k words, completed)

established (secret) relationship where minwon tries to soft-launch their marriage but their fans are too dense to realise LMAO this was really cute, and i loved the dynamics between streamer!wonwoo x soccerplayer!mingyu hehe

Flowers In My Path, My Love (seokwoo, 12k words, completed)

this was the cutest college meet-cute aka hotpoetryclassguy!wonwoo x cutepoetryclassguy!dk - it really captured the moments of fumbling, awkward shyness when interacting with crushes so well and bonus points for describing dk as sunshine bc he really is the brightest boy!!

put me on a feeling i never had (woncheol, 10k words, completed)

on the inherent romance in tending to the wounds of a lover

i want us both to eat well (gyucheol, 10k words, completed)

light the way home (and i'll follow) (minwon, 10k words, completed)

[coolmagoloraskblog]

where are you? and how old are you>

[missvaseline]

Deal under the Blue Moon: Chapter 3/3 (Alucard X Reader)

He'll grant the witch access to the secrets and knowledge she craves, but there is always a price- especially a dhampir who claims he hasn't eaten in forever.

Read Previous: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

This is NSFW(18+) with an inclusion of a podfic (TTS) that's optional to listen to as well. (triggers in this chapter: bartering for sex, sassy Alucard, cunnilingus, hate fucking, creampie) This story doesn't have any sort of description of the reader- I left it intentionally vague without using inserts(Y/N, Reader, etc.) so then it doesn't disturb the tone of the story.

The day was spent learning and filling her head with the already complex alchemic steps that would be the foundations of her own work. He at least delivered what was promised and she kept a notebook and a quill tucked to her side fo new notes that he had demonstrated only for her then to be engrossed in The Emerald Tablet that he had lent her for the rest of her stay. When she had awoken, the book was to her side, splayed open with her thumb between the pages as she fell asleep reading it. Her eyes shifted to the clock and cursed, realizing that he may as well come strolling through her room asking her for another payment in sex. He had at least cooked dinner and kept her well fed during her stay which she was thankful for… yet..

She laments about the circumstance as she sat up and closed the book beside her. Alucard for how crude he really was, gave her a pleasure that wasn’t realized even with her closest relations. It was true and she’d be damned if she’d ever admit it, especially to him. She hated how sharp his tongue sliced through her self esteem and felt shame for even feeling a bit turned on from the tongue lashings.. both figuratively and literally. She hated that he appeared hauntingly easy on her eyes, so much so that he had caught her gaze lingering on him a few times last evening. Fortunately he failed to mention it at the moment.

All she had to do was last just a few weeks, even if it meant her cunt would be bent out of shape. She at least prayed he didn’t have the libido he suggested, or could at least spare her a few days of rest. He hadn’t penetrated her yet and she could’t imagine what twisted estacy that would be like to the shock of his tongue making her damn near conjure spirits through the cursing that spilled out of her lips yesterday.

The sorceress gathers herself out of bed, haphazardly pacing to the restroom. And for the morning, she was left to her devices surprisingly enough until she smelled food wafting through the thick door of her bedroom and her stomach lurched out of hunger. She quietly opens the door to see a plate of toast, eggs and beans and a folded dress. Again.

He had beckoned her out without even his mere presence to offer.

Yet.. She had eaten it. And dressed herself. She was sitting on the bed, her eyes skimming the hermetics tablet as she sat in her room.

More like waiting for him to come up to her door to fuck her at this point. As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the castle walls, a familiar knock echoed through the witch's chamber. Alucard stood in the hallway, his expression unreadable as he waited for her to emerge. The dress was too high up her thighs again and her breasts spilled from its rather light support but fuck it. It doesn’t matter. She was knee deep into this transaction already.

“Ready for your lesson, witch?”

His voice was devoid of any trace of the previous night's intimacy, cool and businesslike as if nothing transpired. Unlike her, where her mind was drowning of the event much like her cunt yesterday and how it was sprawled over the velvet chair “You can’t keep doing this everyday."She gruffed through the carefully carved door.

“Do what?” He calls back with an innocent lilt to his voice, “Teach? What kind of question is that?”

Alucard’s lips spread into a smirk that was unseen from the opposite side of the heavy door.

