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comfortless · 2 months

Note

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

413 notes · View notes

ichorai · 1 year

Text

cheesepie ; miles morales.

pairing ; miles morales x gn!reader

synopsis ; miles was the warm kind of nostalgia, like playing video games at three in the morning while whisper-yelling insults at each other, or dyeing each other’s hair horrendous bright colors in his tiny bathroom with cheap dye from the drugstore down the street, or standing on his apartment’s rooftop to stargaze the light-polluted sky of brooklyn.

words ; 3.1k

themes ; childhood friends to kinda-lovers, fluff, mild angst, slice of life

warnings / includes ; cursing, miles' parents are adorable and i love them, lots of playful banter, a bit emotional near the end, let's pretend miles still lives at home with his parents and not at the prep school

main masterlist.

The tip of Miles’ tongue poked slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he cocked his hand back, a grape pinched between his pointer finger and thumb. “Lean back a little,” he told you, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

You did as he asked, jaw wide open, prepared to catch.

He took another moment to readjust, and you rolled your eyes.

Right as he tossed the grape, you barked out in frustration, “Just throw it already!”

The cold fruit bounced right off the side of your lips and landed on the floor with a quiet thud. You blinked in shock.

Miles glared at you.

Then he smiled.

“You’re a lousy catcher,” he said, boyish peals of laughter echoing from his chest. With a sigh, he collapsed into his bed, crossing his legs and propping his head up with both his arms.

“Maybe you’re just a lousy thrower,” you replied easily, slinking across the room to sink into the mattress beside him, mimicking his position.

The two of you were far too large for his small bed—his long, gangly limbs awkwardly knocked against yours and you had to bump your hip into his to scooch him further to the edge so you’d have more space.

“Stop hogging my bed,” Miles snarked with no real malice to his words—in fact, he was beaming goofily, watching you with amusement as you grumbled under your breath about how it wasn’t your fault his bed was so narrow.

Your socked foot kicked him in the shin. He retaliated by elbowing you in the ribs. “When was the last time you changed your sheets?”

Miles stuck his tongue out at you. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Ew,” you said, but didn’t bother moving. “You’re gross.”

The boy laying beside you reached out to blindly ruffle your hair, nearly poking your eyes out in the process. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

A comfortable silence stretched over the two of you, and you couldn’t help but revel in the overwhelming sense of nostalgia that clawed up your throat. The warm kind of nostalgia, like playing video games at three in the morning while whisper-yelling insults at each other, or dyeing each other’s hair horrendous bright colors in his tiny bathroom with cheap dye from the drugstore down the street, or standing on his apartment’s rooftop to stargaze the light-polluted sky of Brooklyn and crown new constellations stupid names like ‘Snail Eating a Peanut Butter Sandwich’ or ‘Darth Vader Wearing Lady Gaga’s Meat Dress’.

It was the kind of nostalgia that made you miss a time that wasn’t yet over.

“Miles,” you whispered, staring at the bumps of his popcorn ceiling. He hummed faintly in reply. “Do you think you’re going to stay here for the rest of your life?”

When he didn’t answer, you lolled your head to your side to look at him, brows furrowed. You were surprised to see that he was looking right at you with an indiscernible gaze, as if he was in a trance of some sort.

“Miles?”

He only snapped out of it when you flicked his forehead, and he balked forward, yelping out in half-shock, half-pain. A sheepish grin etched plainly across his lips.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Just say you weren’t listening to me and leave.” With a chortle of a laugh, you shoved your palm straight into his beaming face and pushed his head so he was forced to look away from you. “Nevermind, you idiot. It was nothing.”

You jogged up the narrow stairs to Miles’ apartment door, slightly out of breath, and rang the doorbell. No less than a minute later, his dad swung the door open, already dressed in his police uniform. A bagel was sandwiched between his teeth and his hat sat crooked on his head, which made you guess that he was probably late for work (Miles definitely had the same habit of being tardy), but he ruffled your hair nonetheless, smiling at you from around the bagel.

“Hey, Mr. Davis,” you greeted with a mirroring grin. “Is the birthday boy home?”

He tried to speak around the food, but Mrs. Morales popped her head out from behind him, smacking his shoulder with a stern glare. “Jeff! That’s disgusting—don’t speak to them with food in your mouth!” She looked to you, her expression melting into one of affection. “Sorry about that, honey. Come on in, Miles is in his room. Wake him up if he’s still asleep, will you? I swear, that boy would snore right through a hurricane. Oh, and ask him if he wants cake or pie for his birthday dessert—and don’t take ‘I don’t really mind’ for an answer.”

“Will do, Mrs. Morales.”

Side-stepping the playfully bickering couple, you bid them adieu with a mock salute before marching straight to Miles’ room down the hall.

You reached into your bag to pull out the can of silly string you bought from the corner store just beside school, biting into your lip with anticipation. You popped the bright red lid off before knocking on the door.

Just as it swung open to reveal Miles with mussed hair and droopy eyelids, you pressed the nozzle with a wide grin and damp pink strings shot out, covering his face entirely. He wasn’t fazed at all, going so far as to yawn when you enthusiastically yelled out, “SURPRISE! Happy birthday, dude!”

He blinked, swiping the limp strings away from his eyes. A hint of a smile cracked through his sleepy expression.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to at least pretend to be surprised.”

“This is, like, the fifth year in a row, Y/N.”

“You love it,” you crooned, before launching yourself forward to envelop him in a hug. Miles immediately reciprocated, wrapping his arms around you tightly, making sure to nuzzle extra hard into your shoulder so the pink gunk on his face would rub into your clothes.

“Thank you,” he whispered into you. “At least you didn’t launch those fake cockroaches at me again. That was a nightmare.”

A cackle fell from you as you pulled away, pinching his cheek fondly. “Noted. Saving that for next year, then. Here, I got you some things.”

He pushed his door open further so the two of you could amble in. You sat cross-legged on his bed, pulling your bag into your lap and rifling through its contents before you pulled out a cheap glittery card.

“Hope there’s money in here,” he quipped as he took it from you. Bits of blue glitter fell onto his comforter as he pried the card open, and he shot you a glare. It was clearly a card meant for a seven-year-old child, but in bright red sharpie, the number 1 was drawn in front of the 7, with a little heart and a smiley face below. If you hadn’t been watching him so intently, Miles was sure he would’ve teared up at the sweet gesture—despite you doing it every year for as long as he could remember. His voice cracked with unvocalized emotion when he croaked out, “There’s no money in here.”

You scoffed, punching his bicep weakly. “You’re an ass. Here, I made you this, too. Had to watch, like, a billion YouTube videos to learn how to crochet these. You’re welcome.”

Alright, maybe it was less than a billion, and a lot closer to five. But Miles didn’t need to know that.

Digging into your bag again, you fished out a long woolen scarf that had alternating black and vibrant purple stripes. You threw it straight into his face before pulling out yet another piece, which Miles noticed was a soft, lavender-hued beanie.

“You made these for me?” Miles asked in surprise, his thumb running over the soft yarn of the scarf.

“Duh doy,” you said, wrinkling your nose in amusement when he wrapped the scarf around his neck with a goofy grin. “Here—this is the last thing, I swear—but, I also got these for you. I know you’ve been wanting them for forever.”

With one final scrummage through your bag, you pulled out a pack of premium coloring pencils, which Miles scrambled to grab, his wide eyes darting between the colors and your fond gaze. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you got these for me. They’re so expensive, Y/N, you really shouldn’t have.”

“Well,” you said, slinging an arm around him, “I gotta support local artists, you know? And you are, by far, my favorite one.”

He placed the pencils down between you, and roped you into another proper hug, quietly murmuring his thanks into your hair.

“Your mom wanted me to ask you if you wanted birthday cake or birthday pie this year,” you whispered into him, playing with the tassels at the end of his new scarf.

“I’m kinda feeling cheesecake this year.”

“Cheesecake is pie, Miles.”

“Then why isn’t it called cheesepie?”

“Because that sounds gross.”

“You sound gross.”

“You’re grosser.”

“You’re grosserer.”

“That’s not a word.”

Miles sighed into your hairline, tugging you closer. The two of you dropped your childish bickering as if it had never happened. “Thank you—for all this. I know I don’t tell you enough but, I… love you. Blegh. It’s so weird being sappy with you.”

He kept his hand to the back of your head so you wouldn’t be able to see his eyes tearing up. You heard him sniffling, so it was really pointless, anyway.

“I guess I love you, too. Idiot.”

“Smartass.”

“Nerd.”

The two of you laughed into each other.

“Happy birthday, Miles.”

A month passed by in a breeze. The two of you had rarely seen each other through the days because you had been loaded with work and Miles… Miles was busy. Apparently. You weren’t entirely sure with what exactly, but you didn’t really want to pry. He was a teenage boy—they were allowed to have their own little secrets if they wanted to.

But it was the weekend, and you missed your best friend.

