#frequency and urgency | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gingerteafairy · 4 months ago

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THE SEASON BEFORE SUNRISE

friedrich harding x fem!reader

summary: feelings shift like the changing seasons.

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, angst, arranged marriage, death, post anna death, widow!reader. word count: 6.4k

Everyone knew of the desolation Friedrich Harding faced after the loss of his beloved wife, Anna, his dear companion since childhood. Yet little was spoken of the grief you were enduring from the recent death of your husband, a man who had been your companion since your early youth, and from the loss of Anna just a few months ago. Even though the years had diminished the frequency of your contact, your affection for her remained, deep and unaltered. Perhaps it was the weight of society at the time that inhibited such feelings, where female grief was treated as fleeting hysteria, a whim of weak minds and idle hands.

Women, they said, should keep themselves busy, as if the burden of suffering could be softened by daily tasks. It was due to a peculiar tradition in your family, where bloodlines and fates intertwined in strange ways, that you were now the next in line to marry Friedrich. You, the only woman not bound to him by blood, but with a dowry substantial enough to offer comfort to a widowed man. A cold comfort, perhaps, like the silent pact between two broken hearts. It was ironic, you thought, how a marriage without love could be the most fitting consolation. Two widows united not by passion, but by a shared grief and a common memory: Anna.

You and Friedrich had agreed to set aside the formalities of courtship, and secret meetings in the winter garden of your home had become a regular practice. There was no time to waste. Youth had already passed, and both of you had experienced the weight of losing something precious. Now, only pragmatism remained. The marriage would come, and with it, the certainty that the wedding night would not be consummated. There was no reason for it. There was no more urgency.

The next morning, you woke early and dressed simply, but appropriately, for breakfast. When you entered the kitchen, you saw Friedrich seated at the table, his tired eyes absorbed in a thick book. His cup of tea was nearly empty, and the morning sunlight cast soft shadows on his face, highlighting the lines of weariness that loss had etched into him. When he noticed your presence, his body straightened subtly. He closed the book with a careful gesture and set the cup back onto its saucer with an almost automatic delicacy, as though the simple act of drinking tea was a ritual of composure.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rough and formal, clearing his throat with a slight motion of his hand—an old habit of someone accustomed to maintaining an elegant facade, even amidst pain.

"Good morning," you replied softly, almost inaudibly, as you moved closer to the table. You sat down with the grace of someone who already knew the intricacies of the space, your eyes briefly settling on the fresh pastries and fruits laid before you. The gentle scent of herbs from the tea filled your nostrils, offering an unexpected sense of comfort.

“Had an unpleasant night?" Friedrich asked, lifting his cup with precision, his eyes—tired but alert—never leaving you. He took a pastry, bit into it carefully, and paused, letting the silence linger for a moment before drinking his tea with measured, slow movements, as though each gesture were calculated.

"Quite the opposite, Mr. Harding," you said, offering a gentle smile, feeling the weight of the title. The word "Mr." seemed so distant, a barrier that still lingered between you. "You have a lovely place." You paused briefly, your fingers almost absentmindedly tracing invisible circles on the edge of your cup.

"Friedrich, please," he corrected, his tone softening in contrast to his earlier stiffness. His hand moved to the napkin, white and clean, to remove a tiny crumb that had settled on his elegant mustache. Even now, after Anna's loss, he exuded an unshakable class. "We agreed to make this as normal as possible. We are adults."

"Yes... Friedrich. I apologize." You spoke with a cordiality that flowed naturally. Your smile was timid yet sincere, and you resumed your breakfast with a slower pace, as if you were still adapting to the new routine—strange and, at the same time, familiar.

The ensuing silence wasn’t uncomfortable. There was an unexpected tranquility in the air, like a silent conversation that both of you knew how to navigate without words. Being with Friedrich was different from anything you might have expected. The void left by shared losses had turned into a tacit alliance. You weren’t just widows; you were companions on a journey that no one else could truly understand. The bond between you was more than just suffering; it was the mutual acceptance of the present moment—a silent contract that, despite the pain, something new could grow. Not from love, but from necessity, from the understanding that, in some way, both of you were navigating the same turbulent waters.

"I’m afraid I must go to work," Friedrich announced with his usual polite formality, rising from the table with a smooth motion, as though every gesture of his were part of a well-rehearsed ritual. You, too, stood up, moving instinctively to give a curtsy, but he raised his hand, halting your movement with a gentle yet firm gesture.

"There’s no need," he said, his voice low, almost impersonal, but with a hint of something more—an unspoken desire to break free from the formalities.

"I always did this at my old home," you murmured, an unexpected wave of discomfort washing over you for the first time in his presence. The seemingly simple gesture felt like something larger, something from another time, something you still carried with you as a relic of upbringing.

Friedrich merely offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile as he folded the napkin with deliberate calm, his gaze briefly dropping to the table. "Don’t worry about that here." His voice softened, almost intimate, as though he were trying to push away a part of himself you didn’t yet know. "Get used to being free, without those mechanic acts."

You swallowed hard, sitting back down at the table, a little disoriented, and turned your attention back to your coffee, trying to find comfort in the small things, like the warmth of the tea. "I… Thank you, Friedrich… Have a good day."

"Thank you, Miss. Have a wonderful day," he said, giving a small nod. With a nearly imperceptible movement, he stepped away from the table, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the heavy silence that filled the air.

That small encounter, despite its simplicity, ignited something in you. A forgotten spark, a glimpse of something approaching freedom—a faint light, yet still, something that could guide the way. Even with the emotional distance between you, that moment felt significant in some way. He seemed emotional, perhaps even unsettled. You tried not to be drawn into it, but then, you heard it.

"I’m sorry." His voice broke the silence, the softness of the words catching you by surprise. When your eyes lifted, you found his gaze. Blue, deep, seeming even more lost than before. "For your husband. It must not have been easy."

There it was. The strange and unexpected connection you had sensed between you. It was the first time anyone had expressed their condolences in such a genuine way, without offering empty advice about remarrying or retreating to a convent. He understood your grief. He understood you.

"Well… Thank you for your condolences… Friedrich," you said, your voice trembling slightly, the lump in your throat tightening. You adjusted yourself in the chair, trying to find a more composed posture, yet something inside you was shaken. "My previous marriage wasn’t as happy as yours. Your loss, without a doubt, must have been much greater than mine."

"On the contrary, my dear," he responded softly, almost warmly, and leaned back in his chair with a deep sigh, as if sharing a painful secret. "You suffered the most of us all. I heard the stories of your husband. I have happy memories of my Anna. But what about you? What remains?"

His words were a sharp blow, like a knife driven deep into your chest. He knew the stories, knew the whispers and murmurs about your marriage. You fell silent, lifting the tea cup to your lips, trying to hide the tremor that spread through your hands. You sipped the tea more forcefully than you intended, attempting to silence the pain that surged up in a way you hadn’t expected. The past, with all its lies and absences, seemed to manifest once more.

"I loved him." The words came out softly, almost like a silent confession. That phrase, so simple, still felt like a heavy burden. Even after all this time, you could still feel the echo of something that, for a brief moment, seemed like love. "It was a shame we never had the chance to have a child before the… accident. I feel like it might have distracted me, perhaps."

He took a deep breath, the air seeming heavy in his lungs, and nodded, as if the words didn’t need to be spoken for both of you to understand the pain. The atmosphere, once light, now carried the weight of memories neither of you wished to revisit. Plague, death, lost causes. The torture of being left behind by those you loved.

"Would you like to take a walk?" His question caught you off guard, and the tension seemed to drain from your posture as if by magic.

"Yes. Of course. That would be lovely," you replied more quickly than you had intended, feeling an unexpected lightness in your chest. For a moment, you could have sworn you saw a glimmer of something softer in Friedrich’s eyes—something you couldn't quite define, but it stirred a mutual curiosity.

He forced a small smile and rose from the table. You took a final sip of your tea before following suit, gently wiping your face with the napkin. Friedrich took deliberate steps until he stood beside you, extending his arm so you could walk closer to him than you had expected. You looped your arm through his, and together, you walked in silence toward the garden. The only sound was the steady rhythm of your steps, almost in unison, and the faint noises of a few servants at work in the distance.

The soft morning light touched your face, the cool breeze contrasting with the warmth of the sun, kissing your cheeks with a refreshing coolness. You glanced briefly at Friedrich, who returned your look with a small smile, his blue eyes sparkling under the soft morning light. He inhaled deeply, the fresh air filled with the scent of newly blossomed flowers and the distant scent of pine trees in the garden. It was spring, but there was still a chill in the air. The birds chirped carelessly, crossing the blue sky with few clouds, which looked more like mere decorations in the landscape.

"If it weren’t for the circumstances, I’d say this feels like a romantic play," you remarked, letting the gentle breeze play with your hair. The sense of freedom felt almost absurd against the complexity of the situation.

"Indeed. It’s a beautiful day today," he replied, his tone lighter as he scanned the scene around him. Then, he paused briefly, a subtle movement that indicated a puddle in front of you, his attention that of someone who had done this countless times before. Attentive, but almost unconscious.

"Did you always do this with her?" you asked, carefully stepping around the puddle and continuing your walk. Your gaze followed his movements, unhurried, almost automatic. It was a gesture that seemed to be part of his nature.

"Not really. She was careful, as though she knew every stone she stepped on." His tone grew distant, as if momentarily transported to memories of times past. Then, a small, almost nostalgic chuckle escaped him. "But I never stopped doing it. At least it served a purpose with you. You’re a bit clumsy."

"Clumsy?" you laughed, surprised by the playful and sarcastic jab he’d thrown your way. Your laughter echoed lightly through the tranquility of the garden. "Is that an implicit signal for me to pay more attention, Herr Harding?"

"Don’t be silly." He smiled, a look of amusement crossing his face before he stifled a chuckle in his throat. "Don’t change your behavior because of some nonsense I let slip. I just mean, it’s easier to handle it that way."

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, feeling the proximity of his presence, the warmth radiating from him in contrast to the cold wind that still marked the changing of the season.

"Anna was perfect. Fabulous." He paused, searching for the right words, as if he were touching something painful, yet inevitable. Then, he cleared his throat, a subtle attempt to clear the tightness before continuing. "But sometimes I felt like I always had to be…"

"Nervous?" you completed his sentence, your gaze attentive to every unspoken word, the soft rustle of the breeze contrasting with the heavy silence. Friedrich gave a slight nod, acknowledging your guess.

"Like I always had to be perfect," he sighed, coming to a stop and sitting down beside you on a small bench in the garden, shaded by thick trees. He seemed exhausted, yet relieved at the same time, as though the weight of the words had momentarily lightened. "I know I’ll never replace her. But with you, I feel at ease. Like a confidante."

“Well, two widows together. Is there anything more tragicomic than this?” You joked, once again touching on the peculiar humor that seemed to flow so naturally between you. This time, Friedrich couldn't suppress the laughter. The sound came from him lightly and effortlessly, like a wave, vibrating through his chest, free of the constraints that had held him back before.

“You’re quite subversive, aren’t you?” he said, a playful expression spreading across his face. He ran a hand over his mouth, as if brushing away his smile, crossing his legs and slowly retrieving a cigar from his pocket. The movement was deliberate, almost like a ritual. “Do you mind?”

“No.” You shook your head with a smile, signaling for him to go ahead. Still, he placed the cigar back in his pocket with a silent respect, as if he already understood what truly mattered between you. “I’m subversive because I have a sense of humor? I didn’t know you were so conservative.”

“Spare me. These rules of etiquette are nonsense invented to rob us of life.” He chuckled, shaking his head as if pushing away the weight of societal expectations. “Look at us. We were forced to marry because someone said it’s not good for man to be alone.”

“Are you tarnishing the holy word, Friedrich?” You teased, raising an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing at your lips. He uncrossed his legs, relaxing beside you, his posture loose.

“I think I’m not punished more than we are in this situation,” he laughed again, the sound genuine and unconstrained, a rare, welcoming laugh that echoed melodically, breaking the last traces of tension between you.

“We still broke the wedding night rule,” you reminded him, and he threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

“My God, we’re a lost cause,” he chuckled, but the laughter soon softened, fading as he turned to look at you, trying to calm his amusement.

There was something captivating in the way he seemed to reflect on the moment, a mix of enjoyment and resignation. With a nearly imperceptible movement, he tilted his head to the side, distracted, then pulled out his pocket watch. The gesture marked the end of the lightness in the conversation.

“I fear it’s time for me to attend to business,” he interrupted, his tone turning more sober.

“Of course,” you replied, standing up at the same time he did, the tension between you both dissipating as you shared one last light smile.

However, noticing that he had briefly watched you, you couldn't resist offering a small, mocking bow, one that escaped you almost without thought. He caught the gesture, and for a moment, his smile curved just slightly, a polite expression that nonetheless betrayed a shared intimacy between you.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” he promised, his words carrying a promise of something unsaid, something suspended, waiting for the right moment to be picked up again.

Even in his haste, he accompanied her to the hall. What once seemed like a simple, everyday obligation had now transformed into a silent ritual, almost a shared pleasure between them. As if fate were playing with its invisible threads, their marriage had occurred at the end of winter—an understated departure of the season’s chill, while spring began to make its first tentative steps, blossoming alongside hearts now beating in sync.

The scent of roses lingered in the air, reminding her of the bottles Friedrich would gift her from time to time—subtle gestures that concealed more than mere intentions. A soft breeze wound its way through the house, reviving memories of his elegant presence, lifting the curtains in an ethereal dance, sweeping away the dust, and bringing a refreshing coolness to every room.

Then came summer, and with it, the sun’s awakened rays poured life into what had once seemed faded. Morning conversations, filled with musings on the weather or trivial matters, filled the emptiness of a new day. In the afternoon, their exchanges became sharper, commenting on the neighbors and the townspeople who fancied themselves important, yet were, as he put it, "clowns dressed in finery." In the evenings, conversations grew rarer, more spaced out—not just due to the fatigue they both felt, but because of the weight carried by the “unsaid.”

Even though they were married before God and the law, invisible barriers still separated them. But in the rare moments they sat together after dinner, those moments felt almost precious—revealing a little more of the inner worlds hidden behind the curtains of formality.

As days passed, summer slowly gave way to the melancholy of autumn. The golden glow of warm days was replaced by a softer, almost nostalgic light that painted the afternoons in shades of amber and crimson. The wind, once a messenger of warmth and life, now blew with a distinct coolness, carrying the earthy aroma of dried leaves that gathered along the paths.

The house, once flooded with vibrant sunlight, now seemed to be wrapped in a cozy shadow. The curtains no longer danced so freely, weighed down by the thicker air of the season. Friedrich, always attentive to the subtle changes around him, watched time shape every corner with its unshakable patience. The silence of autumn was not empty; it was filled with meaning—a quiet invitation to introspection, a harbinger of something new.

The garden, once a sea of vibrant colors, had now transformed into a mosaic of orange leaves drifting from the branches like unsent letters to the wind. The last rosebuds held firm, defying the growing cold, as though refusing to accept that everything must, eventually, wither. It was a season of transition, of fleeting beauty. And, in some way, it mirrored the silent shift that was settling between them.

“You know, from the first time I saw you, I felt like I could trust you,” he confessed, his voice low but steady. As he took a draw from his cigar, he exhaled the smoke with a deliberate movement, as if releasing more than just tobacco. His free arm was lazily draped over the divan, fingers almost brushing against her clavicle, but not quite making contact—just grazing her skin in the subtlest of gestures, as if the touch was unnecessary, yet still undeniably present in the space between them.

“At the church?” You asked, turning your head to look at him. He slowly rotated his eyes to meet yours, his head slightly tilted, watching your face with an expression that could have been contemplative, though, at its core, remained inscrutable. It was as though his mystery deepened with each word spoken.

“In the garden,” he answered, pausing again to take another puff from the cigar, his eyes focused on the horizon, searching for something invisible in the landscape. When he exhaled the smoke, it moved slowly, almost poetically, as if his words were still being shaped. “When you made the agreement. You were firm. You knew what you wanted. I admire that. Strong, determined people.”

“Do you think I’m strong?” You asked, your voice softer now, a trace of curiosity slipping into the words. It wasn’t a rhetorical question, but a genuine uncertainty. Your eyes met his, waiting for an answer that might reveal more about him than about yourself.

“Stronger than anyone I’ve ever seen,” he replied, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. The world could have fallen apart around them, but in that moment, on that divan, there were only the two of them, as though nothing else mattered.

As always between them, emotions and glances didn’t need words to communicate. It was a mutual, silent understanding—the kind of connection only those who share a bond so complex can truly grasp. What they both needed in that moment was simple: touch. Warmth. Something physical and pure, the reminder of what it meant to be near, to be present. Friedrich pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was brief yet intense, pulling away slowly, as though making sure you wouldn’t pull back, that you were there, willing to allow it.

It had been so long since he had touched anyone, and neither had you. As if, for a moment, you both had forgotten the softness of human touch, the way bodies recognize each other when they are close. He absently crushed his cigar in the ashtray, his focus now completely on you. Nothing else mattered.

Slowly, he brought his hand to your face. First, his fingers slid gently over the texture of your skin, as if every millimeter was a discovery. His eyes were fixed on you, not just any look, but a deeply attentive look, as if he were memorizing every detail. When the palm of his hand met your cheek, the fit was perfect, as if your faces had been made to touch this way. He stood there for a few moments, just watching, his fingers tracing a delicate path across your lip with his thumb. A gesture that, although simple, carried immense meaning. He was with you, entirely.

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” The question came naturally, without haste, without expectation. It wasn't a simple rhetorical question, it was something genuine. Something he wanted to know.

The silence that followed was an implicit answer. You watched him for a moment, almost as if you were reflecting on the weight of those words, and then, as if confessing a secret you had kept, you answered:

“Maybe never like this.”

“You are beautiful.” He repeated, as if those words were the key that fit perfectly into your heart, as if he knew you needed to hear them in a way no one had said before. “Can I show you that?”

With the soft touch of your hand on his, you asked for more, without saying a word, but the request was there, clear and transparent. Consent. Desire. Begging. He noticed, and the answer was immediate. He leaned in once more, his lips meeting yours in a hesitant kiss, but not without intensity. It was as if the world dissolved even more in that moment.

It was just a brush. A soft touch, as if the very air between you was impregnated with something sweet and ancient. You could feel the softness of his skin, the faint scent of nicotine that still lingered on his fingers, the trace of expensive cognac, the kind of drink he kept in his library for special occasions, and even the delicate scent of strawberries, which mixed with the sensation of his touch. It was a mess of gastronomic and artistic sensations that you longed for, something sublime and complex, where each detail seemed like a fragment of something that, perhaps, had never been fully understood until that moment.

"Stay with me, Friedrich." Your voice came out weak, a whisper laden with pleading, dissipating in the thick silence of the room. The only immediate response was the crackling of the wood in the fireplace, soft clicks that seemed to mark the time between each of his breaths, warm and deep, brushing against your skin. "Stay with me until sunrise. Just for tonight." An indecipherable gleam passed through Friedrich's eyes, as if this was the prayer he had been waiting to hear for centuries. A slow smile formed on his lips before he tilted his face towards you.

"How can I refuse you, my dear?" The answer came in a low, intimate whisper, as his lips traced a reverent path across your face. First, a delicate kiss on your forehead, then on your temples, as if he wanted to engrave you in his memory.

He moved down to your cheeks, his lips brushing your skin in an almost imperceptible touch, warm and devoted. Your chin, the tip of your nose — every inch was graced with his attention. It was a silent blessing, a profane sacrament sealing a bond forgotten by time. Then, Friedrich closed the distance between you. His lips took yours with precision, without hesitation. The kiss was neither hurried nor voracious — it was a wordless oath. There was no sarcasm, no ghosts from the outside world. Just that moment, charged with something greater than the two of you. Love or not, there was an uncontrollable impetus there, something unforgettable.

Friedrich's fingers slid along your jaw, slowly rising until they intertwined in your hair, tugging lightly, as if he wanted to keep you from disappearing. In response, your hands sought his, groping until they found them, fitting your fingers with his. The touch was cold, but not unpleasant; on the contrary, it felt like the anchor of something much deeper. He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes half closed, his breathing ragged. The fire in the fireplace cast shadows on the walls, dancing to the rhythm of the growing desire between you.

"Until sunrise," he murmured against your mouth, almost a promise. "All night."

Friedrich stood up with his usual elegance, extending his hand to you. Your fingers gently wrapped around his, and in an almost ceremonial gesture, he lifted you, guiding you with a care that made it seem as if time slowed down around you. Like a prince leading his maiden through an enchanted castle, Friedrich led you to his room—a previously unknown territory that you had only glimpsed in passing, always disorganized, with books piled haphazardly and traces of sleepless nights.