She sighs and stomps to the door to open it, only to gasp as she sees him and his arms crossed along his chest, his ankle locked with the other while he leaned on the frame of the door. That wasn’t the problem, it was his attire- underneath his cloak simply had him without anything other than the dark fabric draping over his shoulders and the pants that hid his lower half. And the god forsaken V line that was thinly hidden by the shadows be damned.

A deep chuckle snapped her gaze back to his eyes, clearly amused by the witch’s flustered reaction to his casual display of nudity. His golden eyes twinkled with mischief as he pushed himself off the door frame, taking a step closer to her, deliberately closing the distance between them.

“What was the question? It seems last night's activities dulled your mind." He extended his hand, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind about our arrangement?"

“I hadn’t. I was simply asking if your needs had to be quenched everyday.”

Eyes trained themselves from lingering too far down at the muscled chest peaking between his cloak and from tracing the scar that was over it.

“Are you asking me this because you can’t keep up? Because that’s what it sounds like. I thought you had enough power for more than a day, now I’m starting to question if you even have the energy to wield the knowledge I’m giving you in the first place. If offering yourself everyday is too hard, you could venture out to see how difficult it would be finding other sources of alchemical knowledge that supersedes my own. I’m sure that’s easier in comparison, right?”

His gaze saunters down to her as he sarcastically drawled. Though he was serious.

Her eye twitched in irritation before rolling them behind lids.

“You’re a dhampir, you naturally have more stamina… I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

A low, throaty chuckle thrummed in the air at the sight of the witch's flustered state, finding her futile attempts to resist his allure rather endearing.

“Oh my dear… are you nervous?"

He takes another step, as if closing her in with his presence the words purred from his lips as a predator plays with its prey.

“After last night? How could you be?” He asked.

Technically, she shouldn't have been nervous. It was something that she had yet to control, if it all. Yet, her words sat lumped on her tongue behind her teeth as she pondered a response that would be equitable to his. And in the end, none of it would matter. She would still be fucked by the end of the night.

"I… Let's just continue." She breathed out her reluctant surrender to the given events.

“Very well,” Alucard’s voice took on a more serious tone as he gestured for her to follow him. “The second lesson in alchemy is the art of observation. The world reveals its secrets to those who are willing to truly see. Come now.”

The breath she held in her chest finally gave way in obvious relief that she was going through another lesson. She remained trained on him as much as possible as he guided her through what it meant to observe her environment.

Yet... her inner gaze couldn't remove itself from her.

Palms pulsed and trembled out of strain from writing over dozens of papers that would likely be haphazardly stacked for tomorrow's use. She finally places her quill down, her gaze eyeing the low supply of ink before she suddenly sees a replacement placed before her by pale, long fingers.

"...you must've not had any room for more than one ink bottle at a time on your journey here, I assume?"

He teased, folding his arms across his chest while keeping his glinting eyes on her form. She could feel his eyes grating over her breasts but she ignored her gut edging her to look up to him. She feigned her indifference, though he could hear her rising heartbeat.

"I was doubtful I'd even find you here, let alone that you'd even be willing to teach me." His expression remained impassive as he observed the witch while she wrote the last fragments of her notes.

"You can still write to your heart's content with the knowledge stored within these walls. Unless you can't afford ink?"

Her knuckles grew white as she squeezed her palms while reading over her notes, not bothering to spare him a glance.

"You think I'm a pauper?" She hissed as the thick paper between her fingers flickered and trembled to her shaking palms. It was an echo from the time before

“Did I say that, witch?"

"It shouldn't mean much either way, You know, with how much I'm offering to give you for your… exchange?”

She nearly bit her lip until it bled, until she could see red. He was teasing her for whatever reason and she couldn't grasp why. She abruptly stands, her gaze staring beams into the notes before her until she stacked them for the next day and agonized as to why this dhampir even had sights on poking and prodding her!?

"Whenever do you shut the fuck up is beyond me." And to her words, his mirth made her all the more livid.

"I've been here for quite awhile, keeping myself company. Of course I'm going to take the opportunity to jest.... Who is really here with the heavy heart?"