“Hey, Y/N,” Miles’ dad greeted you as he swung the door open. He lifted a hand for a high five, and you playfully pressed your knuckles into his palm as if you were fist bumping him. He chuckled at your antics, before speaking again. “Miles is at school—some sort of art club, I think. Or maybe it was a science convention. I never know with him nowadays. Gonna have to ask him once he gets back. You can wait for him in his room—he should be back any minute now.”

“Alright,” you said, ambling down the hall. You waved to Mrs. Morales in the kitchen before slipping into his room, shutting the door behind you softly.

You kicked your shoes off as you crawled onto his bed, curling into a ball and brandished your phone out of your pocket, texting Miles.

yo bitch wya ur dad said you were at a science convention? bfr ik ur lying

After hesitating for a moment, you sent another text.

i miss you

You sighed, tossing your phone somewhere beside you and stared up at his popcorn ceiling. Boredom eating you away, you reached over to his table to grab one of the haphazardly strewn comic books, aimlessly flipping through the colorful graphics. You were wondering why the story was so familiar until you realized that this was your comic book that Miles had swiped from your room nearly a month ago.

A loose sheet of paper fell out the back, and you sat up against his headboard, tilting your head curiously.

Oh.

It was a drawing of you.

Your eyebrows raised as you studied the colorful sketch—seemingly done with the nice pencils you’d given him for his birthday—and looked like it was done in a hurry, but it was effortlessly beautiful nonetheless.

You were smiling widely in the drawing, holding up a peace sign. Miles had somehow even remembered the small scar across your nose bridge from that time when he had accidentally thrown a basketball straight into your face a year ago.

“Oh, Miles,” you whispered softly, tracing the intricate lines with a finger.

As if on cue, the window beside his desk slid open, and in crawled… Spider-Man?

But Spider-Man—Peter Parker—was dead. The two of you had gone to listen to MJ Parker’s remembrance speech together a couple years ago. And Spider-Man had a blue and red suit.

This wasn’t Spider-Man. At least, not the one that you knew.

The figure, frozen halfway through the window, sported a sleek back and red spider suit.

And, you recognized with wide eyes, the lavender beanie was pulled over his head, on top of the dark mask.

You blinked, scrambling back on his bed.

“Miles…?” you asked tentatively.

Your best friend, the one that you loved ever so dearly, slowly slid into his room, and shut the window behind him, before taking the mask off. His hair was rumpled and his features were slightly winded, but otherwise, he looked just the same.

Words failed to cohesively stick together as you struggled to ask him a proper question. “What are you… why are you…”

Miles pursed his lips. “I didn’t want you to know. Not this soon, at least.”

“Know what, Miles?”

He let out a long sigh, before backing up to the wall. He then proceeded to walk along his walls perfectly horizontal, as if his shoes were somehow suction-cupped to the plaster.

“What the fuck…” you whispered, staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes. “Miles, what the actual fuck? Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming.” He dropped back to the ground silently.

“So you’re… what? You’re Spider-Man, now?”

Miles shrugged. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

“You have powers?”

Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, he nodded sheepishly. “Bitten by a radioactive spider a while ago.”

Hurt etched into your voice without you meaning to do so. “Why didn’t you tell me, Miles?”

“I didn’t…” he cut himself off, slumping into his chair. The brown of his eyes gleamed with inner conflict, unsure of what to tell you. “I didn’t want you to worry. So much has been happening, I just—I wanted you to be separate. I wanted you to be… away from all of that.”

The two of you were silent for a moment.

You squared your jaw.

“Okay.”

Miles looked up at you in surprise.

“Okay? What do you mean?”

“Okay as in—I’ll stay away from it all if you really want me to. Spider or not, you’re my best friend, Miles. Nothing will ever change that.” You pushed yourself off the bed to walk over to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, then promptly changed your mind, winding your arms around his torso and tugging him into a warm embrace. “But if you die out there… I’ll actually kill you. I’ll do it, Miles, I will.”

He laughed slightly, winding his lanky arms around you to return the hug. “I believe you. Thank you.”

“I love you,” you whispered, chin resting on his suit-clad shoulder. “Things are changing for both of us, Miles. And I need you to stay in my life.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, rubbing comforting circles into your back with his palm. There was a knot in his chest, and a lump in his throat. He felt the strange need to cry build up within him, but he kept the tears at bay for you. “I love you, too, you know.”

You hummed against him, sniffling slightly. “I know.”

“I saw your text. I miss you, too.”

“I know.”

“I love you,” Miles repeated, voice faltering slightly.

“I know?” you parroted, mildly confused.

He grasped your shoulders to pull you away, holding you at an arm’s length. The expression that melded over his handsome features was suddenly deadly serious. The abrupt change was jarring—it scared you. “Maybe not in a friend way, though.”

“Oh,” you whispered. You could feel your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. “I didn’t know that.”

A hot tear slipped down your cheek and your shoulders trembled as you staved off a hiccuping sob. Miles’ heart lurched, and he hurriedly swiped it away, afraid that he had completely ruined what the two of you had.

“Everything’s changing, Miles. You know I hate change. It’s all moving by too quickly.” Your expression crumpled as more tears began sliding down your face. “But I think I love you, too. Maybe not in a friend way. And that just… terrifies me.”

Warmth from his palm radiated against your face even with the suit layered over his hand. He cupped your cheeks delicately, tilting his head as he studied you.

“Can I… can I try something? And if it doesn’t work out, we can just pretend it never happened and go back to being best friends. I promise.”

You weren’t stupid. You knew Miles wanted to kiss you.

“Okay,” you croaked.

And he did.

It wasn’t at all like how kisses were depicted in the movies. There were no fireworks, no explosive passion, and certainly no feverish desperation. Only bumping noses and gentle smiles and lips that tasted of salty tears. And it was perfect.

“Hm. You’re a bad kisser,” Miles concluded in a joking tone, but dipped down to give you another kiss nonetheless.

You weren’t entirely sure where this left your relationship, and if you were being honest, you were a bit too scared to interrogate him for answers he probably also didn’t have. You didn’t want to ask for much—you were just happy to spend time with him and enjoy the last few precious remnants of teenagehood the two of you had left together. Miles meant the world to you, and you’d be damned if a radioactive spider got in the way of that.

Arching an eyebrow, you gestured to the looseleaf drawing you left on his bed. “And you’re a creep for drawing me without letting me know.”

Miles blanched. “I… hey! You were looking through my stuff?”

“It was in a comic book on the table. That you stole from me, remember?” Tugging him back to you, you leaned up to slant your lips onto his, smiling stupidly into the kiss. “Idiot.”

“Well, it takes one to know one,” he murmured against you, grinning so wide that it nearly split his face in two.

You shut him up by kissing him again.

#miles morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman x reader #miles morales imagines #miles morales drabbles #miles morales angst #miles morales fluff #miles morales x you #miles morales imagine #spider-man across the spiderverse #marvel fanfiction

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artethyst · 3 months

Text

~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister! Reader/OC

“Lucien,” Eris growled, stalking over to his sobbing and heavily pregnant mate, his brother could only stand there awkwardly, in a fruitless attempt to soothe her.

“I swear I had no part in this!” The Emissary raised his hands in mock surrender as his sister in law continued to cry, unrelenting tears spilling down her pale cheeks.

Eris sighed, and whilst he wished she would stay inside like the Healers had recommended, he couldn’t deny her anything.

His only request was that his brother chaperone her should she feel restless, especially if he happened to be caught up in meetings he was unable to be in absence of.

Eris gently removed his overcoat and draped it over her shoulders, overly paranoid that she would catch a chill in her weakened state and ignored the way Lucien rolled his eyes at his brother’s worrying.

Lucien knew, beneath everything, the feared High Lord of Autumn was nothing but a softie. A mama’s boy who would do anything for his wife should she merely ask of it.

He was certain Eris would have surrendered even his own crown- the one he had spent centuries suffering for, if it meant she was happy.

“I can’t understand what she’s saying,” Lucien was almost just as panicked, knowing whatever was wrong he’d surely be blamed for it.

“Well, we both know how successful you are with the ladies,” Eris drawled and Lucien snarled at the reference to his own mate. “My work is done for the day, you may leave.”

Lucien bowed and sent one lasting gaze at the two of them, admittedly unnerved by her frantic state.

Until recently he had never seen her cry in the many years of knowing her, and whilst he would never admit it out loud, she had always been his favourite member of the Inner Circle.

“My love,” Eris soothed her by playing with her hair, she had found solace against his hard chest as she let out small gasps, taking comfort in his scent as he provided comforting waves of love down the bond. “Tell me, what is making you so upset, hmm?”

His words held no taunt as she sniffled, and he would never tell her that he found it rather endearing how she looked- so vulnerable with her cheeks aflame and violet eyes glossy.

“T-That hawk!” She whimpered, a shaky hand moving to point at the tree before them, and only he could’ve understood her choked out words as they were sobbed into him. “I-It pushed a p-poor baby b-bird out of i-its nest a-and-“ the next part was too horrific for her to say and she cried harder as Eris sighed, stroking the back of her neck.

Oh, for anyone to see her now.

The Crown Princess of the Night Court, feared magic wielder who helped slaughter many in the war and High Lady of Autumn, brought to tears- over a baby bird.