But now, everything seemed different. There was an unexpected order to the usual chaos, as if he had prepared the environment for this moment. The furniture was impeccably arranged, the curtains slightly open, letting the pale moonlight fall on the sheets. His familiar scent permeated the space, a mixture of stale tobacco and the woody aroma that always lingered on his clothes.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Friedrich turned the key in the lock, a discreet click echoing in the silence of the room. A simple gesture, but one that carried an invisible weight—he didn't want to be interrupted, not now.

"I prefer our night to be comfortable for you." He communicated, approaching, his steps calm but full of intention.

His gaze was a veiled invitation, a wordless promise. When his lips touched her face, it was not a hurried kiss, but an intimate mapping of her skin. He kissed her forehead as if consecrating that moment, her temples like a devotee in prayer. The line of her jaw, the curve of your cheek, every inch explored as if it were a rediscovery.

Nine long months without being touched by him, adding to the tally the months in which your husband had not touched you. You thought you had forgotten what it was like to be kissed. But the moment Friedrich’s lips met yours, all the dormant memories came back to life—not as distant memories, but as something as vivid as the warmth of his body against yours.

“Touch me.” You asked, sincerely. Need gave no room for shame at that moment. You needed to be touched by him.

“Anything you want.” His hoarse voice came out like a sinful whisper against your face.

Friedrich took a step back, then, walking behind you, he began to pull the lace of your dress with a mastery that you knew where it came from. But, at that moment, it was as if it were only yours. With precise speed, you felt the thin and expensive fabric, every penny intentionally bought by Friedrich, falling to the floor, with any other old rag that you forgot after a long time, leaving only the small nightgown and the corset underneath, which was also untied by him, allowing your muscles to relax again.

You turned your ankles, meeting Friedrich’s hungry gaze on your body covered only by the thin cotton with carefully embroidered lace on the sleeves. You moistened your lips, bringing your hands to your hair. Your fingers began to remove the pins, your perfect hairstyle falling apart, your long strands falling down your spine like a colorful waterfall.

Friedrich felt a fleeting tremor in his vision, Anna’s memory mixing with his own in his head. No. He murmured, no. You could never be her. Not even if you tried in a million years. But there was something about you that pulled him back like a magnet. You stepped forward, giving him a chaste kiss on your lips.

“Anna would never do that.” He murmured, not sure how this would affect you or himself, trying to explain himself. “She was always so chaste, so reserved, so… pure. Even when I touched her. But you— I feel like a boy playing too close to a lake, where I fall in and never want to get out again.”

“What’s in that lake?” You asked, reaching your brave hands for Friedrich’s vest, each button being unbuttoned faster with the courage inside you.

“So many things. So much… life.” He paused, his gaze so distant, yet so present in that moment, alternating between which of your eyes he should look at. “It’s enchanting. There are so many fish, frogs, mud where I slip, but I always come back for more. And in this lake it rains, so hard. God.”

“Are you cold?” You encouraged, Friedrich helping you, putting the vest over your arms and taking off your shirt in just one pass over your head.

“I am.” He says, closing his eyes to one of your hands, cold from the night air, touching his neck, the other lazily in his strong arms. “I never want to leave here. I want to be trapped in this moment forever.”

It was your turn to be silent, swallowing hard at the confession between Friedrich’s eloquent lines. Noticing your hesitation, his strong hand took yours and placed it on your chest. Your hand feeling the strong and accelerated beating in his chest, you were causing this.

Intertwining his hand with yours, his other hand went to your waist, holding you as he guided your steps to the bed, where you lay right in the middle of the huge mattress. Friedrich put his fingers in the waistband of your pants, pulling them down, recording the memory of you, so delicate, but so honest and brave in that bed. It didn't seem like you were going to be devoured like a little lamb, but that he knew you would give pleasure and be pleased, like a nymph.

Friedrich crawled across the bed until he was on top of you, supporting himself on one arm, the other hand easily unbuttoning your nightgown, your beauty being served to him. With a gentle touch, he groped your breasts, rolling the small spot with his thumb, admiring the view.

“I had forgotten this feeling.” He commented, lifting your breast, palming it, squeezing it, like a boy discovering the female body for the first time. “It feels so good.”

You nodded, enjoying the moment, glimpsing every admirable reaction Friedrich had in that part of your body. He kissed both your breasts, moving down with kisses to your exposed sex, inhaling your essence.

“What’re you gonna do?” You asked, closing your legs instinctively, a touch of fear laced with desire in your voice.

“Have you never been touched like this?” He asked, surprised by your desperate reaction, opening your legs and doing his best not to embarrass you by facing your intimacy.

“No.” You confessed, without even knowing what he planned to do. There were hypotheses, but the ideas that went through your mind were hot, but they didn’t make sense.

“Can I show you?” He suggested, wetting his lips with his tongue in anticipation. You nodded, reluctantly opening your legs.

Friedrich took a deep breath before lowering his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. He sucked a small part of your skin, going down with small bites to your groin, where he placed a small kiss that made you shiver.

When he licked your pearl, you understood the surprise in his eyes. That was heavenly good. Your fingers went to Friedrich’s head, pulling his hair as a way to dissipate the pleasure that was growing between your legs.

His tongue licked your sex, pressing harder to hear your louder moans, switching to small, weak licks to turn you inside out. His large hands were firmly on your thighs, keeping you in place as he sucked on your sensitive spot with precision.

Lifting your head to look down, you saw Friedrich with his eyes closed, concentrating. The scene was stimulating enough to feel the pressure building in your stomach. Hearing your needy moans, he ended up licking faster and faster with more pressure. The tremors indicated that you were close and he focused only on your clit, punishing the flesh with his tongue fast and strong in sinful circles until he felt you collapse into his mouth with one last loud moan, lifting your hips against his mouth.

Not wanting to push you to the limit right away, he lifted his body, returning to be on top and kissing you, the taste of your pleasure mixing on his lips. He lowered his lower part, showing his ugly cock that was throbbing hard against your belly, smearing your skin with pre-cum.

“Ready?” He asked, wiping the cloth down your legs and throwing it on the floor.

“Yes.” You confirmed, watching Friedrich grab one of the pillows and place it under your hips, which you lifted to help him.

Guiding his cock to your saliva-soaked and aroused intimacy, he pressed the tip against your entrance, showing a small reaction of discomfort before pleasure took over your face when you felt the length entering your canal, stretching your walls.

His hips began to move, slowly at first, so that you could get used to the recent intrusion after so long. When you were already showing pleasure, the rhythm became frantic, almost merciless. He murmured sweet nothings in your ear, not hiding any sound, and it drove you insane. You wanted everything from him, the sounds, the contorted expressions of pleasure, every thrust he changed the rhythm of, every compliment and disgrace he whispered. All of him.

In a short time, he melted inside you, loving you to the last drop, a hint of pride for having made you arrive before him, kissing your mouth to finish you off, leaning his forehead against yours, his breathing calming down.

He stood up, holding your hand firmly but unhurriedly, guiding you to the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror revealed the marks of the night—sweat, tears and fluids, strands of disheveled hair. Friedrich smiled sideways, an almost complicit glint in his eyes, before taking a damp cloth and starting to clean you.

His every gesture was calm, almost ritualistic. He gently wiped the cloth over your face, removing traces of intimacy, his fingers brushing your skin with a caress that made your heart slow down. When he wiped your collarbone, he took a second longer than necessary, as if he were memorizing the touch. When he passed it through your hands, he intertwined his fingers with yours for a brief moment, before continuing.

The world outside was slowly waking up. The first rays of sunlight filtered through the cracks in the curtain, dyeing the room with soft golden tones. The air still carried a remnant of the night—of whispered promises, of something unnameable that hovered between you.

But then, something sour settled in your mouth. A bitter taste, an inevitable memory. You looked away from Friedrich, the echoes of the previous promise resonating in your mind. Until dawn.

"I... I think I should go." Your voice came out hesitant, almost trembling. You turned your back, preparing to leave, but before you could take another step, you felt a firm tug.

Friedrich wrapped you in an intense, almost desperate hug. His body was a wall against which you snuggled without resistance, feeling his heat pass through your skin. Friedrich's breathing was heavy against your hair, and his fingers, once so careful, now tangled possessively in the strands, as if he wanted to hold you there, forever.

"Never leave my side again." The whisper was filled with something primal, something he didn't usually express. "It's an order. The only one I give you." He inclined his head, his lips brushing your temple, the touch as gentle as a shared secret. "I will make you happy in your marriage. I will make you create good memories, I will be your anchor, your wine, your pleasure."

You lifted your face, your eyes searching his, and then you moved closer, placing your lips on his bare chest, right over the place where his heart beat slow and deep. Friedrich's breathing faltered for a moment, and you let yourself sink against him, listening to that steady rhythm, like a melody that only the two of you understood.

"I'm already yours, Friedrich." You whispered, filled with certainty. You closed your eyes, resting your head against him. "And I will be yours until the end of my life, living every sunrise by your side."

#friedrich harding #friedrich harding x reader #x reader #imagine #reader insert #fanfic #aaron taylor johnson x you #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson fandom #aaron johnson #aaron taylor johnson #atj x reader #nosferatu fanfic #nosferatu

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rikas-musings · 3 days ago

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PROJECT SHATTERCORE ☣︎

DIRECTORY

bruce wayne x reader, jason todd x reader, dick grayson x reader, damian wayne x reader, tim drake x reader

SYNOPSIS: you were taken young, too young to ever have known anything other than needles and pain. stuck inside a lab that was bright and loud, they enhanced every neural frequency within you, transforming you into more than you could have ever been. after years of experiments, someone finally comes to save you. he’s tall, dark, and terrifying. but he offers you safety in a new home. you feel like an outsider in the gloomy mansion, but you understand why they behave as though you’re not there. it’s probably your fault, but over time, things begin to change, and the people in your home are starting to act as if they want you here. is this desire something normal?

WARNINGS: 18+ only, DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT, death and blood, angst, child endangerment, alcoholism, descriptive medical abuse (not that bad but like,,,,still there)

PLAYLIST FOR THE CHAPTER: ♫ medicine - daughter, then teeth - 5 seconds of summer listen to this for ultimate immersion

A/N : hello! i am back!! this took a full day to write, forgive me if it's not the best!!! listen to the playlist above for full immersion, and go right ahead

CHAPTER ONE: NEURAL FREQUENCY

Your body curled into a fetal position; everything felt too loud. Your eyelids slowly opened to reveal a gray room. It looked clinical and pristine, unlike any of the shadowed corners of Gotham you were used to. Somehow, it’s so loud in here.

BEEP

You turn around to it—the machine, the source that’s grating your ears. It looks mechanical. Consistently, it beeps, a rhythm that doesn’t feel musical at all. Then the beeps begin to increase in speed, and your heart is humming against your sternum. You don’t understand why the silence in this room feels so loud; it makes you dizzy before the familiar stinging hits your sinuses. Hot tears well up in your eyes before they spill onto your cheeks, and you try to breathe, but it feels useless. Your breath feels snagged on a rib.

Before you know it, doctors file into the room, the erratic spike in your heart rate having alerted them to check in on you. You’re so clueless, and the lights are starting to flicker and—

“I just want my Mama!” You yowl, your voice rasped in pain.

They freeze what they’re doing before hesitantly going back to injecting something through the IV line nestled in your right arm. You feel the cool liquid rush into you, and suddenly you feel calm. The tremors in your chest stop, and you breathe slowly. You feel immobile, but maybe that’s just exhaustion.

They proceed to shove the curtain beside you open, and that’s when you see her. Mama is attached to a bunch of machines and has an oxygen mask on.

But she’s alive.

Your little heart flutters at that. You hear footsteps approaching and watch as the giant man from before walks in. He has a hard look on his face as he approaches your bedridden Mama.

“Doctor says she has nothing of value inside her; she’s projected to become a nuisance in the future.” He speaks flatly into the air, and the other doctors solemnly nod their heads. You don’t quite understand what’s happening, you’re just so relieved Mama is here.

Your tiny hand reaches out weakly towards her, but your bed isn’t close enough. You watch her in awe; she looks so pretty, her hair is messy, but she looks clean.

You hadn’t seen her clean in a long time.

The man caresses her head, just like she used to do when you were even tinier. You watch with content, orbs trailing his every movement.

His hand slides down to her mandible, caressing it gently. Then he grips her throat. It’s light at first, tender, but you feel a growing sense of urgency as his hands tighten, cutting off her airways. You feel a panic thrum in your chest, but whatever the doctors put in your IV seems to have you half lulled and unable to move with any real meaning.

Your tiny hand trembles as it desperately reaches out for her, just one more time. Your eyelids droop, but just before you fall victim to the drugs, you hear the shriek of the machine.

A flatline.

It’s the worst sound you think you’ve ever heard.

Sun Dokhwa lingered in his study; he tended to keep to himself when there was no work to be done. Instead, he theorized about the many things he could do. Sheets lined with unknown experiments and ripped pages from formulas that just didn’t work. His hand dragged across his face, and he felt the prickle of his stubble and sighed. Adjusting his square glasses, he pushed back from the table, rising to his feet.

Last week, he had sent for Daniel to get a job done for him; he succeeded, as he always did. His lack of presence helped in obscuring them from the vigilantes who so desperately tried to save Gotham. But he had picked up a special gift on his errand, and Dokhwa was hesitant at first, but when he saw them, I mean, really saw them. He almost foamed at the mouth from the possibilities.

This child was extraordinary— or rather, the possibility of what they could be. He felt an unholy sort of glee unfurl in his chest.

Daniel wasn’t exactly right in assuming it was electricity; it was something far more interesting than that. He wanted, no, needed to dissect it.

A few tests and blood samples confirmed what he already suspected. They had some mutation in their DNA, perhaps inherited. After some tests on the mother, he learned the anomaly in the child had nothing to do with her. Most likely passed down through their father, though who that was became irrelevant. If he were to truly uncover the scope of their capabilities— to mould this child into what he wanted, he had to get rid of the mother.

And so he sent Daniel to dispose of her. It had been after a week of testing, he’d given the go-ahead to exterminate her. He was slightly impatient; he felt a sort of chill crawl up his spine.

Still, he would wait.

Give the child two days to be isolated before making contact.

He’d done all the prep. How he would mould them, how he would approach like a gentle predator, offering shelter beneath his wing. Maybe, in time, he’d find a sense of family with them, though that wasn’t the goal. What mattered most was this:

He’d haunt them forever.

You cried for a full day when you woke up from your sedation. Tears stained the hospital gown they’d dressed you in—you were terrified. Confusedly screaming in your room, the buzz of the machines like a bee that wouldn’t leave your head. Anytime you’d get out of control, they’d pump the IV with more chemicals, and you were lulled back into nightmares of your Mama dying in front of you.

On what you thought might be the third day of being awake, the air shifted. The clean scent of alcohol laced the room. You heard footsteps once more and cowered in your bedsheets. Digits gripped the blanket tightly, knuckles white from the strain.

A rap at the door stilled your shaking. Your beady orbs peeked out from the covers, and you were met with the sight of another doctor.

Although this one looked… different.

He stood hesitantly at the door, almost afraid to come in. You raked your eyes over his form, and he looked non-lethal. His hair was brown and dishevelled in a nice sort of way, like your Mama’s used to be. He looked older, maybe in his 30s or 40s—you could never really tell. He adjusted his glasses, and you took note of his stubble; you scrunched your nose at the thought of how scratchy it probably felt.

He speaks before you can, finally breaking the silence. You’re silently grateful for that.

“Hi there, little one.” His voice is fatherly but also boyish. You stare back at him.

Are they gonna kill me next?

You shudder at the thought of that. His eyebrows seem to furrow as he lets himself into your room. He approaches your bed with the caution of a rabbit. You let him, just for now.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I hope you know that.” Something in his voice sounds real—genuine, even not like the other doctors' monotonous voices when they read your vitals. “I’m not like that scary man who hurt your mother.” He speaks calculatedly. Gauging your reactions, but all you can do is shiver at the thought of what that man did.

“You’re not here… to hurt me?” Your voice is small, and he nearly coos at how cute you look. He clears his throat before nodding in response.

“I have something to tell you, do you know that you’re different from others?” He starts, and your beady eyes simply blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “You little one, have special abilities.” You furrow your brows at him and go to speak, your voice coming out smaller than you hoped.

“H-how?” You ask softly. He gives you a warm smile, before reaching to take your hand in his. His palms are warm.

“Have you ever noticed the lights flicker sometimes when you’re upset? Or feel a certain buzz in your head?” he queries gently. “You actually can disrupt radio signals, too, little one. It is something we call low-level aura disruption.” You suddenly are thrown back to the day you were taken, and you can’t believe it.

“Y-you mean I did all that?” You whisper. He nods his head before planting more new information into your little head.

“A lot of people don't like people like you; they think you shouldn’t exist in this city.” His voice is fractured as he speaks. A pit forms in your stomach.

“But not me, no, I believe we can make you into something even better.” His voice is excited, almost cloying. But this idea lights a tiny match in the pit of your stomach, and you look at him expectantly.

“W-what’s your name, mister doctor, I wann’ be better,” You mumble before tightening your grip on his hand.

“I’m Doctor Sun, little one.” He beams at you, pulling you into an embrace from the nape of your neck. You let it happen; you haven’t felt something this soft in a long time.

Dr. Sun was a nice name.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Locked in that same room again, you learned not to cry as much. The machines shook your nervous system to its core, pulsating through the padded walls. There was a deafening ringing in your ear from the overload of information; you’d been locked in isolation for weeks this time, your eyes sunken from the stress. Your entire body felt like an exposed nerve, frayed raw.

Then came a voice over the speaker, somehow, you heard it— distinct, threaded through all the noises screeching in your head.

“You can come out now.” Suddenly, doctors file into the room, removing the egregious number of wires attached to your body. They rip out the IV faster than they should, and you feel bile aching to rush up your throat. You cradle your arms, holding yourself tightly, averting their touch.

You were ushered out of the room and into the cold hallways, which felt haunting, reminding you of everything that had ever happened in here. There was an obscene amount of silence when you left the room. Your body swayed like the fall leaves headed towards the ground, before you could crumple to the floor, an arm grabbed you. You stumbled into whoever's arms had held you, only in necessity. You were nearly passed out.

They sat you in another room, only one wire embedded into the nape of your neck. In front of you sits a glass, clear as the window pane, looking into your room. Their watching, expectant.

“You know what to do.” A monotone voice came through the speakers

For the past month, they’d been attempting to get you to shatter glass; you’ve already passed the tests for disabling radios, at least—most of the time. You don’t understand why they believed you could shatter glass, they said you’re powers were low-level, but you assumed all the frying your nerves was to alter your body's limits. You picked at your cuticles until they bled, and the room fell into a manufactured silence. They always played dirty. You shrank in your chair, limbs folding in on themselves. Even breathing made you feel like you took up too much space.

Despite your position, you knew you had to comply; you didn’t wanna think about what they would do if you didn’t. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you concentrate on the glass, feeling the aura in the space surrounding it. The lights flicker more violently than they used to, and you feel a hum in the base of your skull. But you focus harder. It’s not working though, your body is straining, but all you can manage is the glass teetering on the table, your irises shift upwards to give the crew a solemn look of discouragement when you see blonde hair—

KSSSSHKK

The glass SHATTERS across the entire room.

Dread unfurls in your stomach.

Why was he here?

He wasn’t supposed to be in today

No, no, no—

You watch as he gives you a grin, his presence is like poison in the air. The surrounding doctors stare at him in dismay. They had been trying to get you to shatter the glass without emotional disruption. For some godforsaken reason, you always freaked out around this doctor. One of them rubbed their temples with their hand while letting out an exasperated sigh. And so they logged the outbursts, but missed the cause.

In a small sense of remorse, one of the doctors called in a favour. Someone you hadn’t seen in a while.

Before you know it, someone’s rushing into the room, and you’re sobbing, but you look up and there you see your saviour.

“Dr. Sun!” You rasp through tears. He gently picks you up and cradles you against his sternum, as you listen to the thrum of his heartbeat.

“You did well today, little one.” His voice ghosts the shell of your ear. Your frame goes limp as you pass out from the sheer stress.

ANOTHER FIVE YEARS LATER

Bruce was exhausted, more so than usual, for once in his life, he wished he could take a real break. He’d tried desperately to find anything about it. He had Tim pull up anything he could find, but he always came up empty-handed. He felt his blood boil. His eyebrows knitted together on his face. Mandible tightening with stress. The dreary feeling was coming back—the ache in his stomach.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred’s voice comes steady, “I think it’s high time you met with your bed, it’s been days.” His voice is gentle, like a silent nudge towards better health. Watching the man he’d helped raise come undone at the seams.