The witch quickly turned her gaze to Alucard, her brows furrowed with anguish as she contemplated getting one nab in before stopping herself seeing that he was taking her notes in hand and reading them with a one sided grin. A short chortle slipped through his chest before he calmly took the stack of notes and paced over to his own desk within the library.

"Hey..? What are you-"

"-Keeping them safe witch... or Would you rather them tumble from the desk and my boots scraping at the ink and abandoning all of the hard work you've been writing for?”

She gawked at him for a moment, dazed and confused about his reply. It was only when he sauntered to her, until she found herself backing away from him until her heels made contact with the wooden legs of her desk, that she felt her gut squirming to be free.

"You haven't grown shy after a mere night, have you?”

He approached her slowly, his movements predatory, yet controlled and graceful. A hand grazed her cheek, and a dab of longing enmeshed in his eyes before he abruptly retreated back into a stoic state.

“You'll need to be comfortable with your own body before you can manipulate it. Unless of course, this is what you witches crave.”

A playful tone wisps from his lips as he watched the sorceress’ discomfort as if trying to mentally peel her flesh, and it was indeed- working, the way his piercing eyes gazed at her. She nearly snorted at him for the assumption.

"I'm just surprised from yesterday."

“Are you still sore..? You wound my pride." His lips formed into a smirk that felt dangerous before tilting his head,

“Or perhaps you’re just playing coy. Either way- you’re too adorable."

"I'm surprised you'd have a sharp tongue but bend on your knees." She leaned on one of the mahogany desks, crossing her foot over her ankle. "I didn't think that's what you meant when you said you were hungry. Quite the talented twat muncher you are. I hope you like that sort of shit." Suddenly he craned before her, his glowing gaze peering into the doors of her soul before the breath from his low laugh blew over her lips.

“You bark but part your thighs and then deprecate pussy juice everywhere- what are you other than a bitch in heat?”

She was cornered, her thighs brushing up against the velvet upholstery of the desk, making her heart thrum harder. Her breath bated. Whatever was left of the moonlight that could slip into the room through draped windows blanket themselves around them. It was a spotlight to her entrapment. A checkmate to their game.

It was a dawning that made her eyes dry as she tried to see all that she could, to figure out what he was doing. Before she could react, he had shifted her ass over the tall desk arms caging her in. The breaths she finally took were weak attempts to still herself. The mahogany desk echoed her tremors as the silence overtook them.

“If you’re so eager to get this over with, then say the word instead of this dance that you’re failing at.”

His whispers were like a rhythm she couldn’t stop herself from humming to. She didn’t know if it was his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, or the leather that kissed her thighs as his hips sat between them.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, and you quiver with anticipation. Truly, you are a walking contradiction.”

Suddenly her head jerked back by her tresses, the veins in her neck revealing themselves as untapped fissures of nourishment. But for which sort of nourishment, Alucard had yet to know himself.

“-Then get this over with instead of this flirting-” She hisses through gritted teeth as her upper body struggles to remain upright and not splayed pathetically over the cool polished wood. his fingers within her hair tightened.

“Such a bold statement for someone who is between a desk and a vampire. Are all witches this brazen? Or is it just you?”

He could feel the frantic beat of her heart against her chest as her fingers found purchase on his shoulders in a desperate attempt to steady herself. A squeak left her in shock as she felt the warm press of his tongue swiping across her jaw before nipping down at her neck. The moan that echoed shortly after was quickly followed by a gasp.

“Shut up!”

It came out more like a desperate plea. Maybe to get on with it… or maybe to hurry up and give it to her. A suddeb burn and pull to her scalp when her head was tilted back further. Open-mouthed kisses rain down her nape while the dhampir rubbing his hardened cock against her, tugged at the weak fabric of her breast. The kettle that held her emotions simmered as if wanting to release all of the pent up feelings she has suppressed. And to that, he reveled in it. In her vulnerability, savoring the taste of her skin as his fangs kiss against her flesh.

“Tell me to stop. Go on, I dare you.” Her body jolts under the press of his arousal against the thin fabric of her panties underneath this god forsaken short dress-

“And what are you going to do? Bite me?”

Yet she knew she wasn’t going to say stop. The witch just wanted to know. He pulled away from her nape, staring down at her once more as he held her hair. She had since relented, her spine trembled from the shock of the cold on the surface she’s laid over. Though, there was a growing hearth of lust deep within her.