He supposed it had something to do with the little flame growing in her stomach.

“E-Eri I want you to kill it,” the soft tone of her voice betrayed its sentiment as he paused his ministrations for a moment, his eyebrow raised in amusement. “Make it p-pay for s-slaughtering that d-defenceless creature!”

He withheld a chuckle at the irony of her demand, pressing a light kiss to the crown of her head before adjusting their position so her back was flush against his front.

His chin grazed her scalp as he effortlessly flicked his hand, the unassuming hawk turning to ash in an instant as she watched in satisfaction.

No matter how silly, trivial or frivolous her demand, he would always comply.

“Better now my love?” He crooned as she became giddy, throwing her arms around his neck as he breathed in her scent- a sickly sweet smell of a youngling mixed with his own.

It brought a new possessiveness- pride within him to know she now carried his smell with her, a subtle hint of spice and ember imbedded in her natural twinge of jasmine.

He felt her heart soar as she tugged against his own through the bond, her soft cheek nuzzling against his rough hand which came to gently rub at her damp skin.

“I’ve missed you,” she mumbled, as he unwittingly melted at her words, thinking he might never get used to the love she had shown him- insisted that he deserved.

“You saw me this morning Bunny,” he teased as she pouted.

“That was hours ago!” She insisted guiding his calloused palm to her slightly protruding stomach. “I need you…We need you.”

He couldn’t help a genuine smile overtaking his wry smirk, feeling the life they created flicker beneath their joined hands.

“It seems our little ember agrees,” he mused and despite his biting fear of her upcoming labour, as everyone knew- Fae births were not only extremely rare, but horrifically dangerous, despite it all he was happy.

Despite what having a child would mean, a new threat to him he had no doubt people would take advantage of, he couldn’t help but feel at peace too.

At peace with himself. At peace with his mate and their unborn baby which would soon complete their little makeshift family.

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris x oc #eris vanserra x oc #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x oc #eris vandaddy #acotar fic #fanfic

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faithshouseofchaos · 3 months

Text

Dress up — dad!Charles Leclerc x reader

Tagged— @astraeaworld @ashy-kit @alwayzbeenale @67-angelofthelordme-67 @amatswimming @a-casual-romantic @bblouifford @badassturtle13 @bbtoni @barcelonaloverf1life @charlesf1leclerc @crashingwavesofeuphoria @clowngirlsstuff @dark-night-sky-99 @dudenhaaa27 @eugene-emt-roe @embrosegraves @faithsotherhouseofchaos @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hangmandruigandmav @hollie911 @jeffs77 @hrts4scarr @jaeeyaaasworld @ironcowboycopnickel @lipringlrh @lightdragonrayne @lollypop90907 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @moss-on-tmblr @natailiatulls07 @norrisleclercf1 @omgsuperstarg @oconswrld @otako5811 @purplephantomwolf @scotlynaurora @toasttt11 @uluvjay @vellicora @venusisnothere @vivwritesfics

The two most important people in Charles' life were his wife and his daughter. Charles loved them more than life itself. Charles' favorite thing to do on the weekends was play with his daughter Anastasia Juliet Leclerc. Charles would never admit to it but he lived for the moments when Anastasia dragged him into her playroom to play dress up and dollies.

“What do you want to do today?” Charles asked Anastasia while cleaning up her face from breakfast.

“I wanna play dress up!” Anastasia squealed.

“Okay princess, let’s get you all decked out”, Charles responds as he lifts her into his arms. He carries her to her playroom and sets her down on a stool in front of her large wardrobe.

“Ooh look, Daddy, I want this one!” She exclaims, pulling an Aurora-themed dress from her play play chest filled with dresses and other costumes

“Wow, I can see why!” Charles responds as he checks out the dress. It’s gorgeous, made of sparkly gold fabric, and adorned with beautiful gems. Charles can imagine the fairy tale it will create. “How about we go with this dress today and let’s see what else we can come up with to go with it”, he suggests as he pulls out a basket of accessories for her to choose from.

Anastasia squeals with excitement as she digs through the basket of sparkling necklaces, bracelets, and tiaras. She decides on a small crown made of rubies and a tiara that matches her dress. Charles can’t help but smile as he watches his daughter’s imagination run wild.

“Your turn papa!” Anastasia exclaimed excitedly as she grabbed a fake pearl necklace, two clip-on earrings, and a tiara and put them on her papa.

“Daddy looks so elegant!”, Charles laughs as he puts on the delicate necklace, earrings, and matching tiara that Anastasia gives him. He looks very silly dressed as a princess but he can tell she loves it.

“Do you like me like this, my fair princess?” Charles asks with a playful look on his face.

“Yes, daddy! You look just like my favorite princess from my story book”, Anastasia responds as she kisses him on the cheek. Her face is full of joy and love as she looks at her adoring father.

“Can I do your makeup next?” Anastasia asks in a very childlike, adorable tone.

Charles has no idea why his daughter wants to do his makeup, but he can’t deny the chance to spend more time with her, not to mention she’d probably give him some kind of funny look.

“Hmm, okay but you have to be gentle, okay princess?” Charles says as he sits down on a stool in front of her.

“Okay Daddy, I’ll be very careful”, Anastasia says.

Anastasia begins by applying a light pink blush on his cheeks and a touch of sparkle shadow on his eyes.

Charles looks down now and then to see what his daughter is doing and he is pleasantly surprised by how careful and nice she is being with him.

Charles is not afraid of being seen in such a ridiculous way, especially since Anastasia is the one doing the makeup. His main focus in that moment is how much his daughter loves dressing up with him and she’s not even asking for anything in exchange, all she wants is to play with her daddy.

“Okay, now I just need to add a little lipstick and you’ll be ready for the ball”, Anastasia says excitedly. She applies a light pink lipstick to her father’s lips.

Charles is enjoying this moment with his young princess. He feels relaxed and content in a way he hasn’t in a while. She’s not asking him for anything, not even an expensive toy or a new dress, all she wants is to play dress up with her father.

“All done! You look amazing Daddy”, Anastasia exclaims excitedly. Charles isn’t sure what’s more laughable, his princess dress and makeup or the huge smile on his daughter’s face. She seems genuinely proud of the look she’s put together for her daddy as if he was going to go to a royal ball at the palace.

Charles can’t help but giggle as he watches his daughter’s face light up. She’s so excited to see him in his princess dress and makeup, and he’s happy to oblige. He feels silly but he enjoys making his daughter happy. It seems like every time he gives in, she wants to play dress up for longer. What started as a couple of minutes has turned into an hour already.

“Come on, Daddy, we have to dance!” Anastasia says as she grabs her father’s hand and pulls him up from his stool.

Anastasia doesn’t want to waste any time getting started with their grand ball of a dance and she wants her prince charming by her side. Charles can’t help but laugh as his daughter’s imagination runs wild.

She is having so much fun with this make-believe game that she doesn’t even realize how much time is passing. Charles just wants her to be happy.

“Okay my fair princess, let us dance!” Charles responds, following his daughter’s cue and pretending to be her prince charming. He takes her hand and begins to sway her from side to side as if they were dancing. He even goes so far as to spin her around a few times as they make their rounds around the room.

Anastasia is grinning from ear to ear as she feels like a real princess, dancing with her handsome prince. Charles is smiling as well, but his smile is more about how much his daughter is enjoying this game.

When you got home you could hear the father-daughter pair in the playroom giggling and laughing. Walking to Anastasia’s playroom you watched the two dance around before making yourself known.

“Well don’t you two look adorable” you said to Charles and your daughter

Charles smiles at his wife as she walks through the door and sees him playing dress up with his daughter. It’s been a long day at work but watching the two of them dancing in the playroom makes him forget all about it.

“Yes we do, don’t we mommy? And all thanks to Anastasia! She made me look so beautiful”, Charles replies with a sarcastic yet endearing tone.

“Thank you, honey, this was all Anastasia’s idea”, Charles says as he turns towards you. You love that your husband still allows your daughter to play with him and even dress him up in silly outfits and makeup. He knows he looks silly and would never go out like that, but for Anastasia, he would pretend to be anyone she wants him to be.

“Do I look pretty?” Anastasia asks, twirling in front of you. The pink dress and makeup bring out her blue/green eyes and give her an innocent and soft aura. She looks almost like a miniature version of a Disney princess.

“You look gorgeous!” You exclaim as you look at your daughter dressed as a princess. You feel like your heart is going to burst with joy when you see how happy she looks dressed up and playing dress up with her father.

“Can I do your makeup too, mommy?”, Anastasia asks as she watches you look at her. She’s already made up her mind, she wants to put makeup on you too.

“Alright princess, you can do my makeup but you have to be careful and not make me look too silly, okay?” You respond as you give her a small smile. You know that Anastasia loves to play dress up and it’s sweet how she wants to include you as well.

“Don’t worry Mommy, I’m going to make you look more beautiful than you already are”, Anastasia replies with a big grin on her face. You can’t help but chuckle at her confidence, she looks so sure that she’s going to make you look like the prettiest woman in the whole world.