“Alfred… what am I missing here?” Bruce’s voice comes out gruff and tired. He runs his hand through his hair, disheveling it more than usual.

When Bruce was out on patrol almost a year ago, he tailed a man who wasn’t anything special. At least that’s what he’d thought. The man then managed to get in a punch to his right temple. He had grumbled something that he almost didn’t catch. Something that felt off.

“All his time is focused on Project Shattercore; he couldn’t even give me a boost.” The man then roundhouse kicked him, before jumping off the roof of the building, but Bruce, in a moment of stun, wasn’t fast enough to catch him. When he searched the pavement below, there was no sign of a body; the man had somehow evaded him.

Bruce clung onto that piece of information like a vice; it was like a ghost; he could find no trace of it.

A year later and where had he gotten? Nearly nowhere. Dick had tried to convince him otherwise.

“Maybe you heard it wrong, Bruce. Maybe it was nothing.”

But Bruce was unrelenting; he couldn’t shake the marrow-deep feeling that this wasn’t a misheard whisper.

It felt like a weapon. And by the sounds of it, it might’ve been human. It sounded dangerous, like a needle hidden in something soft. Like it was going to ruin Gotham.

After a pause, Bruce’s breath stilled, and he silently got up, pacing towards the exit. He needed to rest if he wanted to ever figure this out. Alfred let out a breath he had been holding and ushered Bruce upstairs.

It was two nights later that he got the call from Tim.

“Bruce… I think I found something.”

TAGLIST: @alishii @lalana1703 @purple-obsidian @ghosty-the-grim-fairy @shadowsingers-redhood @staarflowerr @nininehaaa @hai-there-how-are-you @cynniee @lovebug-apple @nervousalpacalady @nisarelle @lilyalone @cxcilla

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the-cosmic-cauldron · 5 days ago

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🕸️🦂🌱🌀🕸️🦂🌱🌀🕸️🦂🌱🌀🕸️🦂🌱🌀🕸️

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳

With a new month approaching, new paradigm shifts and personal transformations are unfolding in your life. Summer is about to heat up—we’re stepping into brighter, longer, and sunnier days, embracing the beauty, boldness, and vibrancy that the season brings.

We’re also entering the end of the school year for many. People are graduating, finishing chapters, and transitioning into new ones. It’s the season of vacations, celebrations, and spending quality time doing what you love. The collective energy is rising—and with that, a deeper question emerges:

What new shifts are arriving in your life?

What cycle are you stepping into?

What is unfolding for your soul in this next phase?

Today, we’re going to explore that. You’ll be guided to pick a pile, and through that, you’ll receive a message about your next life cycle—what’s happening beneath the surface, what themes are emerging, and how your soul is evolving.

This is more than just a reading—this is a soul progression, a glimpse into your spiritual growth and personal evolution. These messages are meant to help you center yourself, understand the energetic patterns at play, and ground into the journey ahead.

So take a moment.

Breathe deeply.

Relax your body.

Tune into your essence.

Then, choose the image that calls to your spirit—whichever one feels aligned with your identity, your frequency, your soul’s truth.

Once you’ve chosen, scroll down and receive your reading.

Let it speak to you. Let it guide you.

🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳🌳

Pile 1

For many of you, blessings are arriving—and not just ones you’ll feel… but ones you’ll see.

Your next cycle is incredibly opportunistic. It carries material abundance, steady growth, clarity, and tangible fulfillment. You are entering a season where you won’t just sense the shift—you’ll witness it. In your finances. In your foundation. In the way life meets you where you are.

✨ This is a time of wish fulfillment.

Not just dreams, but manifestation. You’re learning that not every anxious pull or gut-feeling needs immediate action. You’re learning to slow down, to trust, and to listen—without always needing to jump.

You’re approaching life with more emotional maturity, grounding, and wisdom. You no longer feel the need to chase relentlessly. You’re moving with intentionality, not urgency. There’s a quiet confidence settling in your bones now.

You’re becoming more practical—not because your dreams have shrunk, but because your approach has evolved. You’re now asking:

➤ What’s sustainable?

➤ What’s aligned?

➤ What can I truly handle and nurture well?

You’re releasing the weight of over-obligation. You’re embracing peace over pressure.

In this new chapter, you’ll find yourself:

• Spending meaningful, cozy time with loved ones—your children, partner, close friends, or family.

• Reconnecting with joy through human connection.

• Feeling emotionally filled through love, laughter, and shared moments.

• Inspired to pursue your goals simply by being surrounded by warmth.

And yes—abundance is coming.

➤ Job offers

➤ Financial breakthroughs

➤ Aligned opportunities

➤ New doors you didn’t expect to open, now opening easily

You are picking up the pace again—but this time, it’s steady and supportive. Not chaotic. Not rushed. It’s flow, not force.

You’re cooperating with the Universe now, rather than trying to overpower its rhythm. And because of this, your blessings will not only come to you, they will come through you.

This new cycle holds:

• Security

• Stability

• Assurance

• Cozy contentment

• Love

• Gentleness

• Divine timing

🌿 I’m so happy for you.

You’ve been through so much. You deserve this ease, this magic, this softness. And you’re ready for it.

Take the signs seriously. Trust the pace. Anchor in the symptoms of peace.

Remember: you are being guided.

Your new season has already begun.

Pile 2

For many of you, this next cycle will be destabilizing—a period where you’re questioning your sense of stability and security, while simultaneously being called to implement self-care in the midst of chaos.

It feels like you’re standing at a crossroads. You’re resisting your own growth, not because you don’t want to evolve, but because you don’t know where to start. There’s uncertainty. Insecurity. Self-doubt. Especially around manifesting and materializing your dreams into reality.

Some of you may be hesitating to begin—or you start, only to fall off quickly. The follow-through isn’t fully there, and that’s not because you lack discipline, but because you’re emotionally overwhelmed. I sense you’ve been giving so much to others—over-functioning, over-giving, trying to be everything to everyone—that your own life has been neglected.

There’s a lack of balance. You’re either so focused on yourself that your external life is falling apart, or you’re so consumed by your external obligations that your inner world is drained. Either way, your energy is scattered.

There’s a pattern of starting things and not finishing them…

Of trying to move forward while still holding onto the past…

Of wanting change but still clinging to outdated beliefs and ways of doing things.

And that internal tug-of-war is keeping you stuck in the in-between.

This new cycle may bring:

• Financial instability

• Household or family tensions

• Budgeting difficulties

• Emotional and mental exhaustion

But here’s the deeper truth: you are in a transitional stage. You are dissolving old paradigms and beginning to open yourself to new ones. You’re not fully in the old, nor fully in the new. You’re navigating the tender middle.

There will be loss—but also profound gain.

You will begin to understand what you’ve lost, and how to rebuild it from a place of authenticity and self-honor.

This cycle will teach you:

• The necessity of self-care

• The beauty of grounding and stabilizing yourself

• That you are not meant to do everything

• That it’s okay to slow down and focus on what’s truly sustainable

You’re going to learn more about yourself than you have in a long time. But the lessons won’t come gently—they will come through pressure, through the discomfort of change, through the ache of letting go.

And yet, it’s all here to shape you.

✨ I’m sending you deep well wishes.

Please take time to care for yourself—every single week. Nourish your body. Nourish your emotions. Nourish your mind. Nourish your spirit.

You deserve a beautiful life 🌹❣️🌹❣️🌹

And it will come—with patience, presence, and steady effort.

Pile 3

🦂For many of you, you’re coming into your own. This is the beginning of a beautiful new cycle in your life. The old cycle is finally closing, and you’re stepping into a new realm—one that offers more peace, clarity, and self-understanding. 🦂

In this new phase, your emotional state will become much more balanced. Instead of feeling scattered, overwhelmed, or caught in emotional extremes—exploding one moment, retreating the next—you’ll find a calm within yourself. The emotional waters are no longer stormy. The tides have softened. You’re gaining a sense of internal stillness.

This is a period of building emotional intelligence. You’re becoming more introspective and discerning—not only about your own emotions but also about the intentions of others. You no longer want to misunderstand people, and more importantly, you no longer want to misunderstand yourself.

You’re developing a sharp awareness, almost like an emotional investigator—attuned to subtle cues, deeply intuitive, and incredibly self-protective. You’re no longer letting just anyone into your space. You’re learning how to filter people out. Your boundaries are sacred, and you’re honoring them.

• Sharper awareness

• More emotional intelligence

• Deeper perception of others

• More intentional

At the same time, you may not be as social in this new cycle. You’re in a reflective space—trying to pick up the pieces, figure out what you want, and determine which direction is right for you. You’re embracing quality over quantity, especially when it comes to relationships, opportunities, and time. You’re no longer allowing others to override your decision-making.

You’re pacing yourself. You’re being patient. Some of you are preparing to make major life decisions, and that requires time, space, and silence to reflect. And that’s exactly what this cycle is gifting you: the ability to pause, to breathe, to choose with intention.

You’re also completing something significant. A karmic loop or long-held chapter is closing. You’ve transformed through it, and now you can finally say: I’m done. I’ve outgrown that version of myself.

🎉CONGRATULATIONS 🎉

🩷With that closure comes new beauty. 🩷

You’re no longer in the energy of chasing, controlling, or dominating. There’s a softening here—a return to trust. You’re beginning to believe that things will come to you in due time, that you don’t have to force your path. There’s less anxiety about what you want, and more calm, patient trust in how it will unfold.

You’ll likely spend more time in your mind this cycle—not in a chaotic way, but in contemplation. You’re making sure you’re aligned before you leap forward. You’re moving at a pace that truly works for you, and you’re reclaiming balance after a time of over-exertion.

Where you used to burn out—charging ahead too fast, slamming the brakes, then revving forward again—you’re now slowing down. You’re learning to move with grace, not force.

You’re stepping out of the obsessive loop of constant goal-setting or relentless self-improvement. You’re remembering the value of emotional presence, connection, and joy. You’re nurturing your relationships, your friendships, and the people around you—not just your aspirations.

You’re taking a step back… and you’re calming down.

And in that stillness, you’re becoming powerful in a new, steady, grounded way.

Pile 4

For many of you, this new cycle is bringing deep clarity—cutting through confusion, illusions, and the weight of unspoken truths. Where things once felt murky or misunderstood, clarity is now rising to the surface. This is a period of reclaiming your vision, your truth, and your understanding of the path ahead.

There will be multiple opportunities to materialize and manifest, especially in the realm of the physical. Financial blessings are coming. Career growth is likely. Stability, achievement, and tangible gain are within reach. But let me be honest: while these blessings are very real, they may not feel as satisfying as you imagined they would.

That’s because this cycle is also pulling you inward.

There’s a push and pull within you—between what you’re receiving and how you feel about it. Opportunities will appear clearly: a new job, a promotion, a financial breakthrough, or a long-awaited blessing finally arriving. And yet, emotionally, you might feel… disconnected from it.

Why? Because you’re in a fog. A fog of self-doubt, internal conflict, or even spiritual exhaustion. You’re trying to find your way out of this fog, but your emotional reality doesn’t yet match the physical gains you’re receiving. You may not trust that these blessings are truly yours. You might question whether you’re worthy of them.

This resistance may come from deep-seated beliefs—perhaps rooted in religious conditioning, shame, past failure, or a long-standing narrative that joy must be earned through suffering. You may be carrying the weight of feeling undeserving, and that belief is affecting your ability to receive.

In this cycle you’ll:

• Experience resistance to growth

• Self-doubt and questioning

• Existential crisis

• Self-esteem issues

• Survival and scarcity mindset

In this cycle, isolation may feel like the only safe route. You might pull away from others—not out of malice, but from overwhelm or a deep distrust of goodness. There’s a protective mechanism rising: “If I do everything alone, no one can disappoint me. If I don’t trust anything good, I won’t be hurt when it disappears.”

But this coping strategy will likely create bitterness. It will weigh you down. And instead of bringing freedom, doing it all alone may rob you of joy. You may feel resentful, even while succeeding, because you’re carrying so much on your own shoulders.

This resistance to accepting help—from the universe or from other people—is not strength, it’s fear. You are worthy of support, of teamwork, of ease. And part of your journey in this cycle is learning to soften into that truth.

There is also a stubbornness that may rise—a desire to prove yourself to others, or even to yourself, by doing it all alone. But the truth is, you don’t have to. And the longer you resist interdependence, the longer you’ll delay the deeper joy and healing you’re seeking.

In this cycle, your self-doubt is louder than your faith. Your trust in others is fragile. And your control is a mask for deeper pain—pain from betrayal, disappointment, mistrust. Pain that has hardened into the belief that only you can protect yourself, and that even blessings must be handled with suspicion.

This control, however, is costing you your peace. It’s stealing your joy. You might appear to be “handling it all,” but internally, you’re weighed down. Exhausted. Unfulfilled. And sometimes, disillusioned by the very opportunities you once prayed for.

You must ask yourself:

• Why am I not allowing myself to feel joy?

• Why am I so quick to believe this isn’t real, or that it won’t last?

• What do I gain by resisting softness, cooperation, and trust?

In this new chapter, the universe will lovingly, but firmly, reflect you back to yourself. The lessons won’t be about what others did wrong—but about how you’ve unconsciously pushed things away: love, blessings, connection, ease. You’ll be called to examine your mindset and how it shapes your life.

This is a cycle of healing from within. You’re learning how your thoughts and beliefs shape your reality—not just what you attract, but how you receive, feel, and hold it.

And slowly, gently, you’ll begin to see: it was never about the job, the opportunity, or the external gain. It was about reclaiming your worth, rebuilding your faith, and remembering that you deserve to feel good—not just perform well.

🩷✨Let this be the season you meet yourself with honesty, grace, and compassion. You are not broken. You are protecting yourself the only way you knew how. But now, it’s time to let good in—again. 🩷✨

Pile 5

🦂🦂For many of you, this next cycle of your life marks a period of deep change, inner realization, and a pivotal transformation. It shifts your focus from being externally driven to becoming deeply internal, where your soul begins seeking meaning over momentum. 🦂🦂

In the past, you may have been heavily focused on success—achieving goals, excelling at work, maintaining social connections, pursuing romance, or striving for visibility. But many of those pursuits began to wear you down. They dimmed your inner light, left you overwhelmed, and placed you in a cycle of over-functioning—giving too much, doing too much, and ultimately, living in a way that was unsustainable.

As a result, your confidence may have waned. Feelings of self-doubt, pessimism, and emotional exhaustion may have taken root, hijacking your nervous system and throwing you into survival mode. And yet, despite the fatigue, you may still find yourself chasing those same external validations—popularity, achievement, love, recognition, or financial gain.

But here’s the truth: it’s not working. And rather than slow down, part of you wants to press harder—to chase faster, push further, grasp tighter. This cycle, however, will bring you face-to-face with burnout. The constant striving for something that may not even be meant for you is depleting your energy and driving you toward collapse.

In this new chapter of your life, you may go through a period of exhaustion and disillusionment—where everything you once thought mattered begins to feel hollow. You’ll recognize that you’ve been acting from a place of fear and longing, trying to feel “enough” by achieving more. But chasing that high, over and over, is only creating deeper emptiness.

This cycle will bring:

• Realization of where you suffer

• Reflection on your melancholy, sadness, or depression

• A path to self exploration

• Revising your goals

• Learning to pace yourself

And so, a shift begins.

You may still look outward at first, trying different paths, altering your narrative, experimenting with change. But ultimately, this cycle is calling you inward. It’s inviting you to stop searching for yourself in the eyes of others and instead begin reclaiming your sense of self.

Once you begin that inward journey—through reflection, introspection, journaling, and emotional awareness—you’ll start to see the truth of how you feel. You’ll recognize that beneath all the effort and the chase lies a deep unhappiness. And that moment of honesty will be your breakthrough.

It will initiate a journey of healing and self-reclamation—where you rediscover yourself and fall in love with who you truly are, not who you’ve tried to be for the world.

This is a cycle of self-discovery. A time to question what you thought mattered, what you believed success was, and what you believed you needed in order to feel worthy. Your values will begin to shift. Your self-perception will deepen. You’ll start caring less about how others perceive you, and more about how aligned you feel with yourself.

There will be quiet revolutions:

• A new approach to self-improvement

• Moments of solitude that feel like medicine

• Belief systems breaking and reforming

• A fierce commitment to understanding your inner world

This phase is awakening you from a long slumber. What once numbed or distracted you no longer works. You’re being summoned to awaken to your true self, and with that awakening comes sovereignty—the ability to make decisions rooted in clarity and self-trust, rather than in panic, pressure, or performance.

🩷✨You are entering a new realm of authenticity, and though the path may feel unfamiliar, it is sacred. 🩷✨

Pile 6

🌀For many of you, this next cycle in your life represents a paradigm shift—but in order to step into it, you’re going to have to take a step back. It may feel like a regression before progression, but never forget: regression is where you learn; progression is where you go.🌀

In this current stage of “regression,” you’re reflecting on everything that has unfolded from January to June. You’re trying to piece together the story—asking the how, the why, the when, and the where. You’re seeking clarity about your life and what brought you to this point. That desire for understanding is powerful. But the truth is, there’s a lot to understand.

You want to make sense of things, and you are introspective, but when you go inward and try to reflect in solitude, it overwhelms you—not because you’re too much, but because you’ve never really sat with it all. Maybe you’ve been in survival mode. Maybe you’ve been avoidant. Maybe you were too busy. Either way, now that you’re finally facing it, it feels like too much.

So, when you retreat into isolation and try to be introspective, you might feel the urge to give up, to escape, to distract yourself again. There’s a chaotic energy to this new cycle: you want to understand, but you also feel flooded by everything you’re trying to process. The key will be to break it down in pieces—give yourself grace and time—because healing through isolation will only happen once you stop trying to rush the process.

Right now, isolation may feel like pressure instead of peace. You may feel tempted to jump back into socializing, distractions, or routines just to avoid feeling overwhelmed. I also see for some of you, a breakup may have recently occurred, and you might be starting to explore your options again in dating. It doesn’t feel like a traumatic breakup—more like a neutral separation, where both parties knew it wasn’t working.

With summer in full swing, there may be less desire for routine or structure. You may find yourself avoiding responsibilities, people, or even your own healing process. Even when you try to do the inner work, you might quickly slip into escapism—retreating into fantasy, daydreams, or distractions rather than confronting the reality of your emotions.

This cycle you’ll experience:

• Wanting to move forward and feeling pulled back

• Intense impulsive urges

• Wanting to love and be passionate, but having a push-pull feeling

• Wanting to socialize but also being alone

• Into fantasy, daydreaming, and seeking

You feel ungrounded right now—floating, drifting, unsure of where to begin. Even if you do begin to heal or reflect, it doesn’t last long. Something inside of you wants to avoid “wasting the summer” being sad, stuck inside, or emotionally heavy. You’re craving chill, calm, carefree energy—and that’s completely valid.

However, avoidance comes at a cost. It keeps you from the deeper growth that’s trying to emerge. It holds you back. There’s an inner tension in this cycle—you want freedom, but you also feel like you should be doing more. You’re conflicted. You want to run wild, but you also second-guess it.

I’ll be honest: in this stage, it doesn’t seem like you’re learning a lot. There’s some chaotic, unstable energy, and it feels like you’re caught in a loop of trying to move forward, only to regress again. That’s okay. Sometimes, the lesson is in acknowledging that you’re not ready for everything. Maybe you want freedom more than introspection. Maybe you crave fluidity more than structure. Maybe you’re not ready to decide, because you’re still discovering what you want.

This cycle is about exploration, not perfection.

So don’t be hard on yourself. It’s summer—have fun. Let loose a little. Just try not to let that freedom become recklessness. Entertainment is healthy, but stay grounded. If you’re going out drinking—hydrate. If you’re being sexually expressive—protect yourself. If you want to run wild—run wise.

This cycle is not about planning or achieving something specific. It’s about discovering who you really are. You are learning through experience, not through strategy. And even if it feels messy right now, clarity will come through your reflection in time.

So live. Explore. But check in with yourself, too.