“...You’ll have to see, won’t you.”

The purr left her reeling before she felt the press of his lips to hers. She expected this to be colder, more absent from life than this. A transaction that held no appeal to her. But to her it was a spark that nearly caused her to jolt away as if it was a burning skillet to her skin. His lips moved, dancing with hers in a hypnotic rhythm that left her breathless when he parted. Just like that, the growing bud of her arousal bloomed; a growing yearn coiled at her pelvis.

Lips relent from speaking her deepest desires before they curled between her teeth as the pads of cool fingers graze the hidden clit underneath her panties. Her mouth grows ajar in a silent groan. The touch eased some of the tension that has been well growing since the start of the morning.

“I wonder how much cum this can take-” Fingers sliver lower where her pulsing hole resided and the dampness that pooled there. The delicate spine of her back arches as she felt the sharpest, sting of pleasure against her clit again when his fingers rebounded.

“Fuck…” Alucard groans into her nape before suckling on the skin as her clit pulsated at the light touches of his fingers. His hips churn against her thigh, almost against his own will as he felt the painful tightness of his pants.

Dribble was running at the corners of her mouth as she was salivating over the moment as if it were a feast that held all of her desires. A stunted mewl left her lips and with precision, he tore at the weak straps of her dress and allowed her breasts to fall from its clasps. Pants fanned in the air beneath him as slick uncomfortably pooled past the canal of her glutes. Her thighs ceded from gating him any further as his lips pressed on the hardened bead of her nipple.

“Ahhh, ngh--” She gasps as if cool water struck her, her body wretching at the delicate feeling of his tongue lapping at her tit. And just as quickly, Alucard’s fingers deftly slid under the thin fabric that veiled her sobbing pussy before he rubbed at her clit in rhythmic circles as he suckled at her pebbled nipple. Her gasps and moans filled the library again as her pelvis, god forbid, tilted up for more contact.

The fingers grazing her scalp slipped away to cup tightly at her untouched breast, as if to make her cry out more before he greedily lapped at it as well. Leather creaked and whined while finding himself grinding into her while his fingers played at her clit like a symphony.

“Gods, this feels good..” She hisses as her moans slip away from her like sand in the palm of her hands. Her palms slipped at the corner of the desk, against velvet and wood alike as she struggled to hold herself in place.

“It can get better, darling.” His chortle vibrated before he kissed at her nipple and leaned up. Thighs tremble feeling the damp haphazardly pulling her panties away and throwing them into the dark corner of the library.

“Just you wait.”

She lurched up, her palms behind her and splayed onto the desk as she panted as she felt his tongue graze down her stomach. The muscles at her pelvis twitch and convulse in anticipation before she cries out to his pressing against her pearl. All of the puritan ideals she held just moments ago were flung out of the window as she quickly slipped her fingers against the soft wavy golden locks between her thighs.

He smirks before gently tugging the hood back over her clit to admire how he engorged her from his skills as a cunny connoisseur. With a soft laugh, he delves back in, his tongue swiping up the sides of her bud and into her tight hole that was already leaking with anticipation.

He was lapping at places that she never even surmised he could discover. The sharp pleasure made her jolt, her back arch, her lips quiver with shaky breaths and moans and her heart raced and pelted in her chest as it felt almost too close to nirvana. It felt like she was getting too close to the sun and he was lapping her into defeat. He groans out before his tongue dips into her hole to collect the nectar between her folds before slipping up to lap egregiously against her hardened nub again.

“O-Oh fuck-!” She breathed, finding the stimulation so much so, she couldn’t keep still. He keeps her captive as he cages her thighs between his arms, flicking his tongue before he felt the signature tremors of her cunt signaling for an orgasm.

Then he stopped.

And she gave a disappointed groan before she lay flat on the table, her eyes widened as she stared at the same ceiling she did yesterday.

It was deja vu, except she wasn’t at all satiated. He stands up after taking a swift tongue lick at her hole before pulling up to stand before her.

“You’re so close, aren’t you? Begging for it..” The growl he elicits almost makes her legs part wider, seemingly doing just as he stated. And then the belt buckle chimed as he began to remove his pants, right when he slides his pants down his thighs is when her eyes flicker down.