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yandere-daydreams · 11 months

Text

Title: Scorched Earth.

A Grab Bag For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Warrior x Reader.

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of War/Death, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Kidnapping.

You saw the torchlight hours before he reached your cottage.

Bright and brilliant, a red stain ebbing through the trees and bleeding into the dark sky. The forest was dense, the canopy stifling, yet somehow, the light he and his soldiers carried was awful enough to pierce through it all, to burn away every behind them and fill the open air with thick, choking smoke. You could’ve tried to flee, it wasn’t as if you couldn’t guess what was coming for you, but you didn’t keep a horse, and you knew better than to stave off the inevitable. He’d catch you, no matter how far you ran, no matter how many times you refused him. He’d promised as much, the first time he declared that you’d be his.

Rather than escape, you stayed where you were, perched on the rotting wooden steps leading up to your door and watching the oncoming flare. His scouts, dressed in black and prone to circling your meager home like vultures, reached you before he did, then sergeants, piling in by the dozen, well-armed and jeering and carrying his insignia with a sort of heady arrogance. Finally, he emerged from the growth, surrounded by his lieutenants and mounted on a sleek, grey steed larger than any you’d ever seen before. He was a far cry from how you’d seen him last – his bandages gone, his pitch-black hair grown down to his shoulders, the rags you’d been able to lend him traded out for shining armor clean enough to catch the torchlight and glow scarlet. A great-sword sat at his hip, two more curved blades crossed over his back, but you couldn’t seem to find much joy in his fortune. Not when you’d soon be counted among one of his many, many precious things.

As he dismounted, the movements practiced to the point of thoughtlessness, you rose to meet him, hyper-aware that this would likely be the last time you’d be able to stand on equal ground. “Wren.”

It wasn’t his name. You’d misheard him, the first time you asked; made what you could out of the slurred syllables he’d been able to spit out and never found the time to look back. Even when he started to recover, when he was able to hold onto consciousness for longer than a minute at a time and more than just your clumsy stitching held the jagged cut stretching from his shoulder to his hip shut, he always failed to correct you. His real name – Wyvern, given to him as an unknown orphan after he slayed his namesake and delivered its head to a king who’d let him massacre armies and rampage through the countryside as he pleased – was something you had to learn the day he left, the day he told you who he was and why you’d found him bleeding out in a stream all those months ago. He’d asked you to come with him, back to the castle, and through tears, you’d told him that you wouldn’t have helped him if you’d known you were saving the life of a murderer. He’d tried to kiss you, and you slapped him and told him to get out of your cottage.

It wasn’t his name, but he smiled like it was, taking a step toward you. His soldiers started to close in, but he held up a hand, keeping them at bay. “Beloved.” It was a familiar petname. It used to make you blush, stammer, want to make flower crowns and kick your feet and learn to play some ridiculous stringed instrument. Now, it just made your stomach turn, your vision dim at the edges with rage. “I’m sorry I took so long to return to you. I had to gather a few friends – thought you should meet the future guests of our wedding.”

There was cheer from his soldiers, a flash of a grin from Wren. You stiffened, squaring your shoulders, but he remained unaffected, his expression only softening as you forced yourself to respond. “I meant what I said. I could never love a man with blood on his hands.”

If he heard you over the milling of his soldiers, the crackling of his torches and the distant sounds of the forest’s nightlife, he clearly wasn’t listening. Rather he closed the remaining space between you and him and took you in his arms. Your feet were off the ground in a moment, your chest against his chest in another, being spun idly as he let out a throaty laugh. “God,” he sighed, when he finally came to a stop. The sharp corners of his plated armor dug into your skin at odd angles, and his hold on your waist was tight enough to bruise. You’d had to ask him to be gentle before, to mind his inhuman strength when he touched you, but it was a lesson he just couldn’t seem to take to heart. “I missed the sound of your voice. I’ll have to take you with me on my next campaign - I don’t know if I could stand to leave you at court for all that time.”

“Put me down,” you hissed, hitting his shoulders with as much force as you could manage. He abided you, but didn’t let go of you – just moving his hold from your hips to your hands, taking them in his own before you had time to pull away.

“I couldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. Most of the knights are absolute bastards, and you’re too sweet – they’d try to take you for themselves in a heartbeat. No, I can’t let you out of my sight for a moment, can I?” He paused, his face lighting up with apparent zeal. “You’ll adore the castle. I’ve already secured a cottage on the edge of the grounds, and you’ll have full reign of the gardens. We won’t have to—”

“Stop.” You attempted to wrench yourself out of his vice-grip, and when that failed, let out a ragged groan, tears already forming in the corners of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“That’s not true.” His smile didn’t so much as waver. “You saved my life. You told me that you loved me, and I love you, too. How would either of us ever be happy if we were seperated?”

Something deep in your chest ached. It was impossible to look at him and not picture the countless mornings you’d woken up by his side, the countless days you’d passed teaching him how fish and tend to a garden, the countless nights you’d spent bundled beside a fire sharing stories with a man you thought you’d loved. It was impossible not to think about what he’d done and wish you’d driven that knife into his stomach yourself.

“I can’t love someone like you,” you said, finally, because you couldn’t bear to say anything else. “And I’m not leaving my home.”

At that, you could’ve sworn you saw something register in his dark eyes. He was quiet, his enthusiasm fading, and for a second, you thought he might’ve understood. For a second, you thought he might call away his soldiers, get back on his horse, and leave you to your quiet suffering.

Then, he leaned forward, his lips coming to rest against the top of your head. “Beloved,” his voice was low, stifled your skin. “You don’t have a home. Not without me.”

Abruptly, he pulled away from you, raising a hand and looking toward his soldiers. While you were left in the dark, they knew their signal, surging forward in a chaotic wave of yelling and footsteps. You pressed your form against Wren’s side, clenching your eyes shut and bracing yourself, but there was only a burst of heat, a sudden visible even through your eyelids. Another kiss, this one pressed into your cheek and chased with a soft chuckle.

When you could bring yourself to look, you found not a volley of arrows or a hundred swords all pointed at your neck, but your cottage engulfed in flame, shining golden in the oppressive night. Your shoulders fell, your mouth opening, but you failed to make a sound. Wren wasn’t as stunned, grinning as he pulled you close and pressed his lips into yours, the kiss delicate and tortuous all at once.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered as he pulled away, his tone so soft and so gentle, you could almost tell ignore the blood-soaked cruelty lingering just underneath it.

“The only home you need is with me.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere soldier #yandere royalty #yandere knight #yanderecore #yancore

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byuntrash101 · 1 year

Text

first flight to hongkong

sub!reader x dom!ot8ateez (yes, of all of them. yes, all at the same time)

smut | nsfw | mdni

18.3k (so much filth and im not even sorry)

yes, you're suprised when your company offers you a vacant spot in the vip crew. but "surprised" doesn't cut it when you discover what kind of service your company provides the vips

nsfw tags under the cut

this tag list is looong so grab a seat sweetie...idol!au, a tad of plot, ateez’ love language is gift giving (yes it’s relevant), kink negotiation, color system safe words, flight attendant & sex worker!reader, dom!ateez (some are gentle, some are meanies depends on the member. hwa is both lol) gangbang, sir kink, impact play (spanking, kitty & face slapping), pain play, nipple play, use of toys, unprotected but safe sex (birth control + tested) (we love to see it), fingering (f), squirting, dacryphilia, orgasm control (f), overstim, slight corruption kink (they enjoy ruining you idk if it counts), very light foot fetish (yunho (pun intended) who this is about), marking, oral (f & m), deepthroat, praising, degradation (slut, whore), pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, good girl, doll, kitten, each of them kinda uses the pet name they like), anal, double penetration, mingi is big, yunho is bigger, so much praising, lowkey voyeurism/exhibitiosnim, brief mxm (woo jerks off san. ofc it had to be woosan), facial, manhandling, !!!!optional!!!! watersports (this post is the no watersports version. if u want the kinky version click here ♡).

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ THE TAGS AND TO CLICK OFF IF ANYTHING SEEMS LIKE SOMETHING YOU WOULDN'T ENJOY.

a/n: this is an idol!au and it's taking place right after the break the wall show in paris. so hongjoong isn't blueberry yet (he's blonde) and mingi is pinkgi because i wanted him to be (even though the pink had faded completely by then). that being said im super duper excited to finally publish this. it's been such a journey for me please overlook any typos or mistakes and i really wanted every single member to get the spotlight and that's how you end up with 18k... but i garantee whoever your bias you'll see him in this. i hope you enjoy <3

ateez masterlist | navigation

You check yourself one last time in the bathroom mirror of your Parisian hotel room. Normally your employer always booked you the smallest, cheapest hotels. But this time you have a beautiful room with a magnificent view on the busy Parisian and picturesque streets. You can even see the Eiffel Tower pierce the sky in the horizon line.

You sigh as you look at your untouched croissant and coffee, they turned cold a long time ago. You lay a hand on your knotted stomach, you are not hungry. You are stressed. Actually, no. Stressed is an understatement. You are a nervous wreck.