🩷✨You don’t need to have it all figured out right now—just keep learning how to listen to your soul.🩷✨

🧸🔸🧸🔸🧸🧸🔸🧸🔸🧸🧸🔸🧸🔸🧸🔸🧸

#pick a reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a card #tarotcommunity #tarot witch #free tarot #daily tarot #tarot deck #tarot reading #tarot #tarotblr

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ladyfocalors · 2 months ago

Text

The Prefect and their Knight

summary: As a devoted knight-in-training, Sebek sees guarding Malleus as his most sacred duty. So when Malleus begins spending more time at Ramshackle, Sebek appoints himself as your “overseer” to ensure you don’t lead his young master astray. You, however, are less than thrilled about having an overly loud half-fae constantly critiquing your every move. But as time passes, Sebek finds himself watching over you just as fiercely as he does Malleus… and that’s a realisation he’s not quite prepared to face.

pairing: sebek zigvolt x gn!reader

warnings: threats of violence but no actual violence occurs, arguments (Sebek and Prefect mutually annoyed by the other)

word count: 2.8k

i like this one a lot. i am very proud of this one, especially the ending.

As the proud protector of Malleus Draconia, Sebek considered it his solemn duty to remain vigilant at all times. It did not matter that Master Lilia assured him Malleus could defend himself. It did not matter that Silver, his fellow knight-in-training, believed in letting their lord enjoy his friendship freely.

What mattered was that Malleus had been visiting you with increasing frequency.

And that was unacceptable.

Sebek had never understood why his young master was so taken with you: a mere human, a magicless one at that. It was one thing for Malleus to humour you with small talk, but now he visited the Ramshackle dorm regularly, staying for hours at a time. It was highly improper.

Suspicious, one might even say.

And so, Sebek took it upon himself to monitor the situation.

"Overseer is the word you’re looking for," you muttered, after the third day of him tailing you. "Or pest. Either one works."

Sebek huffed, crossing his arms. "It is my sworn duty to ensure that my lord’s time is not squandered on foolish endeavours. I shall not permit you to lead him astray with your human nonsense!"

You shot him a confused look. "He comes here of his own free will. What exactly do you think I’m doing to him?"

"That remains to be seen." Sebek narrowed his eyes at you. "And I intend to find out."

You only rolled your eyes at his response and went about your day.

If someone had told you months ago that Sebek Zigvolt—the loudest, most overbearing knight-in-training you ever had the misfortune to meet—would become a permanent fixture in your daily life, you would have laughed and maybe cried a little.

But there he was, standing stiffly in front of the Ramshackle dorm, arms crossed over his chest, his usual frown firmly in place.

"Human!" Sebek barked the moment you stepped outside. "You are two minutes late! A grave offence, considering I have taken it upon myself to ensure that you do not engage in any behaviours that could tarnish the reputation of Lord Malleus!"

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "Good morning to you too, Sebek."

He huffed, unimpressed by your lack of urgency. "Do not think your casual demeanour will fool me! My lord has deigned to visit this wretched dormitory far too often as of late, and as his loyal retainer, it is my sworn duty to monitor the situation." His sharp green eyes glowed. "That means keeping a close watch on you."

You groaned. "You make it sound like I’m up to something."

"Perhaps you are!"

"I'm not!"

"You could be!"

This was how it had been ever since Malleus had started visiting Ramshackle more frequently. Though you weren’t sure why the fae prince enjoyed your company so much but you welcomed his presence—he was far more pleasant than most of the student body. But apparently, his repeated visits had triggered some sort of protective instinct in Sebek, who, had decided that you required 'supervision'.

"You are simply too suspicious," Sebek continued, oblivious to the headache he was giving you. "A magicless human, yet somehow you have gained Lord Malleus’s favour! How? What is your scheme?"

"You keep talking about the same thing everyday. You keep talking about schemes and how you 'intend to find it'. How many times do I have to tell you that I don't have a scheme?!"

"Hm," Sebek squinted. "That is exactly what a scheming human would say."

You inhaled slowly through your nose. You were going to strangle him. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow either. But someday, when he least expected it. Or you'll glue his loud mouth shut, that will teach him to—

"What's all the yellin’ about?"

Grim poked his head out of the dorm’s doorway, ears flicking in irritation. "You’re makin’ a racket first thing in the mornin’! Some of us need our sleep, y'know!"

Sebek straightened, placing a fist over his chest. "As the future King of Briar Valley’s retainer, it is my sworn–"

Grim groaned. "Yeah, yeah, we know already!"

You turned back to Sebek, tilting your head. "Don’t you have training to do?"

Sebek stiffened. "I— !" He shut his mouth abruptly, then squared his shoulders. "My training is of no concern to you! The only thing that matters is fulfilling my duty! And right now, that means ensuring you are not a bad influence on Lord Malleus!"

"If anyone's a bad influence, it’s him," you said with a teasing grin, eyeing his reaction carefully.

Sebek gasped, scandalized. "How dare you!"

Grim cackled at your suffering. You were pretty sure he only put up with Sebek’s visits because he got enjoyment out of you and Sebek butting your heads together. But you didn't find it entertaining when all he did was shout and insult you. He refused to call you by anything except 'human', as if it was all you were.

It was safe to say that you were quite irritated. You could never look at him in a positive light ever.

Sebek was frustrating. Sebek was loud. Sebek was persistent. Sebek was obnoxious.

And at that moment, you wanted nothing more than to fight him.

"You are insufferable!" You shouted at him, fingers curling into fists at your sides. "Do you even hear yourself? ‘Oh, human, you are this! You are that! And Lord Malleus is the best!’ It’s all you ever talk about! You’re like a broken record– no, worse!"

Sebek scoffed, entirely unfazed by your outburst. "That is where you are wrong, human! My vocabulary is vast and refined, far beyond the comprehension of someone as unlearned as you!"

"Sevens!" You threw your hands in the air. "Do you ever shut up?"

Sebek raised his chin proudly. "Silence is the refuge of the weak! A true knight must always make his words known, lest his foes believe him to be unloyal to his master!"

"That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

"That is because you are ignorant!"

You clenched your jaw, vision blurring with anger. Your fingers twitched, itching to do something, you weren’t sure what, but the thought of grabbing him by the collar and shaking him like a dusty rug was becoming more and more appealing by each passing second. You were thankful Grim was away with Ace and Deuce otherwise he would witness seeing you like this.

You huffed and glared at him, cracking your knuckles.

Sebek, however, only arched a brow. "Resorting to petty violence? Hmph. How weak."

That snapped you right out of it.

You blinked, stunned. "What?"

"Only those who lack true conviction resort to meaningless aggression." He crossed his arms, looking down at you. "It is the way of cowards and fools. Do you count yourself among them?"

You were offended by the insult, but the sharpness of your anger had dulled into utter shame at his words.

Because he was right, was he not?

You weren’t actually going to hit him, obviously, but the fact that you wanted to, that you had let his words get under your skin so easily, was… disappointing, to say the least. Sebek was always loud, always frustrating, always managed to ruin your mood. But you have met and handled worse. Sevens, you handled overblots and survived.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your fingers to uncurl. "No," you muttered, feeling very ashamed. "I don’t."

Sebek nodded approvingly. "Good. Then do not entertain such foolish impulses again."

You stared at him, feeling a little stupefied and a little stupid too. Was this his way of giving you advice? Either way, you didn’t have the energy to argue. You rubbed your temples, willing away the headache that had begun forming the moment your day started.

A moment of silence passed between you, something exceedingly rare when Sebek was involved. You took the opportunity to actually think about him, not just react to him.

Yes, he was frustrating. Yes, he was loud. Yes, he was Sebek. But he wasn’t… bad.

In fact, if you were being honest with yourself, he had a lot of admirable traits.

Like how he never hurt you despite all your teasing.

He was dedicated.

Despite his self-imposed ‘duty’ to oversee you, his devotion to Malleus was something to be respected. He had a fierce, unwavering loyalty, no matter how many times Lilia or Silver reminded him that Malleus was perfectly capable of handling himself. And he cared about Lilia and Silver too.

He was disciplined.

Sebek trained harder than most people you knew. He was always striving to improve. Every day, rain or sunshine, he pushed himself to his limits, all for the sake of his duty, his purpose.

He was honest.

Blunt to the point of rudeness, but never deceitful. You never had to wonder what Sebek was thinking, because he would always tell you, loudly and without hesitation. There was something strangely refreshing about that.

He was–

You stopped yourself before that list could grow any longer. You weren’t about to start appreciating Sebek of all people. That was a slippery slope line of thinking.

You sighed, glancing back at him. He was studying with his arms still crossed, back straight and brows furrowed. His words had stopped your anger in its tracks and made you self-reflect for the first time in weeks.

How annoying.

You weren’t sure what everything swirling in your brain meant, but you had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you found yourself looking at Sebek Zigvolt in a different light.

At some point, his watchfulness became less about scrutinizing you and more about… keeping track of you.

He started noticing things.

Like how often you skipped meals because Ramshackle’s kitchen was barely functional, resorting to whatever meagre snacks you could scrounge up with whatever thaumarks you had left.

Or how you always walked back to your dorm alone at night, braving that despite being a magicless human surrounded by rowdy students with magic with a thirst for fighting, without a second thought.

Or how you always made sure Grim was fed before yourself and how much you cared for your two Heartslabyul friends.

And before he could process why, Sebek started adjusting his behaviour. He never outright admitted to caring (of course not!) but he made certain adjustments.

If you skipped meals, he would grumble about "humans being weak and requiring sustenance", before reluctantly shoving some of his own food towards you. More often than not, he would 'accidentally' have extra food which he would always shove towards you.

If you walked alone at night, he would happen to take the same path, even if Ramshackle and Diasomnia were nowhere near. He would be loudly declaring, "It would be disgraceful if a knight-in-training allowed even a measly human to fall prey to the dark!"

If you were exhausted, he would scoff at your lack of endurance but also quiet down and maybe even shut his mouth, allowing you rare moments of peace.

Sebek did not understand why he was acting this way.

It was simply logical, was it not? He was tasked with ensuring Malleus Draconia’s safety, and his young master had chosen to spend an inordinate amount of time in the company of this human.

Of course, Sebek needed to oversee you! Who knew what sort of foolishness you might drag Malleus into? What nonsense you might fill his head with? It was a matter of responsibility as a knight.

…then why did it feel like his concerns had little to do with Malleus anymore?

He realised the way his feet would naturally fall into step beside yours. He would walk past the Ramshackle dormitory unknowingly, he would feel a prickle of irritation when someone spoke dismissively of you.

Most troublingly, he realised it in the way he no longer thought of you as a nuisance.

No, you were still a frustrating, stubborn and reckless magicless human prone to nonsense. But you were capable. You were not without merit.

You had faced trials beyond anything most students could imagine, overcoming adversity despite your lack of magic, despite the odds stacked against you. You were far stronger than he had ever given you credit for.

It was that, surely, that kept drawing his attention.

But he would do nothing of it. He was here to serve the future King of Briar Valley, and you would be a distraction.

So, he avoided those thoughts until Malleus was the one to talk with him.

"Sebek, you have taken quite the liking to the Child of Man." Malleus stated.

"SUCH A STATEMENT– THAT IS… THAT IS ABSURD!"

"Oh? Are you saying I am wrong?" Malleus smiled.

"NO, THAT IS NOT WHAT I–"

Malleus, still smiling, rested his chin on his hand. "I see no issue, Sebek. In fact, if you wished to court them, you would have my blessing."

Sebek made a strangled noise.

Sebek had started avoiding you. Not in an obvious way, he still encountered you, but he cut interactions short. He kept his distance, and the most alarming was that he was quieter.

You noticed it immediately. Of course, you would, there was always this silence Sebek filled when Ace and Deuce were not around and now that he wasn't there, you were starting to sort of miss him.

And so, for the first time since this entire mess started, you sought him out.

"What’s wrong with you?" you approached him in the halls during the interval between classes.

"What?! What nonsense are you spouting now, prefect?"

"You’ve been acting weird." You crossed your arms. "Avoiding me. Being quiet."

Sebek scowled. "I do not avoid you!"

"Oh, so now you also lie?"

His jaw tightened. "No, I–"

He stopped. You stared at him.

"… Malleus gave me his blessing."

"Blessing? For what? And isn't getting a blessing from him a good thing?"

At your words, Sebek looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. His jaw clenched, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, and his entire body radiated tension. He looked as if he was about to argue.

But he didn't.

"It is a good thing. Ordinarily," he said stiffly.

Ordinarily.

You frowned, tilting your head. "So, what is the issue? What did Malleus give you his blessing for?"

Sebek's lips parted, then pressed into a firm, thin line. His hands flexed, then clenched.

"TO COURT YOU!"

The words exploded from him, echoing down the hall with enough volume to startle a group of passing students. Several heads turned in alarm, a fellow first-year yelped and nearly dropped their stack of books.

You, meanwhile, could only stare.

Sebek looked worse than you. His fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body wound tight like a coiled spring. His face was flushed, and for all his usual bluster, there was embarrassment clearly printed onto his face.

Sebek liked you. He had grown to care for you. And now he was waiting—tense, flustered, expecting you to reject him, to throw it in his face, to laugh. And maybe you would have rejected him months ago. But not now.

You didn’t know what you wanted, exactly, but you did know you didn’t want to dismiss this.

So, carefully, you said, "Sebek."

His gaze locked to yours.

You exhaled, tilting your head slightly. "And… what do you want?"

That, apparently, was not what he had been expecting. His brows knit together, his lips parting slightly. "What?"

"You told me what Malleus said." You let your hands fall to your sides. "But what about you?"

Sebek’s mouth opened. Shut. Then opened again. His ears were tinged pink, and for a brief moment, he actually looked adorable.

Then, in a voice that was quieter than you had ever heard from him, he admitted, "… I do not know."

After a moment, you nodded. "Okay."

Sebek blinked. "Okay?"

"Okay." You shrugged. "I think I like you, but I don't know what I want either. So, how about we become friends who happen to like each other, and then we figure things out?"

You extended your hand towards him, a bright smile on your face.

Sebek stared at your outstretched hand as if it were some foreign object. His fingers twitched at his sides, his posture rigid. For a long moment, he did not move. You began to wonder if you had overstepped, if this was too much for him. And then, just as you were about to lower your hand, Sebek grasped it.

His grip was strong, steady, but not crushing. His palm was rough with callouses from years of training.

Sebek swallowed, his expression still caught somewhere between bewilderment and a barely-contained emotion you couldn't name. "Then… we shall figure it out."

You smiled. "Yeah."

The bell rang, signalling the end of the break. Sebek released your hand, clearing his throat with a sharp exhale. He straightened his posture even further, if that was even possible, and turned on his heel.

"I shall walk you to your next class!" he declared, voice regaining some of its usual fervour. "It would be disgraceful to allow someone so reckless to wander about unsupervised!"

You laughed, "Right. Of course."

As you fell into step beside him, you noticed he was walking closer to you than before.

#[𓇼] The Steambird's latest #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst sebek

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nichuuu · 2 years ago

Text

Beats Me - 6: Come As You Are

Word count: 8k+

Of course, there’s a chance to turn away from all of this—a chance to stop her hand as it reaches the base of your shaft, a chance to halt her in the midst of tiptoeing to place a peck on your neck; there’s a clear opportunity for you to end what’s happening right here and now—it’s all a matter of how willing you are to go through with this. While your brain screams at you to stop, your body says otherwise; you lift a hand to cup her cheek.

As you tell her, “Just for tonight,” a wisp of a smile appears on her face, and you wonder, What am I doing.

---------

A call from Kim Minju at this hour is never good news.

To give context: It’s one in the morning on a Saturday. Office workers and the youth above the legal age for drinking are patronising drinking spots, throwing back a couple of beers and basking in the euphoria that alcohol brings them. Perhaps they're using alcohol to cope with the stress of their lives, or maybe they're trying to numb the pain of recent difficult experiences. In both cases, emotions are running high, alcohol is coursing through their systems, memories are resurfacing, and maybe, just maybe, tears are streaming down their cheeks—nothing too out of the ordinary. If you were to receive a call from anyone else at this hour, you would've thought it a request to be escorted back home, or a soused friend dialling in to say incomprehensible things before truncating the call.

But for more context: Kim Minju has been the bearer of bad news since highschool. If you are to combine this with the information above, you know that something has probably gone down, and you’re the only man she can trust to help them. She never calls you on a whim; every call from her is a desperate cry for help.

As you stare at her caller ID on your phone that vibrates on the table like it’s possessed, you start steeling yourself for what is to come. You’re hesitant to answer, but basic human decency gets the better of you. You can hear the deafening roar of club music in the background when you pick up, and Minju’s yelling into the phone. Even in the quiet of your apartment, you can’t make heads or tails of what she’s trying to convey to you. Even as you holler I can’t hear you at the top of your lungs, she continues to blabber her intelligible words over the pulsing bass of that horrible song that’s playing in the background.

Then it suddenly gets quiet on the other end, and for a moment, you only hear the sound of your heartbeat crunching in your ears. When Minju speaks again, you can hear the wind blowing by in the background, your indication that she’s exited the club. Her voice rings loud and clear in your apartment.

“Eunbi’s driving to your place, she’ll explain everything,” she’s telling you. “She’ll text when she arrives, get ready to be picked up.”

The urgency in her voice drives you to acquiescence, and you throw on a hoodie and some sweatpants. Couple of minutes later, you’re seated in the front seat of your singer’s car. She’s running you down on the events that have occurred tonight, and the multiple mentions of Chaewon makes your heart sink further and further.

It was enough dealing with her in the band. That shrill frequency she could produce with that trumpet was often aptly used to deafen you whenever she could (she sat on your direct right so she could be a bitch with ease). The bowl she used to collect her saliva was often “accidentally” (the way she said that word with such bogus innocence really brought you to your boiling point sometimes) spilt on to the leg of your jeans when you walked by, her trumpet case “coincidentally” (again, bogus innocence with this one) be in the way of your shin as you tried to get to your kit. Her behaviour wasn’t the culprit behind your irritance towards her, rather the fact that her behaviour failed to reflect what she had requested for when the two of you schismed—a clean break.

“She’s thrown up twice now.” Eunbi’s tone is a mish-mash of frustration and commiseration, “She refuses to move, and she's been groped twice. We don’t mean to drag you into this, but you’re the last feasible option.”

There’s an odd feeling of nihility in your chest as the two of you come to a stop at a red light. In the band, you dealt with her on a physical level. But when Kim Chaewon and alcohol merge, you know that you’ll have to deal with her on an emotional level, and that somehow fails to engender any spite or frustration of the ilk. The silence that hangs in the car is unsettling in light of the confusing sensations you’re experiencing (and also due to the fact that usually chatty Eunbi is finding it hard to start a conversation in this atmosphere), yet you find that you’re poised.

“I’m uh… I’m actually your highschool senior,” Eunbi decides to input, “I used to go to the same school as you, Chaewon and Minju…”

You remain reticent. Eunbi takes the cue and returns her eyes to the road.

The bouncer almost didn’t let you in because of your shabby fit, but a quick wink and a, he’s with me, from Eunbi was enough to get him to let you through. You easily spot Minju amidst club-goers once you get in. Those long, luscious jet black locks that flow just past her shoulders and those large round eyes that always seem to be doleful quickly catch your attention as you wade through the sea of people together with Eunbi. She looks the same as she did all those years ago. She stands when you approach; Kim Chaewon’s slumped over the table they’re at.

“Thank god you’re here.” Her expression tells you that she’s been through quite the ordeal tonight. “I… I hope you understand that—”

She stops mid sentence when you hold up a hand. You understand that such a gesture is impertinent of you, but you can’t help it—there’s too much to process, too much to take in, and a club isn’t the best place to assimilate it all (or to find a lover, an ex lover in this case). Minju steps aside, and you take a moment to look at the sorry sight of your ex—face down on the table of the booth seat and an empty shot glass in hand.

“What do you want me to do?” you ask them. The two girls look at each other, then Minju tells you to do whatever it takes to get her out of here.

So there you are—contemplating on whether you should dump a bucket of ice on her or gently wake her up. Basic human decency gets the better of you, and you slide onto the couch next to Chaewon, gently tap the bare shoulder that’s exposed in her outfit. When she raises her head off the sticky, glossy table, you’re momentarily reminded of the countless times you’d woken her up in the same way when she fell asleep in the school library.

Then those eyes—half-lidded and swimming in tears—lock onto yours. The volume of her voice pales in comparison to the blaring House remix of the Barbie theme, yet when she calls your name, it’s the only thing you can hear. She shifts closer—close enough to rest her head on your shoulder, close enough for you to smell the vodka on her breath as she silently sobs against you; Don’t go, don’t leave, she slots in between those heart wrenching cries. Right now: emotions are running high, alcohol is coursing through her system, memories are resurfacing, and tears are definitely streaming down their cheeks.

Eunbi and Minju look on in silence. Eunbi’s lips are pursed, Minju’s eyes are somehow more doleful. Their looks are doing nothing to assuage the turmoil that you’re feeling. You find yourself saying things that you were never prepared to say.

“She can stay at my place for the night… I doubt she’d want to go anywhere else.”