Before she could even see it, he craned before her, hiding her view.

“What? Is it too petite?” She chortled as she still had to gather her breath.

He responded back with laughter before she was abruptly flipped onto her stomach, a stranded large tomb that was left on the desk was quickly placed underneath her pelvis to tilt her hips higher. Her feet sway just above the ground as her legs kick to find the surface. His palm slips over her bare ass, hiking the hem of the dress up.

And her breath lurched out of her chest.

A thick warmth pressed against her ass as she suddenly found her nails scraping against the mahogany, trying to find leverage somewhere, anywhere-

“Is it, Witch? Hmm, You tell me.”

He murmurs, his chest pressing against her shoulder blades before he adjusts himself, leaning up to remove his cloak.

The wisp to the floor made her ears perk, glancing back to view the immaculate orchestra of muscle right behind her. He nearly gives her a dismissive glance, save for the subtle smirk.

His hips snapped to her ass, a stuttered sob pushed out of her chest as she felt the uncomfortable stretch of her cunt. She felt so full, she could feel the tip of his cock pushing and fighting for any more room at the other side of her entrance. She trembled as her nails slipped and gnawed at the wooden surface all the while haphazardly steadying herself.

“Well.. go on? Is it?” He hissed against the shell of her ear as his hips retracted and snapped forward again, her back arched so hard, she was staring at the stone ceiling, the chandeliers and the flickers of moonlight pressed and reflecting against them. Alucard groaned as his gaze flickered down to the ring of slick forming at the base of his cock.

Faint crescent-shaped marks littered the mahogany surface she was propped against as she arched her back, trying in vain to escape the delicious onslaught as his large intrusion began to fill her to the brim. An ache formed deep within her core as she felt stretched beyond her limits. But it wasn't an uncomfortable ache any longer. It was one that made her cunt pull for him more by the second. One that, if she could, she would push her hips out for more. More.

It felt so good, tears welled in her eyes as she clung to the edge of sanity, her body a tempest of raw, unfiltered pleasure as if finally free.

Rigid muscles strum against his back and shoulder blades with every hungry thrust. Their skin slick with a sheen of sweat while bracing on the weight of his arms for his hips to work their magic against hers.

Cries of exquisite agony and euphoria from the depths of her couldn’t stop. Slick dripped down between their ramming hips, dabbling to the wooden floorboards as her breathing grew to panicked exhalations. Her cries bled into sobs that filled the night as he pumped his hips harder before drawing back to the tip of his cock and throwing his hips forward again. Slaps echoed in the room with quick succession.

“Oh calm down, it's not that big of a cock is it?” He sneered.

Suddenly he pulled out, making her gasp loudly. He grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto the flat of the desk before quickly leaning down to press his lips against hers before she could protest. The desk was now warm against her back. His palm pressed against her breast as he lined his cock to her entrance pushing again with haste, both of them groaning in unison.

“Sh-shut- ah, fuck-”

She could barely sound her words before he pushed her knees to her chest and pulled her hips with every snap.The angle was new, the pressure exquisite as he hit the deepest abandon within her core that sent her spiraling into another dimension damn near. Earlier protest molds into nothing but incoherent whimpers as he pounded into her, his thrusts now a blur of motion, a relentless assault on her senses.

The bookshelves, the walls, Alucard- everything spun around her in a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations as her body moved in perfect harmony with his. And strangely, each brutal thrust was shuffling her closer and closer to an orgasm. She groans out and his lips push against hers again, his fingers slipping down to rub at her clit as if he could tell she was close.

The muscles that ring her cunt squeeze him tighter and deep groans echo louder above her, his hair spilling down to her as he grinds his hips, his pace slowly growing uneven.

“ngh, You fucking like that?”

“- yes..!”