You fight the urge to bring your fingers to your mouth to bite your perfectly manicured nails, that were painted with a light coat of pinkish nude nail polish and instead tuck in a loose strand of hair back in your impeccably sleek low bun. The last touch up to make the rest of the look absolutely perfect.

To go along with nude nails, you have light makeup focusing mainly on skin. High end foundation giving you the airbrush look paired with a peachy blush that complimented your skin tone nicely. Some very subtle contouring on your cheeks and jawline and highlighting on the bridge of the nose and above the cheekbones. And to finish it off mascara that elegantly elongated your lashes and underlined your gaze.

Before you slipped on the navy blue uniform over the beautiful white lace Balmain lingerie set. You sprayed a light touch of Banglore by Carven on to your chest, wrists, behind both ears and a touch on the crown of your head. The scent was very unique unlike any women's perfume you tried before. It was a contrasted scent of sandalwood and amber with a touch of vanilla that lingered to soothe the warm spices. It was balanced and elegant.

Regarding the lingerie, the luxurious white set fit you so well that it looked sewed onto your skin. The bra lifted your breasts and the panties sat very high on your waistline making your bottom rounder.

You slipped on the light blue blouse and the navy skirt under a fitted blazer that matched the skirt. You also wore white thigh high tights. Yves Saint Laurent sleek black stiletto pumps. The shoes gave an elegant arch to your feet which was worth the discomfort. And last but not least the signature flight attendant beret, that had your company’s logo embroidered onto the side that read “Air France”.

You added to the look a very fine and discreet 24k gold chain around your neck and tahitian pearl earrings.

And that was the completed look. At least this part of the request you could fulfill.

Because, yes, every single detail about your look today was requested and revised by your client. The jewelry, the lingerie, the perfume, the make up, the nails, the shoes. Everything was hand picked by him for you.

It was your very first time attending the VIPs. Never in a million years you thought you would get there in your career but the rumor was that when the client was handed out the photos of the VIP attendants he requested to have the info of all the attendants the company employed and out if the hundreds of women he saw he picked you. So how could you not be stressed? This man (that was probably very influential) had set the bar really high and you on the other hand didn't have any past experiences to even wrap your mind around what was "setting the bar high" in this context. You were a total noob and you felt (you were) under prepared to cater the very specific needs of the VIPs.

But after all, the company only offered the position to you. They never forced your hand. You could have said no. But the compensation that came with it was alluring to say the least. That added to the luxurious setting of it all. Getting to mingle with the rich and famous… even in that way… it tipped the balance towards the yes, to the detriment of your morals. But maybe you should have said no…

In the taxi from the hotel to the airport you couldn't enjoy the beautiful scenery of the maze of narrow and paved streets. You were too busy fidgeting with your perfectly manicured hands and trying vainly to swallow the lump inside your throat.

You thanked the taxi driver and walked mechanically to the terminal, slaloming between the businessmen in between two flights and the lost tourists absentmindedly walking with their noses up and squinted eyes looking for directions.

When your feet hit the tarmacked runway making your heels click against it, you finally saw the aircraft away. It was unlike anything you worked with before. You were used to the huge boeings with the multiple rows and the numerous portholes but this one was a jet. The nose of the plane was narrow and contoured, the body of it was smaller but you could already tell from a distance, far more lavish.

You took a couple of deep breaths on the windy departure runaway to try to calm down. As you were climbing the steps that led to the jet you felt like your knees were about to give out. Thankfully your legs successfully carried you all the way to the clean and luxurious habitacle.

Talking of luxury, you had never seen such a display of wealth before. Each individual booth was lined with immaculate white leather and stuffed with soft and cushiony material. You could only imagine how comfortable the seat was. Every single detail was impeccable.

In front of the seat there was a bench where the attendants were meant to sit to wait for the customer requests.

"Hi" The pilot standing in the cockpit greets you. The sudden sound makes you jump. You muster a timid “hey” as a response.

"Are you ready for the big leap?" He asks, wearing a warm, reassuring smile.

"No, but I don't think I have enough time in this life to ever prepare for this so..." your words trail off into an awkward laugh. The pilot gently pats your shoulder.

"Don't worry kiddo if there's anything wrong we're right here."

"Thanks"

"The info sheet is over there" he pointed at the small closed off space, reserved for the attendants right between the VIP seating area and the cockpit.

"Ready for the checklist, captain?" You heard the voice of the co-pilot ask from the cockpit.

"You'll be alright" he gave you a last confident nod before closing the door.

And you find yourself completely alone. The space suddenly feels huge. You feel like you will never be able to fill it on your own. Maybe you bit off more than you could chew by accepting this?

You shake your head to chase the doubts away. You should at least check the info sheet before panicking, you figure.

You extend your hand to take the note sitting on a small counter next to a locker and a bench.

On the paper you find your name, your company registration number and your photo. So far so good but it's nothing new.

You read various info about the flight. Departure: Paris Charles de Gaulle. Arrival: International Airport of Hong Kong. The model of the jet and other details about the time of take off and landing. Still. There's not a single new piece of information to be found.

Then finally you reach the critical part.

Client name : Ateez.

You cock one eyebrow in surprise. That's an unusual name for a person. But somehow it sounds familiar…

There’s more information under “safe practices”: the client marked his wish for the service to be performed without physical barriers. All parties involved have been tested.

You knew that too after the long hours you spent at the hospital yesterday. But the client paid extra just to be able to not use a condom. Fortunately you were already on birth control.

When your eyes glaze over the next title your heart loops inside your chest.

Service request.

Under this you find a very detailed box list of various practices and... preferences. Many of which you'd have to Google to understand. Ranging from foot fetish to dacryphilia (one of those you had to look up). You didn't even know so many kinks even existed. But as much as you squint none of the boxes were checked. The list is entirely blank except for a hand written comment under "other".

“To be discussed with the hostess.”

The hostess... that's you.

The cryptic comment makes you somehow even more nervous. There's not a single piece of useful information on this whole entire form! The experience is already nerve wracking and the fact that the company is letting you figure this one out on your own is making matters much worse. You can’t prepare yourself without any information!

Well… there’s the name at least, you reasoned with your irrational self. You scramble for your phone from your small purse and type the name in the url bar.

You should have known not having to type the complete name for it to appear in the research suggestions was a bad sign.

Thousands of found pages popped up on the small screen. The first one you open is your most reliable source: Wikipedia.

Ateez (Korean: 에이티즈) is a South Korean boy band formed by KQ Entertainment. The group consists of eight members: Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang, San, Mingi, Wooyoung and Jongho. They debuted on October 24, 2018, with the extended play (EP) Treasure EP.1: All to Zero.

Wait… eight members...... your client is a GROUP of eight men?!?!?!? You click on the royalty free picture provided by the website. Somehow the 8 faces look familiar though you are sure you didn't know about them before today.

Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. Your vision starts to get blurry as panic wins over you. Infecting your body via the poisonous adrenaline the frantic organ pumps into each of your limbs. You stumble to sit on the small bench.

You knew the said client was filthy rich. Only the 1% can afford to request such a service from your company but you expected a politician or a silicon valley CEO... not actual celebrities. The kind that sells out arenas and stadiums, the kind that you see on billboards and that make the front pages of magazines.

Then the realization hits you like a train. You did see them before! You attended their flight from Copenhagen to Paris a couple of days ago. That also coincides with when the company proposed this promotion to you... You remember now but they wore masks you didn't get to see their faces properly and the company flies tons of influential people all year round. To you they were just the first class passengers and you took care of them like you would have with any other client. Yes they looked famous but you just didn't check...

Now there was a difference between bringing them coffee and a hot towel and doing... whatever they were expecting you to do... which you still didn't have the slightest clue about.

Now you are sure. You did bit off more than you could chew.

You want to call off the deal. You should just call HR and just tell them to get somebody else on this one. Yes! Yes! You'll do that. There are plenty of other attendants that'd kill to be here so they'll find someone else no problem.

Right as your thumb is hovering over the number of the HR department you hear rumbles and voices in the tunnel linking the terminal and the aircraft...

Looks like it's too late.

You act in sole instinct and get up hurriedly, flatten your skirt and head with big strides to stand at the entrance of the plane like you would with any other flight.

It's okay y/n. You'll be okay. You're always okay. This is just another flight. You've got this.

You repeat those words in your head like a mantra. The silent prayer calms you down. You pull on your skirt and readjust your blazer, put on your best smile before you see the first shoe peeking up from the elbow of the tube. Followed by a colony of others. Sixteen to be exact, sixteen individual shoes. Yes... Eight. Eight men.

It's game time.

One by one the group boards the plane. You professionally greet all of them like you have with any client before. Politely smiling and bowing your head like you did thousands of times. All of them return the polite bow and despite their disguises you see some of them crease their eyes, letting you guess the smile curling up their lips under the masks, the beanies and the bucket hats concealing their faces.

See? So far so good. You got this. One baby step at a time.