They look apprehensive, but deep down—they know you’re right.

***

“Uh… Are you sure you want to present this?”

Chaewon looks up from her presentation script to give a simple, “Hm?”. You were scratching your head as you read over the vivid description of Kurt Cobain's death that she’d included. It detailed the nature of his death, the brutal imagery of small, tiny shotgun pellets blowing a hole through the skull of Nirvana’s frontman on the night of his suicide described in an unnaturally calm tone, as if people shooting themselves through the head with a shotgun was an everday occurance.

“I mean…” You were doing your best to not sound reprehensive, “I don’t think Miss Kim would appreciate the… Visceral imagery.”

Her look was one of innocence as she asked, why not, and proceeded to further justify her vivid depiction (her argument was that Lee Chaeyeon had presented on Aviccii’s death in equal vividness and your teacher enjoyed it). The theme of the presentations for the week was “the talented die young”, and she’d decided to talk about one of her favourite bands at the time. She was blasting their hit song Smells Like Teen Spirit through the speaker in her room, and you were finding it hard to focus over all that grunge (you didn’t tell her of course, cause that would’ve made her pouty for the rest of the day).

That was one of your fondest memories from dating her. It showed you her tenacity and her stubbornness in insisting that she was correct. It showed you just how determined and strong-willed she could be. You found that you could still recall every detail of that moment as vividly as she described Cobain's death while you watched her walk around your kitchen from the doorway to your room. Her hair is in disarray, the set of clothes that you’d passed her baggy on her slender frame. For the record: She knows how she got here, she knows where she is, she knows you’re awake, and she knows that you’re watching her. In spite of all this, her movements are calm, her hand taking its time to trail across your cabinets as her eyes slowly soak in her surroundings.

“You know, for someone that said that they wanted a clean break—you’re making things messier than they should be,” you can’t help but tell her. Her hand stops on the handle of your cabinet, her index finger affixing itself there for a minute as she lowers her head. With a sigh, you stuff your hands into your pockets and tell her, “Get out once your hangover wears off.”

You retreat back into your room to get some work done. When you emerge around lunchtime, you find that she’s taken liberties in your kitchen, a piping hot bowl of noodles sitting opposite her at your dining table as she silently slurps on a bowl of her own. You stand there for a moment, then you accost the eating space and stop just before her.

“Are you being for real?” You can’t help but let the revulsion seep into your words, “You’re telling me that your hangover has lasted this long?”

She’s unwontedly silent. Her pugnacious, bratty nature seems to have dissipated into thin air, replaced by one of taciturn and timidness as she stares blankly into her noodles. She doesn’t look up when you sigh and slide into the other seat, nor does she say anything when you start digging into the noodles that she’s prepared for you (you aren’t one to pass up on a free meal, even if it’s prepared by your ex).

It’s when you're halfway through your bowl that she finally pipes up, “thank you for taking me in.”

You go still for a moment.

Then you choose not to reply to her.

After washing up, you communicate to her that she has till sundown to leave your abode before you head back to your room. You know that she’s going to stay like that stubborn patch of mould beneath the snare drum in the recording studio when you hear her playing Smells Like Teen Spirit on her phone through the door. Once again, that damn song is reminding you of how tenacious and stubborn she can be. Those two traits of hers were really double edged swords for that woman.

Night comes; she still hasn’t left. When you exit your room, you find that she’s asleep on the floor. It seems that she’s found it congenial to sleep on the carpeted surface, even though the futon that you provided her last night is literally an arms length away from her sleeping body. Seeing her that way, you’re momentarily reminded of the times she’d stay over at your place while you were dating, and she’d choose to nap on the floor while you worked—even though the bed was empty. The reasons as to why she chose to do so are still unknown to this day—one of the many unsolved mysteries in your relationship, second only to why she’s being the way she is despite what the two of you have previously agreed on.

To be absolutely clear: the two of you know why you broke up. It wasn’t a case of a one-sided sudden change of heart; there was a reason behind it that you both understood (even though you did need a lot of time to come to terms with it). Yes, it was painful. Yes, it was unexpected. Yes, you did miss her for quite some time. But there wasn’t much you could do about it. She’d set her mind on the breakup, and her stubbornness and tenacity had her on wits end when you tried to talk to her.

Was there a possibility the two of you could’ve stayed together? Your answer—yes. Her’s—only God knows what goes through that confusing brain.

Once more, basic human decency drives you to do things you don’t want to, and you end up cooking a share of fried rice for her. You lay her bowl next to her on the floor along with a spoon before seating yourself at the dining table to eat. You’re about halfway through a video essay about some game you’ll never play when she stirs from her slumber.

She spots the bowl, then her gaze wanders to you. Silently, she picks it up and rises to her feet. Now it’s her turn to accost the eating space, except she isn’t belligerent, nor can you sense any hostile intentions.

“Can I sit?” She’s oddly genteel as she points at the chair opposite you. You’ll just end up sitting even if I say no, is your reply. She allows a soft, short chuckle before she slides in. You think about turning off the video essay, but then you decide to not let basic human decency get the better of you this once.

So with some random guy’s voice filling the air, you and Chaewon partake in your meals in silence. You try not to look at her, but you can’t help but throw a few glances her way as she eats. She decided to grow out her hair over the past few weeks, dye it auburn, and now it drapes elegantly past her shoulders like silky curtains. You can’t read her expression (though you never could to begin with), and you certainly can’t understand why she’s become so quiet. She’s trying to make you lower your guard, soften you up then launch some manipulation tactic is what you’re considering. You won’t put it past her to use a facade of milquetoast nature to try and break past your boundaries.

“I’ll be out by tomorrow morning,” she suddenly tells you. That was the first time you tore your gaze away from your phone for more than five seconds. How would one normally reply to such a statement? Oh, okay, seems to be one of the better options, yet you choose to go with, “Good, cause I’m not planning to overstay your welcome.”

Chaewon plucks a rice grain off her top lip. “But you’d let Eunbi or Ryujin stay, right?”

There you were, hoping that she’d be as timid and quiet as she’d been for the rest of the day. The nap must have gotten rid of the rest of the hangover, cause you can hear the haughtiness in her voice.

“Are we really going to have this conversation?” you ask her. The firm look she fixes you with tells you, I’m gonna run my mouth on you whether you like it or not.

“And here I was thinking you’re being a decent human for once,” you can’t help but mutter. “You’re fucking confusing you know that?”

She bristles in her seat. “You watch your fucking mouth player.”

You’re not one to take offence from such comments. Normally, you’d understand that in the heat of the moment, people can say hurtful things that they don’t mean. It’s natural, completely natural—the adrenaline, the emotions, the tension… All of it can melt together in the form of nasty words that spew forth from a person’s mouth.

But when it comes from Kim Chaewon’s mouth however… You can’t seem to find that sympathy in you. She knows that you’ve slept with your singer and bassist, she knows that they’ve had you more than once—it’s right for her to feel this type of anger (even though the two of you aren’t even together anymore), yet there’s no part of you—not even a single atom—that wants to take the time to try to understand where she’s coming from and why she feels this way.

“Player?” You don’t mean to sound as pissed as you do. “Player?” you echo again, just for good measure, “What gives you the right to call me that? I’m not the one who couldn’t wait for their partner!”

“It was two years!” Chaewon cries.

“Well you could’ve at least tried.” You’re not even bothering to filter your words now. “You’re a hypocrite for calling me a player when you couldn’t even wait for me.”

“Two fucking years! Do you really expect me to close my heart to love for two whole years just so I can wait for you to get out of the damn military!” The way her tone conveys how right she thinks she is pisses you off, “I’m a human! I need love! Do you really expect me to wait for it for that long?”

She’s on her feet now, hands on your table, breaths heavy.

She screams, “It’s your fault for signing on so early! It’s your fault for ever thinking that I’d wait!”

You shoot up from your seat and cry, “Well then damn me for ever trying to believe in you!”

Her face contorts into a snarl. She skirts the table, accosts you with her arm whizzing through the air; she slaps you across the face. As the sting lingers on your cheek, you find your fingers curling into fists.

“You’re horrible!” She’s hollering at the top of her lungs, “I wish that I never met you!”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of her heavy breathing. Then those eyes—bulging in their sockets and swimming in tears—lock onto yours. She looks just as she did the night the two of you broke up: hair slightly messy, face twisted in a mix of woe and fury, right up in your face as her face starts to flush under the intense assault of emotions and thoughts. She’s close—close enough to grip you by your collar and pull you towards her, crush her lips against yours, kiss you like she did when you were teens.

And she does just that.

A soft cry slips past her lips, travels into your mouth as she kisses you; It feels exactly the same as it did all those years ago—the meraki, the slight tension in her upper lip, the light quiver in your bottom lip—a familiar comfort you had no idea you missed. Her small waist is captured in your grasp, your face in her hands as she pulls you deeper, kisses you harder. It was like she never left, like she never walked away from you because you had decided to enlist in compulsory military service early so that you could get it over and done with, like she never said, seeing you on the weekends isn't enough for me, I’m sorry. This won’t work out the way you think it will. Let’s just end things off here, nice and clean.

And get this: the whole moment is sweet and all, but deep down, there’s still a small flame of anger alit within you. Even though you kissed her back with equal vigour, you were silently cursing her for making things messier than it had to be; while your hands run through her hair, you find yourself berating her in your head for making you vacillate between missing her and hating her. You aren’t one to be flippant, but Chaewon had the tendency to bring out sides of you that you’ve never seen for yourself.

Her tongue dives into your mouth, her hand pressed flat against your chest. She’s tugging at the fabric of your shirt, and you’re not sure if she’s trying to pull you closer or signalling for you to take it off. You realise it’s the latter when she guides you hand beneath the fabric of the shirt you gave her, your fingertips grazing the soft skin beneath it. Your palm rests on the flesh of her waist. Her skin was warm to the touch.

Your mouths part, and you’re quick to ask, What the hell are we doing. She takes a second to catch her breath, then she replies, “I have no clue, but I’m not stopping whatever’s coming next.”

Going with the flow—that was so her.

You grasp onto the hem of her shirt and gently pull upwards. She’s quick to respond, raising her hands above her head for ease of removal. Then her hands are on your waist band, tugging down at your shorts while your hands skim across her bare skin. She pulls your underwear down together with your shorts, lets them fall and pool around your ankles; her hand is quick to grasp onto your throbbing shaft.

“Chae.” You can’t help but whisper your pet name for her. She starts placing kisses on your clothed chest, her other hand resting on your shoulder while the hand on your cock begins to stroke it with consideration. She leans in and whispers, “Can we pretend like we never left each other? Just for tonight?”

A foolhardy request. She doesn’t know what she’s doing by asking this of you, nor does she care to consider the possibility that the fulfilment of this request can and will invoke unwelcome emotions in both of you. Of course, there’s a chance to turn away from all of this—a chance to stop her hand as it reaches the base of your shaft, a chance to halt her in the midst of tiptoeing to place a peck on your neck; there’s a clear opportunity for you to end what’s happening right here and now—it’s all a matter of how willing you are to go through with this. While your brain screams at you to stop, your body says otherwise; you lift a hand to cup her cheek.

As you tell her, “Just for tonight,” a wisp of a smile appears on her face, and you wonder, What am I doing.

Her hand on your dick leaves to join and assist the other in undoing her bra. She lets the intimate garment fall to the floor before her, her bare breasts on full display. She’s certainly grown more voluptuous as compared to her eighteen-year-old self, and with that change you find an increase in desire for this woman before you. Chaewon cups her tits with her hands, lifts them up, then lets go; she’s putting on a sordid show.

“Christ.” Christians certainly wouldn’t approve your usage of the name of their saviour in this abhorrent, impure context. “You’ve… Grown.”

“Puberty works wonders, no?” She’s taken on a playful tone, one that she was always fond of using while the two of you were dating. “Feel them. I know you want to.”

No sane man would ever turn down such an invitation. You can feel her erect peaks poking against your palms as your fingers close around the mounds; your breath hitches when you realise how firm they’ve become. Her hands join yours on her breasts, aiding you and squeezing and kneading while she lets a sigh leave her lips. Then in a whisper, she tells you how much she’s missed this feeling—your hands caressing her just the way she likes, your breath in her ears as you silently play with her like you used to.

Then she asks you, “Do you ever think about me when you fuck those other girls?”

You consider your words carefully. If you’re to be perfectly honest, there were a few times where the sight of Ryujin’s rippling ass cheeks made you think about her; sometimes the way Eunbi moaned reminded you of her.

But if you’re supposed to pretend like you never left her, some teasing would have to come into play.

“Depends.” You’re not even trying to hide how smug you are, “In what way are we talking?”

She gives you a look, one that says, you cheeky little fucker, but she plays along of course, offering a soft, Hm, as she pretends to go pensive.

Let’s see—she speaks as she (much to your chagrin) practically rips your hands off her body, all so that she can start circling you—Do their moans sound as cute as mine? Are their bodies as tight as mine?

She leans in to pop the final question: Do their pussies feel as good as mine?

For the record: No to the first one, a fifty-fifty between yes and no on the second one (they all had amazing bodies). As for the last question, you couldn’t say (not because you didn’t have an answer, but more because ranking them in terms of how good they feel would be doing all of them an injustice).

Dunno, is the answer you offer her, then you follow up with, “Why don’t we find out?”

She smirks and rolls her eyes. “Segueing—impressive.”

“I’m a laconic man,” you tell her, and, Oh shut the hell up, is her reply as she takes you by the hand and drags you to your room.

It’s crazy to think that just mere minutes ago, she was on her feet, yelling at you and telling you how odious she finds you; now, she’s on her back, her head propped up against a pillow, still yelling, but she’s telling how good you’re making her feel—Fuck, and, Oh shit is all that’s really leaving her mouth, but the message is implicit—as your tongue applies painfully slow strokes to her soaking pink folds. The hand that slapped you is now scrunching up in your hair, the palm that made your cheek sting pushing your head against her crotch while her toes curl into your mattress. You’re wondering if she’s intentionally pitching up her voice as she moans, or if she’s purposely dragging out her sighs, but it doesn’t take away from the utter sublimity of the act.

Chaewon’s slick is sweet; it’s tangier than Eunbi’s and tickles your taste buds better than Ryujin’s—you won’t tell her this of course, but it’s not like you’ll have time to communicate all of this while your head being shoved into her pussy. Believe it or not—this is one of the calmer moments of pussy-eating that you’ve experienced, one of the rare occasions where you actually have time to savour the taste of your partner, assimilate the intimacy of it, a far cry from when you were with Eunbi or Ryujin, where the goal was always to make them cum as fast as possible because that’s what they’re craving for. But believe it or not—even though her needy actions make it seem as if she’s desperately chasing her high, Chaewon’s really just trying to make the most of each and every swipe of your tongue, enjoying the way it skirts her clit and laps up her juices that leak out from her pretty, pink folds; all while she’s squeezing her thighs around your ears and begging you, Oh god, put your fingers in me.

You start with your index finger, using the pad of it to trace the outline of her pussy. Then—just to make sure that she knows that it’s going in too—you let your middle finger join the fray. Your digits graze the skin around her flushed lips, taking their time to cover ground while Chaewon’s reduced to a moaning, mewling mess. What you’re really trying to do here is test the limits of her patience, see how much teasing that small, tight body can really take before her will breaks. It’s a sadistic game you’re playing, but you know that she’s enjoying it as much as you are, even though she is practically screaming at you to stick your digits inside her already.

If there’s anything that this world has taught you, it’s that patience is often rewarding. In this case: Chaewon’s patience was rewarded with the fulfilment of her request. The moan that leaves her half-parted lips is one of satisfaction as you dig your digits into her waiting depths, and they soak in her juices for a minute or two before they start to explore. Her nails dig into your scalp when your fingers dig into the soft flesh on the roof of her pussy. Your name flies out from her lips in a tone of surprise, like she’s taken aback by the fact you remember the exact spot inside her that makes her tick. The smugness on your face says it all, really, and you start to stimulate that spot of sensitive flesh.

“Oh… Oh my… Oh…” She’s barely able to form the simplest of words. The pleasure you’re providing is racing through her body, filling her from head to toe with perverse need and taking over her bodily functions. You’re not doing anything fancy down there; your fingers are just wiggling against the same spot—a simple action that makes her body react in all sorts of complicated ways: twisting, trembling, twitching… It’s working wonders really. You’re amazed that she’s still as sensitive as ever.

“Look at you Chae,” you can’t help but deride. “You’re getting so fucking turned by fingers. I don’t remember you being this needy.”

Even if she’s hellbent on retorting, there’s no space for words to leave her mouth—the moans are filling the space in her throat, bottlenecking and filtering out of her mouth in the form of strained cries. From the limited view between her thighs, you make out the image of her biting down on the nail of her index finger. Meanwhile, the nails in your head dig deeper into your scalp, hardly caring for the fact that they may be drawing blood as their owner manages to beg, Keep going.

Your mouth—now rested enough to continue—rejoins the busy scene; the drawn-out guttural gasp that slides out of her mouth tells you all you need to know—Oh my god. You’re driving me crazy—and you can’t help but smile at the sight of her pleasure stricken face. Chaewon’s barely keeping it together at this point, the dignity that tightly wraps her body is slowly loosening—unravelling at the mercy of your mouth and fingers. The haughtiness, the sheer brattiness—crumbling under the sensations that overwhelm every fibre of her body; now that these perverse thoughts have entered your mind, you find that a dark part of you longs to own her, right here, right now. But of course, patience is rewarding.

You’re willing to wait.

To say that you’re taking your time to eat her out would be inaccurate. If you’re to be honest, it’s difficult to describe the pace you’re using. Inside of her, your index and middle finger move frenetically, as if you are using them to press the same key on a piano repeatedly to produce the same note—her moans. Outside her, your tongue’s movements are almost sluggish, the broad base of it dragging up her flushed lips before the tip flicks the swollen nub at the top. You’re fully invested, scrupulously ensuring the uniformity of your movements to drive Chaewon to perdition. The movements are neither simple nor complex, rather a middle ground between the two (but you do feel that it leans more towards the former), but it’s enough to drive her crazy. Even if she’s a complicated mess to deal with, deep down—she still enjoys some form of simplicity.

“Baby.” The way Chaewon’s calling you sends a shiver down your spine, stirring the emotions in your chest and letting some nostalgia bubble up from the depths of it, “I-I’m… I’m…”

Cumming, you complete just as her head violently whips back into the pillow. Then, in arguably the hottest ways possible, Kim Chaewon orgasms. Her thighs clamp around your head, becoming earmuffs as an onslaught of juices assail your mouth. You can hear her mewling past the flesh that surrounds your ears, and the muffled sound is enough to deluge your heart with depraved satisfaction while her body twitches, convulses and strains violently. The last vestiges of dignity that once enveloped her have fallen away, carried off by the sighs and cries escaping from her trembling lips, and as you lift your mouth of her soaking slit and withdraw your juice-slicked fingers, you know that she’s reached a point of no return.

Patience is truly so rewarding.

“Jesus…” she pants. Once again, believers probably wouldn’t approve of the usage of his name in this context, but something has to cleanse the filth from her body, “When did you get so good at this?”

“Always have been,” you grin. You can tell she wants to roll her eyes, but she hardly has the strength to do so. For a tender moment, you gaze into each other’s eyes and appreciate this moment of inexplicable intimacy, re-living the emotions that were once so present between the two of you. It’s just for tonight. After this, we’ll go back to fighting, you’re telling yourself, and it makes you want to stay like this for a little longer.

But when Chaewon flips herself over onto her belly, the warmth in your chest is shut out and replaced by warped desire. With the tender cheeks of her ass on full display, Chaewon wiggles her behind, inviting you to take your liberties with her body. You take a moment to admire how full they’ve become.

“Been working on it?” you ask her as you squeeze a handful of flesh.

“To the best of my ability,” is her reply, followed by, “you like it?”

Your reply is to deliver a soft spank to the right ass-cheek. She barely even yelps upon contact, a small grin on her face as she watches you spread the flesh apart to reveal her entrances. Then she urges you, “Come on now… Pick a hole, fuck it till you fill it with your cum.”

“What if I want both?” You can’t help but be a little cheeky. Chaewon’s bottom lip furls behind her front teeth.

“I’m not stopping you,” she whispers, “just promise me to cum in me.”

Not a trace of dignity in her words.

Alright, is what you tell her before your head slips inside of her pussy. You can pinpoint the exact moment where her body almost becomes the only thing to exist in your mind—it’s when those walls clamp down around your shaft, pulsing ever so slightly and still twitching from her orgasm, and it’s enough to make you clench all your muscles while you hilt yourself in her. The sigh you let out hardly synchronises with Chaewon’s gasp. Yet, you find that your thoughts are perfectly in sync as your hands grip onto her small waist, and she props herself up on her elbows and knees. Her hair falls off her back, cascading down her shoulders as she turns her head, catches your gaze to tell you—Own this pussy.