The witch sobbed as she suddenly felt her resolve snap to the orgasm that thrummed in her body, her back arches before she felt Alucard’s strong arms wrap at her as his hips snap three more times before he cries out. A warm pressure floods her as they both pant, their bodies tangled over the mangled desk that they hadn’t even realized went ajar out of its original position. And there, she panted. Her eyes glazed over with the mist of sex. And all the thought she had drained from her as she bobbed in the ocean of her orgasm. She really couldn’t hear for a moment, a vibrant brand of tinnitus hummed in her ears as her sight melded into the darkness of the sharp angles of the ceiling and the unlit chandelier that peppered with some of moonlight. Golden tresses pressed against her cheek as Alucard breathed and held her, pushing his hips into her again. Spilling more of his spunk within her.

And then, from the ocean she weaved in, she was spit out, slithering onto the beach with the lap of the waves. Each shaky breath filled her with the sense of being present to what was even happening.

And then she remembered that she was still laying on her desk, her dress in tatters, tresses spilled over the mahogany, cum trickling down her thighs as her cunt began to gush of its warmth, and that she was panting egregiously.

"Ah.." The sorceress meekly whimpered through pants, "Wh..."

She swallowed before lightly clearing her throat.

"What is the next alchemic lesson for today?"

Her glossy eyes was trained on the ceiling as her mind felt blank. For once she wasn’t met with cruel or sarcastic words.

Alucard gazed down at the witch’s limp form, and surprise painted him as he took in the afterglow of their passionate encounter. It seems the “slutty cunny connoisseur” was right.

“Patience, witch. The alchemic arts cannot be rushed.”

His voice was surprisingly gentle, the harsh edge replaced by a tenderness that even he wasn't used to.

She found herself pressed to his chest while he scooped her up from the table into his arms. He was so seamless in his strength, it felt as though he was hovering out of the library and into the dark halls that met and hugged them with silence. Only the whispers of fabric talked between them before he turned into a room. It wasn’t hers, so she surmised it was probably his. She expected him to put her on the sofa within the room, but he didn’t. He slipped her into bed.

She expected him then, to sleep on the sofa himself. He didn’t.

He laid beside her, pulled the heavy comforter to their shoulders and his glowing eyes peered into hers. She would’ve spoken if she wasn’t so sex ridden. To her surprise, he wasn’t so cruel. He would likely keep fucking her like this for gods knows how long.

“Rest.Your next lesson will continue in the morning.”

No, she surmised, he’s just.. lonely.

[blackknight-kai]

Drama King & Betrayal Part 2!!!!! Wukong x Fem reader

N.S.F.W

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/blackknight-kai/782201631684100096/discord-prompt-betrayal-drama-king-sun-wukong

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64972924/chapters/167539885#workskin

With quickened breaths you lay on your back, the soft blankets a mess under you with your knees bent and spread. Wukong eyes are locked with yours, an intense almost famished look in his golden gaze. There’s a smirk on his face as he grabs you by your thighs, your lightly sweat soaked plush skin raised between his fingers from his tight iron grip. The roughness of his hands against your soft skin makes you shiver and your core pulses with the knowledge of what’s to come.

Your mate and king pulls your legs further apart and bullies his shoulders between them, licking his lips his eyes finally release yours and he looks down greedily at the thatch of hair growing between your thighs. Breathing in deeply his simian nostrils flare, a long needy groan leaves his throat, a near starving sound.

Wukongs eyes roll back and he closes them, his tail flicking heavily behind him as he unconsciously grinds himself and his no doubt hard cock against the nest.

Your heart jolts and speeds up when once again his eyes snap open and his gaze locks with yours. Smirk growing wider, his fangs on display which is something he’s learned turns you on, he nuzzles the inside of your thigh with his cheek. Wukongs hot breath puffs over your lower lips and his soft warm fur tickling your skin causes you to twitch and squirm but his iron grip keeps your legs still.

Eyes full of heat and amusement your king chuckles, leaning in closer to your center his mouth hovers just the smallest gap away. You hold your breath, anticipation building to the point you almost rock your hips up to meet his teasing waiting smirk.

After a moment Wukong hums, appreciating your patience. Shifting a little more and adjusting his hold the golden furred monkey drags his eyes down your body, the intensity of his gaze showing you just how hungry he is for you and how much he enjoys you on display like this JUST for him. Those striking eyes linger hotly over your tits making your nipples harden, he notices immediately with a deep rumble in his chest, his hands kneading your thighs before he finally pulls his gaze away. Once more his eyes fall onto your pussy, his breath still teasing your slick folds.