Over the next few minutes you are able to calm down. You feel completely in control. You install the clients one by one in the separate and spacious seats. You make the final check of the luggage above the seats. Close up all the lockers and check that every passenger has fastened their seat belts correctly. You explain the safety procedures in case of an emergency. Then finally sit in your own seat, the little bench facing the VIPs while the pilot makes his announcement. When the plane accelerates to take off you are back into normality. Your heart has stopped racing and your hands are not clammy or shaking anymore. You no longer feel the need to nervously pull on your nails.

You are in control. You got this.

When the “seatbelts on” sign turns off you get up.

"You may now unfasten your seatbelts if you please." You announced for all of them. And they all did. You saw them taking their jackets and beanies off, getting comfortable as you disappeared in the attending compartment to prepare the refreshments. When you pulled out the small tray they were all seated and had shed the clothes that were hiding their faces.

With each stop you make to pour the beverages you are astonished by their beauty, each member being more beautiful than the last one. You felt your heart flutter more than once when some of them thanked you for your service with a warm smile.

But as everyone is served with either a cool refreshing soda or a warm cup of coffee you can't stall any longer. You have to address the elephant in the room. You can do it as you would discuss any other subject, you tell yourself as a small pep talk. Just have to stay professional.

You seat yourself in front of all of them and grab on a clipboard, a piece of paper and a bullpen. You cross your legs sideways, your skirt ever so slightly curling up your thighs, just enough to hint away at the white lace of your thigh high tights. Instantly their chatter dies down and you find yourself under the scrutinizing gaze of the eight men.

"Now for the VIP service.” You speak as confidently as you can. “The form stipulated that the preferences were to be discussed with the hostess. Is there any particular request you'd like to make? Any preference you'd like to share?"

"I think it would be more efficient to know what is off limits." The blonde one spoke. From what you saw online. That was the leader of the group, Hongjoong.

You stayed completely silent, dumbfounded by the sudden change of dynamic. The client is supposed to state what they require from you and you are supposed to do everything in your power to fulfill their wish.

"What are the no go's for you, sweetheart?" another one questioned when you failed to provide an answer in a normal, reasonable time frame. That one looked carved in marble, he had delicate features that looked hand crafted to perfection, beautiful long raven black hair resting on his shoulders which you could guess were muscular even under the thick black hoodie he was wearing.

The pet name somehow made your toes tingle, sparking nervousness in your stomach again.

"I don't know, the usual" you replied and immediately followed by an awkward laugh. Hongjoong smiled at you, Maybe picking up on the agitation showing through your micro habits.

"What about submissive/dominant dynamics?" The blonde man kindly asked, giving you a clue on how to answer. "Would you be fine submitting to us?"

At the question the tingles in your toes rose in your legs. To properly answer the question you had to imagine yourself kneeling before the eight men and the thought alone made you guts stir in something that wasn't just stress. You swiped your tongue on your lower lip in an attempt to pull you out of your thoughts.

"Yes, that would be fine" you replied as plainly as possible. You spotted one of them smirk from the corner of your eyes. That one was also particularly handsome. He had sharp cat-like eyes that were piercing holes in you. The smirk grew bigger when you made eye contact with him as he was rubbing his chin with his index finger that was decorated by a simple elegant gold ring.

"What about impact and pain play?" Another one asked. This one looked the tallest among all of them, even with all of them seated you could tell by how his legs bent, his knees sitting higher than the others. His face looked the softest among all of them so much so that it was hard to believe he could ask such a question with this benevolent expression on his face.

"'Like spanking?" You manage to ask without squeaking or stuttering. Which was a miracle in itself.

"Yes, like spanking, slapping, pinching, hair pulling... All that good stuff." The tall one continues.

"What do you say, doll? Would you like us to hurt you?" Hongjoong adds.

You bite your bottom lip as you feel your insides quiver. Only managing to give a shy nod to the question.

"Use your words, princess" another one intervened. This one seemed to be more mature than the others, he also had dark hair, long parted bangs tickling his lashes, very high cheekbones and a smile that could light up the darkest night, he gave off that aura of a shining star.

"Y-yes"

So much for not stuttering...

A murmur of approval collectively emerged from them.

"And degradation and humiliation?" A deep voice asked, you looked over at the direction of the owner of said voice to find a pastel pink haired man looking right at you. He had sharp features, piercing eyes and a strong brow bone. When you looked at him puzzled he elaborated. "Let's say I want to call you my little slut, my personal little cock sleeve. Or make you bark before I let you cum. How would that sound to you?"

You gulped as your mind instantly took you to the scenery. Your imagination sending you flashing images of sinful engagements between you and the group of men. Your guts stirred once again. You nodded and threw a glance at the previous man before quickly adding a shy yes (but still audible). Once again they emitted a quiet rumble of appreciation.

You couldn't believe all the things that you were agreeing to. Sure you had some experience in sub and dom dynamics. Usually you liked to be guided and you let your partner take the lead. And of course you had a couple of light spanks before but that was about it. And the most surprising thing for you was that all of that sounded exciting. Everything sounded appealing to you. Everytime they asked you a question it stirred your stomach in a brand new way.

"What about knife play?" Hongjoong asked.

"No, I don't think I'd be comfortable with that one." You replied, almost apologetically.

"Same for blood play?" He continued and you shook your head.

"Yes, I don't think I'd enjoy that."

"Spit play?" You shook your head again.

"Well I think we covered everything. Guys?" They all agreed with their leader. "Also I see you got the little gifts we got for you" Hongjoong’s gaze slides down your frame to land on the white lace of the thigh high tights that was peeking under your skirt. The way his expression changed when he spotted the article made you swallow thickly.

"I picked the lingerie set. White is your color, doll"

You chuckled lightly at the compliment, feeling your cheeks heat up.

"Thank you" you smiled.

"Yunho, what do you think of the heels?" He asked, turning over to the tall man.

"Fit you like a glove. You look stunning in those” Yunho replied, giving you a warm smile. The comment made you nervously dangle your feet, which made his eyes instantly drop back to them.

"Wooyoung and Yeosang both decided on the nail color and the make up" both of them nodded in your direction at the mention of their names.

"This red lip is beautiful on you" Wooyoung complimented while Yeosang stayed silent, only amicably smiling at you.

"The jewelry is from Mingi" Hongjoong continued as the pink haired man raised his large palm up in the air.

"The gray pearls really suit your skin tone and the gold chain compliments your neck line. I knew it was the right choice" Mingi's deep voice answered.

"And Seonghwa is our perfume connoisseur" Hongjoong pointed at the man seated next to him.

"The fragrance was an easy pick. Elegant and sophisticated, exactly like you" the astonishingly beautiful man shot a wink in your direction. Such a simple gesture, but the effect it had on you was completely uncalled for.

"San and Jongho came on the flight with their gifts." The man named San lifted a luxurious looking glossed paper bag.

You got up straightened your skirt and retrieved it from him then Jongho seated next to him handed you a small case.

"We’re going to give you time to open those too" Hongjoong said. "This flight is long. We'll have plenty of time to play together. In the meantime, we are going to get some sleep and rest from our tour. Our CEO thought we did so well at our show in Paris he personally booked this service with your company."

"Thank you for trusting and choosing Air France" you bowed your head respectfully.

"Oh no, doll. It's not about them it’s about you, y/n" your heart almost stopped at the mention of your name. "'When you attended our flight from Denmark to France you were absolutely perfect and we all collectively thought you would be the best candidate for the extra VIP service. So we were a little disappointed when the company said you weren't part of the VIP crew. But we insisted they at least ask you if that would be interesting for you and we were thrilled to know that you agreed." Hongjoong smiled at you so fondly. Almost like the previous conversation never happened altogether and the VIP service was nothing more than some extra room for your legs in the seat and maybe a wider range of refined liquor to choose from.

"So we understand it's your first time doing this, right?" San asked.

"Y-yes." You stuttered. "Yes it is" you said a lot more confidently this time.

"Don't worry it's also our first time" the man grinned, cat-like eyes turning into little crescents as the smile spread on his face.

"That's exactly why I'll be conducting the meeting" Hongjoong declared, making you peel your eyes off San to look at him. "From now on, you will refer to me only as sir. I know it won't be a problem to you as you used the title a couple of times in the conversation already. But still, do you understand me?" Last sentence was a lot more stern.

"Yes, sir" you nodded firmly to emphasize your words, making him grin.

“The others are not as strict on the title. You may call them however you’d like. But I only tolerate that you refer to me correctly. Understood?”

“Yes, sir”

"Good girl" he smiled again but this time it was somehow not as wholesome and you took in a slow shaky breath to attempt to calm your heart that was hammering against your ribs.

"During the rendezvous I'll be checking on you to see if everything is good with you. We'll use the color system." You nodded, listening attentively. "If everything is going well and you are enjoying your time with us when I ask you for your color you will say green." You nodded again. "If things are getting intense and you are approaching your limit you will say orange. At the word we won't stop but we will take it down a notch allowing you to breathe until your color is back on green and you feel comfortable again. If you are overwhelmed or if one of us does or says anything that makes you want to stop everything just say red and we will all stop. Right, doll?"