No more words need be said. Eagerly, you begin to pump yourself in and out of Chaewon’s slick, tight pussy, her body tightening around your cock with every thrust in and out, lathering your length with juices that glisten in the low light of your room. The sound of her sighs and gasps quickly rise in volume, a beautiful backdrop to the sounds of your wet shaft penetrating her slick pussy again and again.

You’ve already lost yourself in her from the moment you stuck your member into her, but you find your grasp on reality somehow slipping further and further with each thrust you make into that amazingly tight body. It’s the nostalgia—that feeling of being able to hold her again, the feeling of being able to fuck her like you did on those nights after you graduated high school, those nights where her parents weren’t home and she wanted you in ever way possible—that’s making you sink deeper and deeper into this new reality that is Kim Chaewon’s body.

Then her moans start once more; you give in to the carnal emotions that you’ve been doing a really bad job at suppressing, and almost at once, Chaewon becomes the only thing that matters. Her flesh suddenly feels softer than before, her moans and sighs and cries sounding closer and closer to a melody than a haphazard arrangement of notes, and when she rasps for you to fuck her harder, you’re quick to oblige.

Screw patience, you’re going to take what’s yours right here and now.

Your hands drift up from her waist, grip her shoulders and pull her till her body is almost upright. Your left hand slides down, wraps around her flat tummy; your right follows suit—you’re practically hugging her. Chaewon’s arms reach behind her, lock themselves around your neck and pull her face closer to yours. She doesn’t turn to kiss you—that’d take too much energy, energy that she would rather put into moaning—so you settle on capturing her earlobe between your lips, sucking on it softly while she starts to moan your name. Then, her confessions start.

I’ve missed this, I’ve missed you… Oh god, I fucking missed the way your cock stretched me out. So good… So fucking good… This pussy was made for your cock.

Those were just some of the many things you managed to make out. The words were hastily assembled, phonics loosely strung together, and then expelled from those beautiful pink lips in a precipitate manner. There were other things like: I love you, I fucking love you and Oh God I love you as well, but your tried not to make to much of it. Even though you’re lost in paradise, lost in her body, your subconscious is still actively fighting to keep her influence out of your head. Things are already messy—both figuratively and literally—as they are, and the last thing you need is to fall in love with memories of Chaewon while you’re fucking her in such a callous, unrelenting manner. Sex and alexithymia towards an ex is never a good combination—yet here you are, rearranging the insides of Kim Chaewon after agreeing to whatever it was you agreed to before you started (it’s not because you chose to forget, but because you truly can’t remember anything past the point where you stepped through the doorway to your bedroom).

You push away the thoughts (for now), letting them exit your body together with the growl that you release into her ear—Chaewon, why are you so fucking wet?—as your shaft continues to plunge itself between her slick, wet folds. The cheeks of her ass ripple deliciously with each strike of your crotch against hers, eliciting a raunchy exclamation from her body each time she hilts you to the base of your cock. You’re not going particularly fast—Chaewon suddenly has the capacity to reply, I’m always wet for you, baby—but you’re so utterly deep inside her that it’s driving the both of you to perverted elation. The position compromises your speed, but you know for a fact that Chaewon is more than happy to make the trade off, savouring the feel of every inch of you filling her insides at a considerate yet fervent pace.

“Baby.” Her pet name for you is really doing dangerous things to your feelings, “Harder. Let me feel all of you, just like last time.”

She turns her head to meet your gaze, and it’s only then that you see the tears streaming down her cheeks. Your best guess: just like how nostalgia has its effect on you, it's impacting her too. Her emotions are being dallied with, just as yours are. She’s feeling things that she can’t describe, and she doesn’t know if it’s the rock-hard meat drilling in and out of her that’s making her feel this way, or if it's the fact that she may very well be falling for you again. You may never fully comprehend the intricate workings of human emotions, but as you lean in and gently draw her lips to yours, you hope to help her make sense of her feelings.

Why does she always make things messier than they have to be, your asking yourself, all while her hand finds your left cheek, gripping it tightly as your lips part and she whispers, “Fucking own me. Make this pussy yours, just like you used to.”

Just like last time, just like you used to—two statements that unwittingly conveyed that she’s dabbling in the past in a foolhardy manner. Damn it Chae… Why are you doing this? You’re thinking, even as you’re riotously making her bouncing breasts you handlebars, pinching her stiff peaks with between the gap of your middle and forefinger as you double down on her. You’re wondering, Why do you have to make this so damn complicated, as she leans back into you, and you mark the skin of her neck with your lips. Why couldn’t you just wait for me? Things wouldn’t have to be this way if you just had some damn patience, you’re pondering, all while she starts to throw herself back onto your cock. It’s hard to tell if she truly understands the emotional state she’s put herself in, you tell yourself. The irony of this statement is not lost on you, and you’re inwardly chortling at yourself as you pull yourself out of your own head.

You return to reality, and you find that Chaewon’s cumming once more. Did she announce its arrival? You don’t know. All you know is that her pussy is tightening rapidly around you, her body is shivering and shuddering against you, and her knees start giving out on her. You steady her against your chest, slowing yourself to a halt as you realise how dangerously close to the edge you are.

When she taps you on the knee, you take it as a sign to gently lay her back down on the bed. With her belly flat against the mattress, Kim Chaewon reaches behind her and spreads her asscheeks with her fingers. She gives you the slightest of nods; you pull out of her freshly fucked pussy, point the head of your cock at the opening of her ass, and begin to press forward.

Chaewon gasps as your head presses against her tight opening, her body refusing to let you in at first—but you press forward with your hips, slowly parting her entrance. Chaewon squirms and quivers as her opening slowly parts, and soon you are finally inside her. Her hands tighten into fists, scrunching up your bed sheets; a grimace of pain overtakes her partially turned head as you penetrate her ass for the first time. She lets a long hiss escape her lips, and you lean down to kiss the back of her head in an attempt to comfort her, bringing your left hand to match hers on the bed, covering her small hand with your own.

Soon you are halfway inside her ass, and you go no further, letting her get used to the new penetration. When you stop moving, Chaewon lets out a long breath that she didn’t know she was holding.

“You okay?” You’re checking on her out of genuine concern. It’s basic human decency, you’re trying to tell yourself, but you have a sinking feeling that she’s unknowingly broken past your defences.

“Fuck,” she spits, “fuck you’re so big inside me.”

“Do you want to—”

“Fuck no,” she snaps, “fuck, please don’t stop. I want this. I want you. I want you in my ass.”

The soft sigh you let out makes the hair atop her head flail a little as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. She isn’t crying anymore, but she certainly seems a little embarrassed that she let her emotions get the better of her.

“Keep going.” She can’t seem to raise her head as she speaks, “Fill me, please…”

Basic human decency drives you to compliance, and so you press forward—all the while, your eyes are affixed to the back of her head, your left hand still grasping hers while she shifts around slightly, adjusting herself to take you in better. The small yelps she occasionally lets slip tells you that she’s in discomfort, but not enough to make you stop entering her asshole. It’s too late to turn back now anyway.

It felt like years, but soon you're fully inside her, buried to the hilt inside Chaewon’s ass.

You slowly draw your shaft outside of Chaewon’s tightly gripping ass for the first time, and once it is halfway out, you slowly push back inside her. She's a quivering and squirming mess, and soon you are slowly pumping in and out of her body, your pace relaxed as you enjoy the tight, hot flesh of Chaewon’s body wrapped around your cock. You’re glad that the sheer sublimity of the sensation is removing your ability to think, allowing you to steep yourself in the moment with a turmoil free mind.

Chaewon’s tightness is overwhelming to say the least. Her pussy was tight, but her ass on another level altogether. Not as wet, of course, but almost overwhelmingly tight and hot, grasping you tightly with each entrance and exit like a glove. This would be the first time you’re entering her like this, and you aren’t sure if you’re doing it right, but soon she’s taking you in and out of her ass smoothly, the pain and discomfort of your initial penetration quickly lessening and giving way to the novel, new sensation of pleasure from having her ass filled.

Chaewon lets a short, sharp gasp escape her lips when you fill her to the hilt—one that takes her by surprise given the slight look of shock that you make out on her features. You reach down with your right hand, gingerly grip her chin and tilt her face up so you can get a better look at her face. Her eyes are glazed over now with pleasure, locking to yours as you start pumping in and out of her asshole. After a while her gasps lessen and then end completely as she becomes used to the hard length pumping in and out of her butt. She reaches up with her right hand to hold yours, and she pulls it down her chin until it’s at her throat. You didn’t know she was into choking, and she had never made you do it before. Then again, you’ve never had her ass before either—there’s a first for everything.

You feel her warm neck pulsing beneath your palm. She squeezes the outside of your hand slightly, causing you to clamp a little bit around her slim neck. The slightly reduced airflow at her throat causes her ass to clench even tighter around you: succulent pleasure to your mind that makes you think you are going insane. The novelty of fucking Chaewon’s ass, your hand around her throat, the carnality, the surprising tenderness of the moment–it’s all so damn overwhelming.

“C-Chae,” you call out to her. Her gaze flickers from the wall to your eyes, and you whisper, “Do you… Do you really want me to—”

“Just fucking do it!” Chaewon gasps, barely attempting to filter the want out of her voice, “Choke me! Cum in me!”

With her permission, you were more than willing to let yourself fall over the edge at this point.

Chaewon’s hand—the one that stops your hand at her throat—tightens, as though willing you to increase your grip on her windpipe. You are still afraid of hurting her—you already feel guilty for causing her pain and discomfort (physically and emotionally). But her hand on top of yours, clasped around her throat, dismissed any worry you may have had about taking things too far. Your orgasm beckons, and the hand around Chaewon’s pale throat tightens involuntarily with each thrust in her hot, tight hole.

Do it… own me—her voice is straining—Make yours again. Choke me while you fuck my ass… Use me! Fill me… Fill my ass with your cum!

With a few final, short, hard thrusts into Chaewon’s ass, you bury yourself as deep inside her as you can before finally letting go. Thick, hot cum spurts from your shaft into Chaewon’s willing depths, her hot, tight ass squeezing and pulsing around your cock as if milking every last drop from you. As you cum, your hand around her throat involuntarily tightens, and the moan that escapes Chaewon’s throat turns into a gasp—the dark part of you takes obscene pleasure in that fact.

Both of your bodies quiver and shake as the intense pleasure of your orgasm overwhelms your senses. It seems to last forever—longer than any other orgasm you’ve had. Nothing else exists for those long seconds, aside from Chaewon’s shaking body beneath you and the hot mess you’ve made inside her.

Your cock pulses a few final times as your orgasm slowly subsides and releases the last spurts of cum into Chaewon’s body and you regretfully come down from your high. After a few more seconds of treasuring the feel of the hot, creamy mess you’ve left inside her, you slowly draw your half-soft cock out of her body. Within seconds, white, pearly semen begins to leak out of her and onto the reddened, sore cheeks of her ass. Your eyes remain glued to Chaewon’s still-quivering form as she tries and mostly fails to collect herself. Slowly, she turns on her side, her whole body heaving like she’s completed a marathon. Her inner thighs glisten, your juices and hers flow down her naked skin. It's now that you remember what you agreed to before you started: Just for tonight…

“Hey…” Her voice has a lilt as she beckons you to her side. “Cuddle with me… Just for tonight.”

There she goes again.

Yeah, right... you sigh inwardly. The way she's looking at you tells you that the feelings brought forth tonight will persist as long as she permits. Maybe, just maybe, you should have turned her down, made her come as she was, and kept her at a distance; but she’s already snuggled up in your arms by the time you finish this train of thought. She kisses you on your jaw, then on your neck, then utters a soft good night baby before nuzzling herself into the crook of your neck.

Physically and emotionally, you've made a mess of her. And, in turn, she's made a mess of you too—physically and emotionally.

But you choose to forget that, just for tonight.

***

She slips out of your apartment at God knows what time, leaving like a thief in the night and leaving a note in her wake: I took one of your shirts. Will return it if I feel like it.

Then below the message: P.S. Forget that last night happened. Go continue being a player.

“I… Can’t believe this bitch.” You’re leaning against the door—the place where she’d stuck on the note—as you finish reading it. You decide to crumple it and toss it away—it’s the easiest thing to forget about her anyway.

To be clear: You had no clue what your opinion on Chaewon was anymore, nor did you know what your status with her was (though the note suggests that she’s going to return to her usual bratty behaviour). Sometimes, you wish that there could be a bright digital sign perpetually hanging above her head, providing interpretations to her erratic behaviour.

Yea… That would be great.

Just as you throw out her bowl of fried rice, there comes a knock on your door. You’re surprised to find Hwang Yeji standing there by herself.

“O-Oh… Yeji,” you mutter.

“That has to be the most asinine statement I’ve ever heard,” she derides. You purse your lips and scratch the back of your head, then you ask, “Do you uh… Need to borrow something?”

Yeji sighs and shakes her head. She’s quick to get to the point, “Are you free this afternoon?”

You nod, then she tells you, “I need you to follow me somewhere today. Meet me in the lobby at 3pm.”

She’s about to leave you with that vague request, but you’re quick to ask what this is about. It’s unwonted of her to suddenly request to meet you, and you’re painfully aware (or at least you thought you were) that she knows that this is unprecedented of her. Laconic and biting as ever, she turns back to you and tells you: I need you to help me talk to someone.

“W-Who?” You’re quick to ask. She turns her back to you as she answers.

“My junior. She wants to be our saxophonist.”

_________________________

What is popping gang. I did not get a chance to look through this thoroughly, nor was I able to get anyone to beta read for me :p. Hope you didn't have your bars raised to high for this.

~Nichuuu

#kim chaewon #chaewon smut #lesserafim smut #le sserafim #chaewon le sserafim #kpop #fanfic #writing #smut

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sabrinajenre96 · 4 months ago

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Unexpected News

Derek shepherd x reader

The hospital was alive with the usual chaos—code blues, nurses shouting orders, pagers beeping at an ungodly frequency. You barely had time to breathe between surgeries, but something had felt... off all day. Nothing major, just a weird sort of lightheadedness and a queasy sensation in your stomach. You brushed it off. Too much coffee, not enough food.

Christina was the first to notice.

"You look like crap," she stated bluntly, arms crossed.

"Wow, thank you. Exactly what I needed today," you shot back, rubbing your forehead.

"Seriously, are you okay?" she pressed, eyeing you suspiciously.

"I'm fine," you lied, waving her off before she could dig further.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get much time to dwell on your body’s betrayal because Meredith was currently being chewed out by a group of rich, entitled family members at the nurse’s station.

"I don’t care who you are," Meredith’s voice was strained but controlled. "That doesn’t mean you get to threaten the staff."

"Do you even know who you’re talking to?" one of them scoffed, crossing their arms.

"Yeah, some overprivileged brat with no patience," you muttered under your breath before stepping in. "Dr. Grey, I got this," you said, offering her an easy way out.

At the nurse’s station, Mark, Christina, and Karev had front-row seats.

"This is going to be good," Mark muttered, leaning forward.

"Five bucks says she makes them cry," Karev smirked.

"I’m not betting against that," Christina replied, intrigued.

Derek, who was nearby writing charts, wasn’t paying them much attention. Instead, he was half-listening to your voice, a small smile tugging at his lips. He always admired how you could handle people—difficult people—with a patience he didn’t have.

But as you tried to reason with the nightmare family, that strange feeling intensified. Your vision swam, the words coming out of the family members' mouths turning to white noise. And then—nothing.

Meredith gasped as you suddenly collapsed, catching you just in time.

"Oh my god—[Y/N]!"

Christina and Karev bolted from the nurse’s station, nearly knocking over a med cart.

Derek, confused by Christina’s uncharacteristic urgency, finally looked up—and his heart stopped.

You were unconscious, cradled in Meredith’s arms.

Everything else became background noise as he sprinted over.

"[Y/N]—Hey—baby, hey, wake up—" His hands hovered over you, panic clear in his voice.

"Somebody get a gurney!" Christina barked.

Mark, despite being concerned, muttered, "Damn, I've never seen Derek run that fast."

"Shut up, Sloan," Christina snapped.

You were whisked into an exam room, with Derek, Meredith, and Christina hovering until Bailey physically pushed them away.

"You all need to step back before I start throwing punches," Bailey warned, snapping on gloves. "You’re too close to this."

Derek reluctantly took a step back, running a hand through his hair while the others exchanged worried glances.

After a series of tests, Bailey finally turned to you with her usual no-nonsense attitude.

"Well, congratulations. You’re pregnant."

The room went silent.

Your jaw dropped. "I’m what?"

Derek blinked. Then blinked again. Then… nothing. His brain completely short-circuited.

"Did she just say—?" Karev started.

"Yep," Mark confirmed, smirking.

Christina stared at Derek, who still hadn’t moved. "Uh… Shepherd.exe has stopped working."

Meredith waved a hand in front of Derek’s face. No response.

Bailey sighed, rolling her eyes. "Lord, somebody reboot him before he falls over."

You, still in shock, turned to look at Derek. "Derek?"

Finally, his brain seemed to reconnect. His blue eyes met yours, wide with disbelief before softening into something unreadable. Then, a slow, amazed smile spread across his face.

"We’re having a baby?" he whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, still dazed. "Apparently."

Mark clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder. "Congrats, Daddy Shepherd. Hope you’re ready for no sleep ever again."

Derek ignored him, still staring at you like you were the most incredible thing in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the best kind of unexpected news.

#derek shepherd x reader #derek shepherd x you #derek Shepherd x y/n #derek shepherd #greys anatomy #patrick dempsey x reader #grey's anatomy fanfiction

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rebelliousmuse · 9 months ago

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Camera Malfunction - C.B. pt 2

Check part 1 here:

https://www.tumblr.com/rebelliousmuse/755390305921040384/camera-malfunction-cb?source=share

Still not a pro in using Tumblr, don't laugh.

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

"The Estes Method is a technique designed to facilitate communication with the supernatural," Sam explains to the camera, "it involves a spirit box, this device I'm holding right here, that rapidly scans radio frequencies. This is believed to help spirits communicate with our world." Colby, blindfolded and wearing headphones connected to the spirit box, takes a deep breath. "Ready?" he asks.

"Let's do this" Kris replies.

"Hello" Sam calls out into the quiet room. "Is anyone here?"

A moment of silence passes, then Colby's voice breaks through. "Here" he says, his tone filled with surprise, the rest of the team exchange excited glances.

"We're..." Colby speaks again but stops. "And something I didn't understand" his face shows cofusion.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"Cindy... Blackwood" Colby replies, his voice echoes through the parent's bedroom.

Excitement ripples through the group. "Hi, Cindy, nice to meet you" Sam says. "Can you tell us what happened in this room?"

"They were together" Colby responds, and pauses as if gathering his thoughts.

"Woah, who?" Sam asks with wide eyes.

"Maybe her husband cheated?" Kris suggests. "Oh my god, what if her husband had a mistress and she was the one that killed them all out of anger because he didn't choose her or something like that?!"

You feel a shiver run down your spine. This is getting too intense. You try to play it off, but your nervousness is evident.

"No" Colby says. "The man... punished... not a woman... loyal"

"Oh, then what was she talking about?" Sam asks towards Kris and you.

"Your friends" Colby replies, your eyes widen in shock. Sam and Kris exchange confused glances.

Sam leans forward, his eyes fixed on Colby "What about our friends?"

Colby shurgs nonchalantly, "I already told you."

Kris raises an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. "Um... can you, uh, say it again?"

Colby hesitates before answering, "The boy and the girl..."

Sam presses on "Yeah, what about them?"

You glance at your watch, feeling a growing sense of urgency, "Guys, we should really wrap this up. It's getting really late."

Kris's smile widens as she meets your gaze "Why?"

Colby's breath quickens, and his leg bounces nervously "Moans and sweat" he says still blinfolded and connected to the spirit box.

Kris says "Okay, let's stop this" as her eyes twinkle and Sam nods in agreement. "On my bed... they did..." Colby immediately clamps a hand over his mouth realizing his slip-up.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head in disbelief with a weird look on his face, "Alright, enough". He touches Colby's shoulder, making him take the headphones and blindfold off.

You and Colby exchange a nervous glance, your cheeks bruning bright. You both look over at your friends, who are staring at you expectantly. Colby looks away guiltily, his face turning a shade of crimson.

Kris bursts into laughter, her eyes wide with amusement. "You did what?" she asks, still giggling uncontrollably.