Suddenly he flicks his tongue out, the tip slipping through your softly parted labia, barely brushing across your swollen glistening clit making you jolt and gasp from the sudden pleasure.

“Mmmm,” Wukong hums deeply again, rolling his tongue in his mouth and savoring your flavor as though it’s as tasty as his favorite snack.

Letting go of his grip on one of your thighs Wukong slides his hand down and over your hip, across your waist and settles his fingers over your pussy. Gently he brushes his fingers through your pubic hair with a pleased rumble, the sensation of his claws softly raking through it making the muscles of your abdomen tighten and your hips unconsciously tilt, granting him wider and closer access to you pulsing needy heat.

“So beautiful Peaches,” Wukong rasps nuzzling his nose into your mound and inhaling deeply before pulling back to teasingly kiss at your thigh. “And so wet for your King.”

Trembling you suck in a breath, letting your legs fall even wider as his fingers slowly begin to part your lower lips further. A soft slick sound meets both your ears showing how soaked you are and causes him to chuckle.

Grinning, his fangs nipping your thigh, Wukong pets your labia with his thumb while he holds you open, his claw almost overstimulating you from the back and forth touch. Golden orbs meet yours after a moment of him devouring you with his eyes, giving you a tender almost worshipful look and melting your heart, before flicking back down to his treasure. The grin on lips turns sharp and you only have a second to realize it’s his ‘I’m going to say something annoying’ face before he opens his fat mouth.

“Welcome to the jungle~!” Is sung directly over your pussy.

You don’t even have a second to react other than attempting to spit out his name in annoyance but it immediately turns into a pleasured shout. “Wu-KONG!” With hands immediately fisting the fur on his head you’re unable to do more than arch your back, your mouth remaining wide open as his tongue suddenly starts lapping at your pussy with endless hunger. His iron grip keeping you pulled wide open for him.

“Y-you bast- fuck!” Cutting yourself off between breaths and attempting to curse him out your eyes roll to the back of your head as waves of pleasure zing through you from each expert swipe suckle of his tongue and lips over your clit, knowing exactly how you love it. Your fingers pull at the fur on his head causing him to groan deeply and double his efforts to hear you moan and squeal on his tongue, the devious appendage finding your hole and proceeding to slip inside while his finger swirls lovingly over your clit.

Fuck it. You’ll hit him later. Right now he’s got some making up to you to do.

END!

A/N: WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE!! Sorry it’s so unpolished I was inspired by a few things including a few convos with @kaynanarie & @drspecialhell (who I made this for) go read both of their works!!! all at once and had to word vomit this out thank you for reading 🫶

[pigeonstab]

Ok! so Spoiler warning for Deltarune Ch3 getting into the S-Rank room

Getting into the S Rank room you'll enter a decrepit changing room with a pippins and Roulxs getting ready (with added curtain shenanigans) as well as a vending machine to exchange normal money for points but!

most importantly it gives you access to what Ramb calls 'the original game' that Tenna makes you play a special version of on board 1.

Playing it, you go through the oasis (same layout) with different enemies, which you can't do anything about until you go into the mail room granting you a sword, killing enough enemies with it gets you to lv2 where your sword can cut grasses and lv3 where you can break cacti giving you access gto what's beyond the cactus gate of the original layout.

In it is a different set of rooms and enough enemies to get to lv4 with lets you cut palms, after which you can go back to the oasis map and cut down all the trees around the map (going offscreen) where you can find a chest containing the 'ice key'. Freaky.

I also think the sword might be the answer to getting through the unsolvable console near the end of the chapter.

also checked the shadow crystal you get from spamton neo and jevil (only had spamton's bc I didn't start ch2 from my ch1 save like a dumbass) and it had a piece of new dialogue (not exact bc the dialogue disappears when you've read it once, will get a screenshot when I replay the chapter) 'you pull the crystal up to your eye' 'for a moment you thought you saw a TV getting smashed'

[hayateart]

Chapter 3, part 3/8

<- Previous / Next ->

Masterpost / read on AO3

Those of you who get the joke, they get it. I could not help myself.

Consider tipping me on Kofi - also grants early access to the comic pages - currently at Chaper 7, part 1/1.