"Yes sir"

"I want you to know that you have full control over this. Under no circumstances you have to wait for me to ask for your color to share it with us. As soon as you feel that things are getting out of hand, say orange or red, okay ?"

"Understood, sir"

"Well then. Why don't you take this time to go open San and Jongho's presents while we take a little well deserved nap"

"Yes, sir" you politely bowed and took your leave in the small reserved space for the attendants between the cabin and the cockpit.

As soon as you close the door you let the stress of the conversation out with a deep sigh, pressing your back against the door and letting your head rest on it, the cold feeling on your heated skin keeping you in touch with reality as everything seemed so surreal.

That was a lot to take in but somehow you didn't feel as nervous as you did before. Sure, there are eight of them. Sure, the conversation promised they intended to thoroughly... enjoy... the service but you feel like they value your safety and your comfort. You have a better understanding of the task at hand and no matter how complex and draining said task was going to be, knowing the boundaries of it was reassuring. You knew what they wanted from you.

After a couple of minutes you used to ground yourself back down to earth (ironic isn't it?) You laid the paper bag and the case on the small bench.

You undid the nice black velvet bow that was tying the bag together and took out what looked like a neatly folded uniform. But upon closer examination something looked off with the fabric. You unfolded the blouse. It was an exact replica of the light blue one you were wearing right now except it was made from fine mesh making it completely see through. You laid the article on the bench and unfolded the skirt. The length was ridiculously short and you know you'll have to walk up straight if you don't want your bum to be showing. But you guess it's the exact purpose of it. When you flip it too look at the back you know for a fact that the skirt was designed with the idea of exposing you in mind. You realized the navy blue cotton has two holes cut out to let both of your butt cheeks hang out of them.

You lay the shirt next to the blouse. Deciding that this gift is a little intense and you'll get back to that one.

You hand glazes over the case Jongho brought and you flip the attachments to open it. When you lift the lid you are greeted with a collection of different toys. All more colorful than the previous one. There's everything you could imagine. And more that you would actually need. You find a note that read “wear me” taped to a strangely shaped one.

You grab the purple silicon toy and unfold the note.

A remote control had been handed to each member. Please wear this one. For the other ones they're all yours pick the ones you like.

You are hesitant for a second but this was exactly what you signed up for and it was our duty to fulfill the client’s wish. So you breathed in a deep slow and steady breath before carefully slipping off your clothes. You were vigilant enough not to smudge your makeup and pull the wispy hair out of your sleek bun. You pull down the white thong just low enough on your thighs to be able to put the toy in.

You almost gasp when you spot the wet patch on the lace, making the fabric slightly transparent. It's subtle but you can't believe you got this… excited from this simple conversation. Simply imagining the propositions they were presenting to you.

You push the cylindrical part of the toy inside, biting your lip to repress a moan as the silicon easily glides inside you. The rest of the toy hangs out and lays over your clit. You swiftly pull the thong back up. At first you feel strange from this foreign object nested inside you but soon you grow accustomed to it.

From the rest of the panoply of toys you picked out a simple decently sized metal plug that had a heart shaped pink gem stone at the end. You figured the rest of the ensemble will certainly look gaudy enough and you chose to disregard the various gag balls and nipple clamps.

You put on the new uniform even going as far as to pin your name tag to the see through blouse.

And the look is complete. The skirt is so small that it barely reaches the crease of your bum. Not that it makes a difference since the two holes leave little to the imagination. The lace of the thigh high tights are on full display and the same applies to the white lace bra underneath the see-through blouse.

Saying you feel exposed is an understatement but still. You were almost at the two hour mark on this flight. You figure that the easiest way to deal with the embarrassment is to just plainly and simply ignore it. Go out there and work just as usual. And it's time to prepare the tray of refreshments.

You step out of the attendant room to walk the central aisle to the back of the jet where the fridges and the carts are. You can't help but to feel a little relieved when you see the eight men wearing their eye masks. Maybe they aren't all sleeping but they are at least not seeing you like this, at least not right now. It buys you some time to get used to your new attire.

You prepare the various alcoholic beverages, the cold sodas and the hot tea and coffee before you take a deep breath. And push the cart in. There's only one member that the rattling of the cart seemed to have woken up, Seonghwa.

With trembling hands you push the cart down the aisle to his level.

"Can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, liquor?" You manage to ask in the most natural way possible. Careful to speak at an appropriate volume level to not disturb the others.

"Coffee. Black, please" the handsome man replies.

You take a cup and pour some scolding hot coffee for him. Your tensed hands around the cup betray your edge as you hand out the beverage, the dark liquid swaying in its recipient. But Seonghwa gently wraps both his warm hands around yours and around the cup.

"Thank you. It's perfect" he gently whispers, looking at you with a reassuring, beaming smile that you return instantly.

You push the tray back in, as it seems no one else is interested in a drink. When you go back to your seat that faces the members the help indicator lights up above one of the seats.

"Sir, may I help you with anything." You asked San.

"No" he whispered, careful not to wake up Jongho sleeping between both of you since he was in the window seat. "I just wanted to say you look absolutely stunning. You wear the uniform beautifully" he held out something to you. When you opened your palm it was two shriveled bills of five hundred euros. You almost audibly gasped. Before you could say thank you he continued "I can't wait to peel it off of you later". You feel your knees getting weaker as San’s gaze gets sharper. You don't know how you manage to keep your composer as well as you do.

"Of course. Whenever you are ready, sir" you replied, as you felt your insides flutter under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Let's let them sleep a little first, kitten" you bit your lip at the pet name and you smiled back at him before going back to your seat to catch a breather.

For the next two hours. The flight is absolutely uneventful and feels like any other day on the job. You even have enough time to forget about the skimpy (to say the least) skirt, the see through blouse and the lace. And even about the toy still inside you.

You go back and forth between the aisles fetching drinks, small pillows and snacks fulfilling one typical and ordinary request after the other. This feels so routinely that you find yourself feeling a little... disappointed.

What you didn't notice is how one by one the members emerged from their slumbers. You didn't notice that as the number of requests increased their usefulness decreased as their main purpose was to watch you walk up and down the aisle to see your breasts jiggle under the see-through blouse or your ass roll in the conveniently placed holes of your skirt.

And as you were closing the compartment above Jongho’s head, you lifted both of your arms up which caused your skirt to rile up your hips. Letting the lacey underwear peep from underneath it. That’s when Jongho spotted the purple color seeping through the white of the lace. That encouraged him to take out his remote.

The vibrations took you by surprise and you let one small quiet moan slip off your tongue. Immediately pressing your traitorous lips into a thin line. You crease your brows trying to reach the handle to finally close the compartment, trying not to focus on the low vibrations coming from the deepest part of you.

Jongho can't help but to smirk when he hears the low rumble coming from the toy that is only inches from his face.

You stagger back to your seat only for the help light to go off again. This time you walk over to Wooyoung.

"Yes" you take a shaky breath. "May I….ngh…help you with anything?"

"Yes, my armrest appears to be stuck. I can't seem to pull it down" he says, smirking.

"There's a small lever on your right you have to pull it to be able to push the armrest down"

"I tried but I can't make it work. Could you give it a try?"

There was no way you could reach that far unless you laid over Yeosang's lap to reach Wooyoung’s window seat. One second look at the former and you realized that was exactly what they wanted. So you crouched down and laid on him, your stomach down. Your butt was on his lap while your face was on Wooyoung's thighs. You extended your hand and finally were able to push on the lever but suddenly the vibrations got more intense. You tensed up your back trying not to moan at the new pleasure you felt.

But you still managed to push on the armrest down.

"There you go, sir" you replied out of breath.

"Thank you, baby" Wooyoung said as he pressed his hardening member to your cheek through his trousers, gently caressing the other with his thumb all the while you felt a pair of hands putting to good use the two holes in your skirt. Groping and cupping your ass cheeks.

You let yourself whine ever so slightly when you spot the purple remote in the large hands of Mingi seated right up front, peeping back at you through the slit between the seats.

You feel a new vibration coming. This time the setting is changed from the low tiniest vibrations to two short low ones and one long strong one. You can't help but to moan when you see Mingi picking this deadly pace while he smirks back at you through the slit. You feel the familiar build up in your core as Wooyoung rubs himself through his pants on your cheek and Yeosang grabs and massages your ass cheeks.

You feel your walls dangerously constrict the toy inside you, your flirting with your edge but then the vibrations come to a stop.

Wooyoung and Yeosang offer a helping hand to get you back on your feet and innocently smile at you.

"That will be all, thank you, sweetheart" the latter says. Before you nod and go to another customer needing your help: Hongjoong.

"Sir, may I help you?"

"What's your color, doll?" The blonde man instantly asks. Still a little dazed you are taken aback by the question.

"Green, sir" you say as you brought back some loose hair from the bum that was a little roughed up by Wooyoung moments ago.

"Good" you spot the purple devices in his hand as he switches the toy on once more. At first it’s the same setting Jongho used. The lowest one. This one you could handle but soon Hongjoong’s slender fingers turned the roulette all the way up.