You try to supress a smile and swat at Kris playfully "Shut uppp!"

After investigating some more through the place, you and Kris walk outside the manor, "I'm glad it's over" Kris murmurs, rubbing her arms. "That place gave me the creeps"

You nod in agreement, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush of the investigation. "Me too. I think we found more than enough evidence for this video."

You peer from the outside through a window and see Sam and Colby setting up their final shot inside the living room. As they film the outro they seem to be in good spirits, laughing and joking with each other. But then, as soon as they turn the camera off, something changes. Sam's face suddenly darkens, and his fists clench. You can't hear what they're saying, but it's clear that they're arguing.

Kris nudges your arm. "Do you think they're okey?"

You shake your head. "I don't know. Let's just keep an eye on them."

As you and Kris watch, the argument escalates. Sam's voice becomes louder, and his words are punctuated by angry gestures. Colby looks increasingly distressed. Finally, Sam turns on his heel and storms out the room. Colby slumps onto the couch, looking defeated.

You and Kris exchange worried glances. Whatever happened between them, it's clearly serious.

----------

Sam's voice is low and menacing as he glances at Colby, "You are the worst!" Colby shrinks back with eyes filled with guilt. "I can't believe you fucked her! You knew about my feelings for her!"

Colby's face contorts in pain, "I'm sorry, man. It just happened. I won't do it again, I swear."

"Oh, for fucks sake, don't lie to me. You know how much she means to me"

"I do, I'm sorry, it was an accident. I don't want to lose you. You're my brother, Sam."

Sam's anger boils over, "An accident?! Go to hell, Brock!"

With that, Sam turns on his heel and storms out the room, slamming the door behind him. Colby is left alone regretting giving in to temptation with you.

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seventeenlovesthree · 5 months ago

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Digimon Adventure Reboot Sequel AU - Prologue: Dreams

Summary: It's been years since the Chosen Children have saved both the Digital World and the Real World back in 2020. Things are mostly peaceful... Or so Taichi keeps telling himself, as he has been haunted by dreams for years - dreams about adventures he hasn't lived through himself, everything is familiar yet a little bit weird. They're becoming more and more vivid as time goes by, messing with his head, his perception, his memories - and he's not sure how long he can continue to be his most courageous self without anyone else noticing the cracks.

Chapter list: [Prologue] [0] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Resources: [This pretty little AU idea that hasn't left my head ever since] [Designs] [First Idea] [Playlist] [Ao3]

Word count: 900

When the dreams had first begun, Taichi hadn’t given it much thought.

"I haven't given up.”

Dreaming about adventures in the Digital World – considering how often he had gone gate-hopping alongside various of his friends for years now, ever since they had saved the place for the first time –, shouldn’t be surprising.

“You guys taught me that there's always something I can do until the end.”

He hadn’t even wondered about how different the Digital World had looked – things were often a little to the left within dreams, they weren’t exactly how one experienced them in real life after all. Places, people, clothes, devices… Nothing too worrisome.

For the first weeks, months, there wasn’t even a need for him to question the frequency of his dreams – since, at first, he quickly forgot about them shortly after waking up anyway. But then, slowly, but steadily, things had started to become more vivid.

“The future will continue and become connected.”

He began hearing the voices more clearly, recognizing most of them immediately – like a long forgotten yet familiar memory, seeping into his waking hours and sneaking back into his head. Which, again, didn’t happen all the time and also not consistently, but when he met up with his friends, asking Sora, Koushirou and the others for another trip into the net, he occasionally felt reminded again.

Of islands, trolleys, mountains. Of black gears, tags, cards. Of monkeys, vampires and clowns. Sometimes, he woke up feeling like someone had punched him in the face, other times, tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“I'll pass it on to you. Our... Our grown up... Hope.”

Still, he had decided to keep it all to himself – not matter how much he had been bothered by a slight sting of guilt in his chest whenever his glance had crossed Hikari’s, first thing in the morning. There had been no urgency to act. Years had passed and, aside from a few minor calls, their duty as Chosen Children had been “on hold” for the most part, so most of the travels to the Digital World had happened on their own devices. But whenever he entered the void, with Agumon right next to him, the voices, the images of his friends had become more detailed.

Nevertheless, he had gone through the entirety of middle school without telling a soul. About other voices he had never heard before, dark towers, digital eggs. How the person he saw himself as in his dreams seemed so strange yet so much like home that it scared him sometimes. He had brushed it aside every single time.

But now, in his second year of high school, they had almost turned into aggressive visions.

“Listen, Yagami.”

Last night, his dream had revolved around someone he had seen several times before – but only in his dreams. He appeared to be a teacher, his teacher to be exact. Sitting on the floor of some sort of control room, covered in blood, talking to him. Taichi himself had been stuck in a capsule, a countdown clock right next to him. Time was running out.

“No matter how hard reality is up ahead, don't ever give up.”

He had been about to die. And there was nothing he could have done. He remembered how his dream self had tried to smash the capsule into pieces, getting through to him. But it was all in vain. Regardless of how much he had wanted to scream, he couldn’t move.

“You guys go build the future.”

Even though he had never seen that man in real life, he had felt a connection. Felt like he owed him to get him out of that place this time. As if to make up for what he couldn’t have done before.

“Dream big!"

And yet, it had been all for naught. Once again, he had woken up in tears. Had checked whether there had been blood anywhere on his body, as it had felt almost frighteningly real. Not only that, his mouth felt awfully dry, as if he had screamed the word “Sensei!” out loud himself.

Heart pounding, sweating, Taichi couldn't help but wonder how long he could still keep quiet. Under no circumstances would he worry any of his friends about this – that he had sworn to himself. He was the bearer of the Crest of Courage, he had always, always found a way to push through, smile in the face of adversity. The others relied on him for that. The voices kept telling him that this was part of his duty – be courageous for the sake of everyone. More courageous than the self he saw in his dreams at least – who seemed to fall deeper into despair with every passing dream.

Taichi didn’t understand why there was such a discrepancy – as he had finally begun to ask questions. He felt sympathy for his dream self, a sense of remorse circling around all of his actions, as if there were a million things he regretted and wanted to make right. Watching himself like that only left him with the urge to… Give himself a hug. And ask him why he pushed his friends away like that, why he was so at odds with Yamato, so distanced from Sora, Koushirou and even Hikari…

He wouldn’t let that happen to himself. He would push further. Without worrying anyone about it.

He had to after all.

#taichi yagami #anime #digimon #digimon adventure #digimon adventure 2020 #digimon adventure:#digimon adventure reboot #reboot sequel #alternate universe #au #my fanfiction #my doodles #my drabbles #honourable mentions of daigo nishijima #tai kamiya #MORE TAICHI YAGAMI ANGST STORIES

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bigassmoth · 1 year ago

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Sebastian Michaelis x phantomhive manor resident, gnc reader. 2nd pov r18

contains: obsessive behavior, invasion of privacy/personal property, scent kink, deranged pining, monster anatomy, monster fucking. Not proof read im sorry

You tolerated him most days. Some days you treated him as if he were irredeemable, as snarls and cold shoulders. But on some rare days where the weather suits you, your linens are laundered, your work complete, and your skin hydrated- you are amicable. He treasures those rare and unpredictable days where you humor him with your curious gaze and relaxed smile. Sebastian was trying to increase the frequency of those occurrences, which is why he had taken to washing your sheets (along with his own and his masters since he is doing a batch anyway) once a week. In the past he had offered to always strip and dress your bed for you but you refused with a warning hiss. So he waited until Finny had stumbled across a bees nest in a briar patch (how did that get there?). You were half-heartedly jogging to Finny with a first aid kit, the urgency of his injuries more important than your weekly bed wash.

"Ah, today is laundry day. Have you put it in the basket?" He called out to you from the window. You skipped to a halt and barely cast him a glance.

"No I didnt have time. Dont worry about it." Ah, of course you wouldnt have the time, he didnt let you.

"Very well, I will fetch it for you then." Sebastian finished with a soft smile and quickly moved away from the window. Outside you were shouting your grievances, still not wanting him in your room, but he pretended not to hear it. Although his heart did quiver when he heard you not so quietly growl out 'snoopy bastard'.

So, he had time while you patched up Finny, time which he spent curled up on your bed. Of course he entered your room frequently, especially while you slept. But it was a new experience to replicate your position and bury his nose into your sheets. He fondly nuzzles your pillow and contentedly sighs.

For 15 days you had not given him one of those wry, warm smiles. For 10 of the days you were indifferent, speaking to him when spoken to, meeting his gaze and then sliding away in easy distraction. For the other 5 you were oppositional. Your eyes held unveiled annoyance everytime he called your name. You would click your tongue when the someone else spoke his name. You were short, clipped, and slipped away from him at every opportunity. No doubt if you saw him like this now your mood would be soured for weeks. You would look at him with disdain and shower him with insults.

Just imagining it sent blood to his cock and left him panting. Sebastian shamelessly pulled his pants down and bit into your pillow while he rocked into his hand. The fantasies grew unchecked.

He hopes to someday have you subjected to his sexual whims. He would pull you into a closet and tease you then take your underwear- leaving you bare for the rest of the day. If you were to take off your underwear and place it into his waiting hand, your expression would be beautiful. It would be annoyance, anger, and the subtle look of pride knowing articles of clothing was enough for him to bargain over. You wouldnt give him anything until he proved himself to you first. A favorite dessert, a nice pen or jewelry piece, a full spa. On the other hand if he took your underwear, your reaction would be exquisite. Eyes wide in surprise, instinctively jerking away but unable to escape him, so focused on his invasive fingers caressing your sex that you dont notice he has stolen your protective fabric until the wetness hits your thighs.

In your bed, Sebastians cock has shed its human appearance. It is a surface of warty bobs and viscous slime atop the soft-scaled purple fleshed tentacle. It curls around his wrist and fucks itself into his hand. Your smell compels it, the demonic organ drawn to rubbing itself against your sheets until Sebastian is fully grinding into your bed.

He misses your teasing grin and gentle joking from 16 days ago. He imagines your breathy laughter as his infernal body rubs against yours in unrestrained lust. Would you say something sarcastic? Would you chide him in good nature? Would you compliment him? Your amicable moods are unrivaled in sexy appeal. Teasing but sweet, relaxed yet curious.

Of course he loved it when you were mean too, if you would degrade him for behaving like the inearthly animal he is. If your presence in bed was orders and dissatisfaction until he pushed you to the brink of your bodys limits.

But in your bed smelled like peace, it was safe and warm. He wished he could feel your fragile arms wrap around him as he drilled into you. Hold your trembling legs while you sigh into his neck. He would bury himself into your glistening warm, he would hold you in his darkness. So satisfied and enraptured with him those 10 days of indifference would never happen again.

Sebastisn cums hard and gasping. His claws had come out along with several of his limbs. Your sheets...no, your entire bed, was ruined. With his own hellish musk filling your room, your scent vanished. Sighing at his lack of self control, Sebastian resumed the shape of his butler self. And spat out the feathers from your pillow.

With the inhuman speed and precision he was known for, Sebastian cleaned your room and moved his mattress into your bed frame. He tenderly spread on the new sheets and fluffed your new pillow. A shudder of pleasure rippled down his spine, you would be sleeping in his bed, in the object that occupied his space and vulnerability (well, as vulnerable as a demon pretending to sleep for fun can be). His scent fills your room, his cum is designed to be deep and tempting. The scent only outmatched by the unholy flavor meant to appeal to the human palette. On top of that is his chosen signature scent, roses and cedar wood. A floral and woodsy smell that drew the attention of men and women alike for its complexity.

As one hell of a butler he leaves you a small vase of roses from the garden (from the briar patch Finny fell into-). You would return to your room and feel at ease seeing that all of your belonging are untouched. Sebastian had made a mistake, he tells you, and the sheets had to be tossed. These new ones are from storage, explaining the non-laundered linen scent to them. You assume the roses as an apology. The bed you sleep in is just as comfortable as its always been, and you even got plenty of time with your hand. The next day you feel (sexy?) Safe and sufficiently destressed.

Sebastian is happier than usual. Much more smug than usual too. After breakfast you delicately nudge him with your elbow.

"You look like the cat that ate the canary, Sebastian. Good news?" Your comment earns you a most blood-chilling smile.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Did you sleep well?"

Ah, your poor head butler. Always looking nefarious and evil even when doing the most mundane things. You pat his back.

"I slept wonderfully. Dont worry about the sheets, the ones from storage are just as soft."

He seems happy to hear it, too bad his happy face looks like he just got away with something sick and depraved.

#sebastian michaelis #black butler smut #demon smut #yandere smut

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leenathegreengirl · 3 months ago

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Tech’s Encrypted Files Entry 3 [warnings: subtle references to NSFW content with dom tones]

[Full Image Under Cut] [Connection successful. Transmitting…] Subject: Tech - Personal Journal Entry 3

It is uncommon for me to struggle with articulation, yet I find myself momentarily challenged in assigning precise language to last night’s events. Perhaps this is due to the complexity of the experience itself—one that does not easily conform to prior frameworks of understanding.

The encounter was not unexpected in occurrence; I had, in fact, considered the likelihood with increasing frequency. However, the manner in which it transpired deviated significantly from my previous experiences. My understanding of intimacy has historically been shaped by consistency and predictability—a structured dynamic in which tenderness was the primary mode of engagement. With Leena, our interactions adhered to a carefully maintained equilibrium, one in which I was not always satisfied with but continued to participate regardless. Marina, however, introduced a paradigm shift. The experience was unrestrained, marked by an intensity I had not previously associated with intimacy. I had assumed that my preferences were static—defined by a predisposition toward gentleness and control. Yet, in the midst of our encounter, I observed an emerging inclination toward something more forceful, more exploratory. Rather than hesitance, she exhibited enthusiasm. Rather than restraint, she encouraged escalation. I had not anticipated how much I would enjoy that dynamic, nor the extent to which it would alter my perception of what I am capable of desiring. For a significant duration, I operated under the assumption that passion must be expressed with a certain degree of delicacy in order to retain its meaning. That physicality and intensity could not coexist without emotional depth. This assumption was incorrect. The shift in dynamic was not simply a matter of physicality but of her—Marina herself. The way she met my gaze without apprehension, the way her hands moved over me with certainty rather than hesitation. There was no sense of fragility, no unspoken expectation of restraint. I was not merely an intellect to be understood but a presence to be engaged with in full. The realization was both stimulating and deeply revelatory.

Marina is remarkable in ways that continue to demand my attention. Her physicality alone is striking—the juxtaposition of her pale skin with the deep blue ink of her tattoos, a contrast that became even more pronounced under my hands. I traced the markings repeatedly, compelled by the way they shifted with her movements, the patterns intricate yet organic.

And her eyes—one blue, one brown—remain an anomaly I am determined to analyze further. The interplay of color, the way they catch the light differently, the manner in which they fixated on me with absolute focus—it was, and remains, mesmerizing. I had observed them countless times before, but never within such a context. Never when they were darkened with intent, conveying a level of urgency and unfiltered desire I had not previously witnessed.

Her eagerness to please me was evident in every interaction, each subtle cue reinforcing that she was not merely receptive to my preferences but actively invested in them. She sought to fulfill my desires without hesitation, responding to each shift in control with an enthusiasm that was both unexpected and undeniably compelling.

At one point, I placed my goggles over her eyes—a decision made in the moment, born of equal parts curiosity and instinct. The result was more profound than anticipated. Seeing her adorned with a device so intrinsic to my own perception of the world altered something within me, though I have yet to fully quantify what. It was a moment of significance—one that requires further analysis, particularly through the footage captured during the experience. I find myself eager to review it, to assess the details that may have escaped my immediate awareness, to revisit the moment through an objective lens. Not merely out of scientific interest, but out of a desire to relive what transpired. There was another moment that lingers with me, though for a different reason. She told me she appreciates my eyes. That she finds them warm, inviting. It is a statement that I had not anticipated—an assessment I had never once attributed to myself. My eyes are simply a function of my genetics, a tool through which I process the world. But the sincerity in her voice suggested that she saw something more. I am uncertain how to reconcile this information, but I find myself wanting to hear her say it again. And then, after everything, there was the shower. A necessary act of hygiene, but one that became something more. I had not expected to derive such satisfaction from caring for her in that space—washing the sweat from her skin, tracing over her tattoos with my hands once more, watching the way the water carried away the evidence of our prior activity. It was a moment of quiet, a shift from the intensity into something equally intimate yet far gentler. And I enjoyed it. More than I would have predicted. I find myself considering a tattoo now, more than ever. I have always viewed them as an aesthetic choice, an unnecessary addition to the body with no direct function. But I am beginning to question that assumption. Marina’s markings are not merely decorative—they are part of her, an extension of who she is. And I wonder if there is something to be gained from such an act of permanence. Something worth exploring. This development is both unexpected and deeply compelling. I am eager—perhaps even impatient—to continue this exploration. Not solely in the physical sense, but in the broader implications of what this means. For her, for myself, and for the potential of what lies ahead. End transmission.

A more detailed account HERE

Tag List

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream @rex-targaryen @freesia-writes @heidnspeak @queenjiru @commanderfury @kyda-atshushi @deezlees @thebadbatchfan @justanotherdikutsimp

Written by @legacygirlingreen

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spitefulsatanfics · 2 months ago

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= ° ᛫ ᛫ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 ᛫ ᛫ ° =

“Freedom is a length of rope. God wants you to hang yourself with it.”

NEW SERIES

<3 Part two <3

---

PAIRING: Castiel x Female Reader (She/Her) TONE: Slow Burn | Angel x Human | Protector!Cas | Awkward!Cas | Hesitant Love | Aloof Lovers WRITTEN BY: Little Devil ♡ RATING: M (Strong Language, Canon Supernatural Themes, Slight Intimacy) WORD COUNT: 5,217 BASED ON: Supernatural Season 5, Episodes 1–5 SYNOPSIS: Y/N wasn’t meant to be in Castiel’s plan—but here she is, breaking through centuries of heaven-forged detachment. After an awkward first meeting, a strange, angelic radio signal draws them together for a night of decoding, discovery, and the slow unraveling of something neither of them can name. But the message isn't just a mystery—it's a warning.

CHAPTER TWO: STATIC GRACE

The house was silent.

Not the kind of quiet that comforted. This was a heavier thing—thick as fog, stretched across Bobby’s walls like a warning. Y/N had noticed it earlier, the way the air seemed too still, how even the old pipes hadn’t groaned in hours. Something unnatural lingered just beneath the surface.

She tried to ignore it. Until the radio turned on.

It was one of Bobby’s ancient shortwave sets, the kind that hadn’t sputtered to life in years. She was in the kitchen, halfway through pouring herself a cup of lukewarm coffee, when the static cracked.

“Cas?”

Castiel appeared a second later in the doorway, trench coat stirring even though no wind followed him. He didn’t speak—he didn’t have to. His eyes were fixed on the radio like it had grown teeth.

The static deepened, warbling, almost rhythmic. Then a voice cut through—high-pitched, distorted, Enochian laced with agony.

“Re’tash niri’el... Enki lora... thil’el, thil’el, thil’el!”

Y/N set the cup down with a soft thunk. “That’s... not a weather report.”

Castiel was already moving, stepping forward with urgency she hadn’t seen before. He dropped to his knees beside the table and began scribbling notes in Enochian with a pen pulled from seemingly nowhere.

“I know that voice,” he said under his breath. “It’s an angel.”

“No offense, but all of you sound kinda like haunted fax machines through that thing.”

He didn’t respond.

The voice on the radio surged again—louder this time, more fractured. The lights overhead flickered.

Y/N knelt beside him. “What’s it saying?”

“I don’t know yet. The signal is broken, corrupted. But it’s a distress call. A warning.”

Then the static spiked—sharp and violent. Both of them winced as it shrieked through the room like a banshee. Castiel lurched forward, hand pressed to his temple.

Y/N grabbed the radio’s dial and twisted it hard, silencing the screech.

For a moment, all they could hear was the echoing buzz still ringing in their ears.

“Cas... you okay?”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes had dimmed, that otherworldly spark flickering low. “That frequency was meant for celestial beings. Not mortals.”

“Well, good news. You’ve got one mortal with a pretty decent enunciation.” She smirked, lightly. “And Bobby’s got like five books on Enochian. I’ve been bored.”

He looked at her then, the way he always did—too long, too deeply.

“I believe you may be useful.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m flattered, really.”

= ° ✓° =

The living room transformed into a makeshift decoding center. Books piled high, the radio still humming low in the corner like it was waiting for round two. Castiel sat at the edge of the couch, pages scattered around him, the tie loosened at his collar.

Y/N leaned over his shoulder, pointing at a page. “That glyph? It’s used for time warnings, right?”

He nodded, impressed. “Yes. ‘Anarith.’ It means soon.”

She traced the symbol with her finger. “So we’ve got ‘thil’el’ repeating, then this... Then this mess. Looks like a place name?”

“Possibly. Or a ward. This message isn’t just a distress signal. It’s a map.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know. But they were terrified.”

The room dimmed further. Shadows crawled longer on the walls.

Y/N didn’t realize how close she’d gotten until she felt the warmth of him beside her—not hot, not quite electric. Just a hum. Like standing near a cathedral.

She glanced sideways. “You always this intense?”

“I’m... unfamiliar with casual proximity.”

Her grin widened. “You’ll get used to it.”

= ° ✓° =

They cracked most of the message by midnight.

A fragment remained, something garbled in the middle, but the shape of the warning had formed: an angel lost in a place where grace didn’t reach. A trap? A breach? They weren’t sure. But the last line was clear.

“They are coming.”

Castiel sat very still.

He looked... afraid.

“Cas?”

“We have to ward the house,” he said suddenly, standing. “Now.”

Y/N followed without question.

Outside, the wind had picked up. No moon, no stars—just dark and deeper dark. Castiel moved quickly, hands drawing sigils into the dirt, marking iron and stone.

She brought him chalk and knives from Bobby’s stores, watching him scrawl wards onto doors, onto glass.

“You think it’s demons?” she asked, breath fogging.

“Worse. Something ancient. Something that wants to find us before morning.”

“And this message?”

“A failed warning. One I nearly didn’t hear.”

He looked at her then, and something in his gaze made her forget the cold.

“I’m glad you were here.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“You helped me listen.”

She couldn’t think of a reply fast enough. So she just nodded, and grabbed another piece of chalk.

Together, they marked the corners of the house, their shadows bending strange in the dark.

A sigil glowed briefly on the front door, then sputtered.

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “They’re close.”

Y/N’s hand clenched tighter around the chalk.

And behind them, deep in the woods—something moved.

= \ TO BE CONTINUED... THE FALL ISN’T ALWAYS A DEFEAT™ // =

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voraciousvore · 8 months ago

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Voretober Day 17: Rescue

Day 1 | Previous (16) | Next (18)

Content Warning: Unwilling soft safe vore, sexual themes, vomiting

Word Count: 3.8k

“Just stay quiet and let me do all the talking,” Leon advised.

Joey responded with a terse nod and fumbled with his tie. “Yes, of course.”

“And try not to fidget so much. Stop looking so nervous. You need to relax.”

Joey gulped. “Right.” He forced his hands rigidly to his sides and schooled his features into a neutral expression.

Leon looked him up and down with a skeptical gaze. He rubbed his chin and heaved a heavy sigh. “That’ll do, I suppose. Let’s go.” He opened the metal door in the side of the building behind him and began descending the narrow staircase. Joey glanced around at the dark, deserted streets, flanked by run-down industrial complexes, before following.

The cement stairs were cracked and worn, so Joey had to watch his feet as he lightly put his weight on each step. The overhead bulbs were stark white and flickered with a loud fluorescent hum at just the right frequency to give him a headache. He focused on the balding patch on the back of Leon’s head in front of him to quell his rising anxiety.

Leon reached the bottom of the stairs, where another metal door awaited him with a keycard reader. He swiped his card and gave Joey a stern look before twisting the knob. Joey dropped his hands down, realizing only just then that his fingers were fiddling with his tie of their own volition. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to get them out of the way.

The door opened like a portal to a different dimension, revealing a world in striking contrast to the bland, dingy stairwell. Joey blinked and adjusted his glasses as he was hit with a blur of bright colorful lights amid a sea of green felt. The bubbly jingles of slot machines, accompanied by the solid clinks of coins and chips, rang out amidst the lower drone of masculine voices. Joey wrinkled his nose at the strong odor of cigar smoke and alcohol that hung thick in the air like a haze.

Leon trotted in with confidence, and Joey matched his gait as he coolly slid alongside him. He furrowed his brow as he scanned the rows of slots and pachinko machines, searching with urgency.

“Slow down, Joey,” Leon muttered out the side of his mouth. “Take a deep breath.”

Joey inhaled through his nose in an attempt to remain calm, but only succeeded in choking on a toxic cloud of smoke. His palms were sweating in his pockets and his heart was racing like a ticking time bomb. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a perky waitress with big tits and a very short dress that hardly covered her panties addressed him.

“Would you like a drink?” she chirped with an excessively peppy affect. She balanced a tray full of glasses on one hand.

Joey opened his mouth to decline, but Leon interrupted. “Yes, martinis for both of us please.” Joey glanced at him questioningly as the waitress affirmed and scurried off.

“It would be strange for us not to drink here,” Leon explained. “Or refuse a smoke.” Joey nodded. “Besides, it’ll help you loosen up a bit.”

They kept moving. Joey restrained his powerful urge to march ahead with purpose, and allowed Leon to take him along a meandering path through the underground casino. As they strolled past the bar, the waitress returned with two drinks. Joey sipped his martini and absently stirred the toothpick with the olive, hoping for some liquid courage.

He couldn’t help but notice that the clientele were exclusively upper-class men, sharply dressed in expensive suits and groomed to an immaculate polish. Joey had originally believed his disguise would be sufficient, but now he felt shabby by comparison, with his messy hair and dorky glasses. His suit, rented from a pawn shop, was ill-fitted, slightly rumpled, and permeated with the scent of dust and mothballs. Even the hulking security guards lurking on the fringes were better-dressed by comparison. He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously in a futile attempt to smooth down the stray locks.

Leon guided him further inside the den of debauchery, to the roulette machines and the card tables. As Joey’s eagle eyes surveyed the tables, he stiffened, stopping in his tracks. Each table had a glass dome in the middle, like an enclosed bubble. The interior consisted of what could only be described as a stage, a raised platform with a metal floor. The performers on display were tiny human women less than the height of a single finger, scantily clad, twirling and gyrating in a titillating fashion on miniature stripper poles. Joey observed as a man sat down at one of the tables and pressed a button, causing all the women inside to flinch as if stung and begin to dance. He realized, with a twist in his gut, that the metal plates the girls were standing on delivered electric shocks.

He clenched his fists in anger and gritted his teeth. “Monsters,” he growled.

“Easy, Joey,” Leon warned. “Don’t lose it here.”

Joey huffed but didn’t answer. He struggled to maintain his composure, despite his blood boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes scoured each table frantically as his pulse pounded in his head. Leon frowned with concern but hid his expression behind his drink.

“Eren!” Joey cried, a bit too loudly. Leon paled as a few faces turned their way.

“Joey!” he hissed, clapping his hand on his shoulder to stop him from dashing forward. “You’re drawing attention to yourself!”

“She’s right there,” Joey choked, barely containing himself. At one of the poker tables, under the glass bubble, a diminutive woman with long raven hair was twisting around one of the poles. Her misery was plastered all over her face as a creepy older giant with gray hair leered down at her, his finger hovering over the button to shock her if she stopped. Joey felt like throwing up.

“I know, I know,” Leon said. “But making a scene is not going to accomplish anything. We need to be smart about this.”

“But what can we do?” Joey lamented. “I can’t just leave her there! I need to save her!”

Leon abruptly stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath. Joey felt the fine hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. He turned around to behold a balding, bearded giant lumbering towards him. He was huge and imposing, both tall in height and broad in girth, and dressed in a black suit of the finest material. He regarded Joey with hard metallic irises that pierced through him like twin blades.

“Who’s this?” he boomed in a rich stentorian voice.

“Mr. Wolfe, I’d like you to meet my nephew,” Leon lied, placing a hand on Joey’s shoulder. “Joey, this is Mr. Wolfe, the owner of this casino.” He addressed his boss again. “I believe young Joey here has… potential.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Wolfe studied Joey intently, from his scuffed shoes to his ragged hair, as if examining a scrawny bug under a magnifying glass. What he saw didn’t seem to impress him much. “Hmph,” he scoffed.

“Why don’t we sit down to a game of poker?” Leon suggested, spotting an opportunity—a risky one, perhaps, but one that afforded them a chance to rescue Eren. “We can join Mr. Hardon and Mr. Greenwood over there, if they’ll have us.”

The big man scratched his beard as he continued to stare at Joey in a way that made the younger man want to shrivel up like a raisin. Mr. Wolfe’s metal eyes glinted and he peeled his rubbery lips back into a wolfish grin, like he was fantasizing about eating Joey alive and not just beating him at cards. “You’ve piqued my interest. Let’s test this fresh meat.”

Mr. Wolfe turned away toward the table, and Joey nearly collapsed after bearing the weight of his gaze for so long. Leon and Joey followed him to the poker table, where two other men were already seated. The gray-haired pervert who had been thirsting over the small women trapped in the dome was introduced to Joey as Mr. Hardon. The other man, Mr. Greenwood, resembled an old-fashioned mob boss, complete with a dark pinstripe suit and a cigar tucked in the corner of his mouth. They both regarded Joey with condescension as he shuffled into his chair. He was thankful to sit down before his quaking legs gave out beneath him.

“You gents can play without me,” Mr. Hardon announced. “I’m getting bored. I’ll just watch instead.” His pale eyes drifted down to the women in the dome, who were observing the new arrivals warily. With a grin that turned Joey’s stomach, he pressed the shock button and they all jumped in unison.

For a split second, a murderous expression flashed across Joey’s face and he leaned forward as if about to lunge. Leon swiftly kicked him under the cover of the table to bring him back to his senses. He reigned himself back with a pinched frown. Fortunately, the others were distracted by the tiny women dancing and didn’t notice his aggression. An idea sparked in Leon’s brain.

“Why don’t we make the game more interesting then?” he suggested. “We could play for a prize. Whoever wins all the chips gets to choose one of the women for himself.” He plunked his finger on the glass for emphasis. His heart broke as the humans inside trembled, but he didn’t allow any sympathy to break through his stony façade.

“I’m in!” Mr. Hardon proclaimed, slavering like a mad dog. “Now THAT would be fun!” He looked eagerly over at Mr. Wolfe.

“I agree, but only under the condition that we at least get to watch the victor eat their prey,” Mr. Greenwood said with a wicked smirk, chewing on the end of his cigar.

Mr. Wolfe smiled coldly. “Very well.” He gestured to one of the dealers with a flick of his wrist. The dealer divided up the chips, shuffled the cards, and gave each man their hands. Mr. Hardon’s eyes and rows of teeth gleamed as he drooled over the little women, his cards cupped close to his grinning face. Mr. Wolfe was deadpan, completely unreadable. Mr. Greenwood puffed on his cigar impassively. Leon scrutinized each man closely.

Joey was an honest, earnest young man with many admirable traits, but hiding his emotions was not one of them. He frowned as he peeked at his cards before he caught himself, but the damage was done. He had a terrible poker face and couldn’t manage to pull off a successful bluff. He tentatively placed a bet, only to lose his chips as the more hardened and experienced men saw through him as easily as if he were made of crystal.

He lost the next hand as well. And the following. The other men were ready to tear him apart like sharks drawn to blood. He began to sweat and fidget under the pressure, polishing his glasses and smoothing the folds in his suit. His tie felt like a boa constrictor around his neck, twisting tighter and tighter. He finally managed to get a decent hand, but his reaction was so blatant that nobody was foolish enough to bet against him. He was losing badly.

“Cigar?” Mr. Greenwood offered, holding out a box in his palm. Leon, Hardon, and Wolfe all accepted. Joey, recalling Leon’s advice that refusing to smoke would be suspicious, took one as well, oblivious to the fact that he was holding a luxury worth more than he’d ever be able to afford in his life. He bit his lip nervously as he lit the tip. He’d never smoked before.

Ignorant of the proper way to smoke a cigar, Joey took a drag like he’d seen people do with cigarettes and immediately burst into a coughing fit. Mr. Greenwood chuckled, as did Mr. Hardon, but Mr. Wolfe was not amused. He regarded Joey with disappointed disgust before shooting a scathing glare at Leon, who hid behind his cards and slumped down in his chair like a beat dog.

As the game wore on, Mr. Wolfe focused on Joey and waxed with increasing wrath and dissatisfaction over the pathetic specimen before him. Joey’s chips were dwindling and he was clearly losing his composure under the pressure, his eyes darting from his cards to his chips to the women in the glass bubble. Eren gazed up at her giant boyfriend with despair as she saw her only way out shrinking with the diminishing pile of chips.

Joey was almost out of the game by this point. He didn’t have a great hand, but he had no choice but to go all in lest he lose his only chance to retrieve his girl. In an excessive and unnecessary show of force, to really crush the man beneath his heel and demonstrate his supremacy, Mr. Wolfe pushed all his chips forward. “All in.” Joey blanched.

“Ah, screw it. All in,” Mr. Greenwood grunted, presenting his own pile of chips. Mr. Hardon did the same, grinning with a savage edge.

“All in,” Leon muttered without confidence, his face puckered.

“Perfect. Let’s see it, then, Joey,” Mr. Wolfe growled with a grotesque sneer. Joey winced as he flipped his cards to reveal… nothing. His hand was garbage and he knew it. His lips quivered and his eyes moistened.

Mr. Wolfe let out a slow, sadistic, soft laugh. He was thoroughly enjoying Joey’s pain. He turned over his cards in a dramatic flourish to show off an impressive hand: a pair of aces. Mr. Greenwood and Mr. Hardon frowned as they exposed strong, but inferior, hands.

Joey began to tremble all over as his mask crumbled. He had lost. He couldn’t save Eren. He considered, briefly, smashing the glass, grabbing her, and bolting, but he knew he wouldn’t make it to the door before security slammed him down. He didn’t even look at Leon’s cards as he put them face-up. The situation was hopeless.

“Leon, you sly fox,” Mr. Greenwood uttered. “I should’ve known.” Joey snapped out of his spiral to glance over, and was shocked to see Leon also had a pair of cards—tens, not aces, but combined he managed to score three of a kind. Joey blinked away the excess water in his eyes with shock.

“I win,” Leon proclaimed, a smile stretching out his face. “Allow me to claim my prize, please.” Mr. Wolfe glowered but pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked a panel in the table. He pressed a button and the dome split open and retracted with a smooth whoosh. The humans recoiled with fear, huddling against each other in the middle of the table. They had nowhere to run, since they were surrounded on all sides by giant men.

Leon hastened to grab up Eren and pull her to safety. He tried his best to be gentle and not squeeze her small frame in his enormous hands, but her terrified squirming made it difficult to maintain a mild grip. She looked over frantically at Joey and opened her mouth to scream his name. Leon swiftly clamped his thumb over her face to muffle her exclamation; he couldn’t have her reveal their connection and unwittingly sabotage their plan. She bit his thumb in response, but her teeth were too small to break the skin or cause any real damage.

Leon tucked her into his pants pocket, holding his hand over her so she couldn’t escape. His chest tightened as he felt her thrashing through the fabric against his thigh. She didn’t know him; she had no clue he was allied with her boyfriend and was trying to help her.

“Well, I’ll be off now,” he remarked casually, standing up out of his chair.

Mr. Wolfe knew he’d been outsmarted, and he was seething. “Hold on, Leon,” he snarled. “We’re not finished here.”

“Oh, I’m good,” Leon replied.

“SIT. DOWN.”

A hush dampened the voices in the room as nearby patrons of the casino were disrupted by his bellowing bass tone. Leon stiffened, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. “Very well, sir,” he answered faintly, lowering himself back into his seat.

“You’re going to finish what we started here,” Mr. Wolfe demanded.

“I’d rather save her for later, if that’s okay…” Leon said feebly. His remaining courage had vaporized in an instant as he understood he was at the mercy of his boss.

“No.” The authoritarian word, as solid as a wall of iron, left no room for negotiation. The big, brutish giant leaned forward in his chair, which squeaked under his prodigious weight, and clasped his hands firmly on the table. “Now. You’re not getting out of this.” Leon’s reluctance to consume humans was known to him, and he wasn’t going to let him slink out unpunished.

Greenwood and Hardon stared at Leon with ravenous anticipation. Joey looked as if he’d dissipate into smoke. Leon swallowed his misgivings and fished Eren, kicking and screaming, out of his pocket. With a stealthy motion under the table, he shoved a human anti-digestion pill from his other pocket into her hands before squeezing her tightly between his fingers so she had no room to flail her limbs. She fumbled the object with confusion before going very quiet as she registered what she was holding. She began to tremble as she looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Leon wanted to apologize, to console her, to tell her she was safe and everything would be okay, to let her know she’d soon be reunited with Joey. But he couldn’t. Not a word. He’d jeopardize everything. So, knowing he had no other choice, he opened his mouth and stuffed her in.

She tasted meaty and tender, like steak. A flood of drool filled his mouth; he gulped it down so she wouldn’t be swimming in his juices. Eren struggled with terror on his tongue and tapped against his teeth, punching them uselessly with miniscule fists. He tried to maneuver her into a more comfortable position for swallowing, so she would go down smoother, but she refused to cooperate.

He felt terrible as he tried not to imagine what the experience must be like for her. As gently as he could manage, he tilted his tongue up so she would slide into his gullet. He wanted to guide her down his throat slowly, but a kick to his uvula made him choke instead. He sucked her down in a harsh swallow, gripping his neck with pain as she slid through it, crunched up at an awkward angle. His Adam’s apple rippled against his palm and he nearly vomited with revulsion.

She continued to resist the constricting tunnel around her as she passed through his chest into his stomach. He felt her pushing and clawing, along with her frightened little heart pounding in a panicked cadence that matched his own. She dropped into the void of his gut and he gasped as he realized he could even perceive her tiny feet sinking into his stomach lining and wading through the gastric soup within. He covered his mouth in a dry heave, but fortunately kept down his stomach contents, Eren included. His face turned green with nausea.

Joey, too, appeared close to vomiting. Mr. Wolfe smirked cruelly at the display, since he knew Leon was not a fan of ingesting humans. Mr. Greenwood rolled his cigar in his hand with satisfaction, and Mr. Hardon seemed close to bursting.

“Mr. Wolfe? Can I have one too? Pleeeeease?” Hardon begged. “I promise I’ll keep her alive; I don’t even need to eat her! I’ll settle for a lap dance.”

Mr. Wolfe huffed. “Fine. Whatever.” The lecherous old man snatched up a busty blonde and dragged her under the table to his lap. Leon couldn’t take any more. He heaved himself to his feet and stumbled out, with Joey right behind him. Mr. Wolfe allowed him to leave, following his trail with a frosty squint.

Leon made it to the staircase and rushed ahead in a tizzy. Eren bounced in his belly with every step. He threw open the metal door to the outside world and slurped the cool, smoke-free night air greedily into his lungs. He ran around to the opposite side of the building, bent over on his knees, and promptly barfed into the alleyway.

He gasped for breath, holding his stomach with agony as strings of bile trailed from his lips. He spied Eren floundering in the rancid muck like a worm and nearly retched again. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so, so sorry…”

“EREN!” Joey exclaimed. Without any regard for how dirty she was, he scooped her up out of the puddle and clasped her to his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…” She started to cry, snuggling desperately into the folds of his suit. “Joey, I was so scared!”

“Shhhh, shhhh… you’re safe now, Eren. I’m here,” Joey murmured, petting her wet hair. He teared up as well. “I’m so sorry this happened… and if not for Leon…” His breath hitched in his throat.

Leon wiped off his mouth and dusted off his knees as he stood up. “You were essential too, Joey. Mr. Wolfe was so fixated on you, he didn’t catch my bluff. Usually he’s more perceptive.” He surveyed the alleyway. “We need to get moving, before someone spots us here.”

Joey nodded with determination and began to walk briskly, clutching Eren protectively. She looked up at him, along the curve of his chin above her. “What about the other humans? They’re still in danger!”

“Don’t fret, Eren. I’m wearing a wire and a small camera. I have evidence against them,” Joey assured her. “And Leon has been gathering evidence too, with his involvement in the organization. He’ll provide testimony.”

“I should’ve done this a long time ago,” Leon muttered in a sorrowful tone, laced with regret. “But once they started snatching up humans, I knew I couldn’t stand by any longer…”

“I’m glad you were there to aid us,” Joey remarked. “You’re doing the right thing.” As he spoke, he cleaned off Eren with his shirt.

“Yes,” Leon agreed. He sighed and looked up at the few stars he could see through the light pollution. At least there was something.

“I love you, Joey,” Eren whimpered, kissing his thumb. Leon felt warmth in his heart at the display. The small things mattered, after all—small and precious, like Eren.

Joey raised her up to his lips and kissed her back. “I love you too.”

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