The feeling is brand new because the source of the pleasure is doubled when you find out the toy can vibrate from two seperate places. You can't help but let out a strangled squeal. The intense setting of the toy instantly skyrockets you to unknown heights.

"You look unwell, doll. Is everything okay?" Hongjoong asks with a sly smirk pulling at his lips.

You nod. Heat rushing to your chest and neck. Insufferable pleasure making you weak at the knees.

"Everything is perfect... mmmh... sir" you manage to say through gritted teeth. You realize the hungry gazes of the group of men are glued to you. Somehow the attention makes the pleasure even more unbearable and you feel like you're going to lose control at any second now.

Your hands wrap around the headrest of Hongjoong’s seat in an attempt to ground yourself as you feel you are slowly slipping into the abyss. Your heat uncontrollably pulsing around the devilish toy.

But as soon as you let out a moan that proves to be a little too high pitched. A pitch that betrays your imminent high. Hongjoong's eyes turn into a sadistic glacial gaze and he switches off the device completely. You can't help but to voice out your disappointment with an unpleased whine as you feel yourself pulse into the most infuriating and frustrating ruined orgasm. You look over the blonde man in confusion.

"Why did you stop, sir?" You ask out of breath, strained voice seeped with desperation.

"Because you were being a bad girl, doll and bad girls don't get rewards." His voice was so stern you couldn't believe he was the same man making sure you were comfortable a second ago.

"What did I do wrong?" The question sounded a little whiny as your eyes swept over the other men all looking at you with an evil twinkle in the eye.

Your lost puppy eyes and the sad and desperate little pout made Hongjoong grow bigger in his pants as he was gaining this control over you. He had to fight the urge to immediately palm himself through his pants.

"Were you not about to cum without asking permission first?" you could hear the slightest hint of amusement behind the graveness of his tone.

"I didn't know I h-"

"Talking back, are we?" You bit your lip, immediately interrupting yourself and looking down at your feet. “I thought you had better manners” Hongjoong said, fainting the disappointment of a strict father.

"I'm sorry, sir"

"Sorry won't do it with me, doll. Doesn't she deserve punishment. Guys what do you say?"

All of them nodded and agreed as you let the corner of your mouth fall, heart racing at the mention of the ominous word… Punishment.

"San"

As soon as the leader called his name San got up and joined you in front of the group. He stepped behind you.

"Now you'll stay completely still as San performs the punishment. Is this clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir" you stiffened when you felt the strong hands of the man wrapping around your waist and reach over your stomach. You hold your breath as his fingers busy themselves with your blouse. Unfastening the buttons one by one. He peels the fabric off slowly as you take the sanction as obediently as possible.

“I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I laid eyes on you back in Copenhagen'' he whispers quietly, only for you to hear. His warm breath on your skin makes you shiver.

Then he moves to the zipper at the back of the short skirt. The vibration of the zip on your skin makes you shudder as the group of men relishes in seeing you so helpless.

Soon you are left in only the heels and lingerie set.

"You did so good baby" the man murmurs before laying a gentle kiss on the shell of your ear.

"On your knees" Hongjoong says and you hastily obliged before he thinks you are being dissident again.

"Now say I'm sorry for being a selfish little slut obsessed with my own pleasure.”

The humiliation and shame makes your cheeks burning hot but still you comply.

"I-I'm sorry for being a selfish little slut obsessed with my own pleasure.. Sir” you add for good measure.

“Now you’ll crawl to each of us and ask for a spanking. I think 8 spanks is a good start. Right gentlemen?” Once again they collectively agreed.

For a second shame paralyzes you.

“Go ahead, doll. Ask Seonghwa first” you look up at the man.

“Please, sir” you try to swallow a lump.

“Louder, princess” Seonghwa says, taking your chin between his slender fingers, smiling fondly down at his cute little toy.

“P-please Sir” you say louder this time. “Please punish me”

“Of course my princess” he replies in this tender tone. A tone that contrasts with the sharp sound of his palm falling flat on your bottom. You let a small cry slip out your lips as heat rushes to the sensitive patch of skin.

“What do you say, doll?” the blonde man chips in.

“T-Thank you Sir”

You crawled past Hongjoong to Mingi and Yunho’s row.

“Sir please, may I ask you for a spank” you asked Mingi.

The sting that followed had you throwing your head back and suppressing a moan by biting the inside of your cheek. Mingi’s hand was larger and a lot less gentle.

“Thank you” you hiss.

You continue the round, going to one member after the other until both your cheeks feel raw and several hand prints are left visible. You finish with Hongjoong.

“Please Sir, please spank me” you say out of breath, your hazy mind having difficulty putting the words in coherent sentences.

“Color, doll” he says as his hands slips over the sensitive skin, soothing you with gentle caresses.

“Green, sir”

All of a sudden you feel the vibrations deep inside your core again. You can’t help but let out a pleased moan escape your lips. Arching your back letting your head hang down.

“Oh my g-god” you sigh before biting down on your lip. Hongjoong’s gentle hand wraps around your chin to lift your gaze to his own. His eyes are as dark as can be, an evil grin pulling on his lips.

“You were saying, doll?” he asks with his other hands still drawing soothing circles on your raw ass. “You wanted something from me?” he says, giving you a light squeeze.

You look around and see the other 7 pairs of eyes glued to you. And the sustained gazes and the vibrations send you to flirt with your edge almost instantly.

“Don’t forget why you’re here, princess” Seonghwa warns you. “You can’t cum before given permission or I fear we will have to do all of that all over again”

“Except I won’t be as nice this time” Hongjoong adds, the gentle hold on your chin becoming a little tighter, blunt nails digging in your cheek. “Ask for your punishment like a good girl and I'll turn it off”

“Please. Please sir! Please spank me”

“Good girl” he says before lifting his palm and letting it fall back against your already sensitive skin. The sharp clap that erupts from the motion sends a spark of electricity straight to your core, lifting goosebumps in its wake.

The pleasurable pain and the tireless vibrations almost had you cumming but with immense resilience and respect for the orders you were given you manage to hold yourself back.

“Such a good little toy for us, kitten” you hear San praise as the vibrations die down.

When you look back up at Hongjoong you look absolutely fucked out. He smiles at you and rubs soothing circles on your cheek. He can’t help but to feel himself twitch as he sees you look back at him this confused and frustrated.

“You did really good, doll” Hongjoongs praises “You may rise”

You get up again to walk to the bench. You plop yourself on top of it, barely able to hold yourself on the stiletto heels but at least it’s a relief for your knees.

Suddenly you feel warm and gentle hands wrap around your waist and hoist you up on their lap, when you open your eyes you see it’s Seonghwa.

“You did really good, princess” Seonghwa says as you feel his fingers slip up your back and unclasping your white lace bra. In a split second the lace is off your blazing skin, you feel the air brush against your chest as the other men drink in your form, all eyes roaming this new part of your body revealed to their eyes. You whine softly as you fight the urge to cover yourself, turning your head to the side and closing your eyes just to avoid eye contact with them.

One of Seonghwa’s hands slips over your breasts, massaging the lumps of flesh and teasing your painfully hard nipples while the other one slips around your waist, down your stomach and inside the lace panties.

You audibly gasp when you feel the toy being pulled out of you, whining at the loss of the fullness of it. You hear the toy bounce off the carpeted floor.

“You won’t need this anymore now, princess” Seonghwa whispers in your ear before pinching your nipple a little harder. “We’ll take care of you now” You arch your back onto his torso. Immediately he starts rubbing small circles on your swollen clit. You can’t help but moan at the smallest of contact.

“You got so wet for us baby” Yeosang comments, making your eyes snap to him.

“And so sensitive” Jongho adds.

You feel Seonghwa smirk against your ear. Continuing the small and light circles on your clit. Soon you lose patience and start to buck your hips, desperate for friction, desperate for him to apply some pressure.

“Do you want my fingers, Princess?” Seonghwa asks before planting an open mouth kiss on your neck.

“Yesss, Sir. Yes please” you breathe out, bucking your hips against his hand again. Which makes the older man chuckle against your skin.

“Take these off then, princess” He says, catching the white lace of your thong and letting it slap against your skin. Hurriedly you briefly lift your butt to shimmy out of the lace and let the fabric rest on one of your ankles. When you sit back down you feel your raw ass rub against Seonghwa’s clothed hard on, earning a low grunt from him.

“Spread your legs, Princess” Seonghwa says as he lightly caresses your thigh.

The whole room held their breath, all of them waiting to finally see you in the simplest of forms, eagerly waiting to open Pandora's box.

Gathering your courage you did so, very slowly you parted your thighs, feeling the cold air hit your swollen and sopping heat as you completely unveiled yourself for your clients. You spotted from the corner of your eyes Jongho starting to palm himself through his trousers.

“Fuck she’s so wet too” you guessed the deep voice to be the one of Mingi.

“So naughty” Yunho added.

“Good girl '' Seonghwa praised again when you couldn't possibly open your legs wider. He immediately slipped his ring and middle finger inside your heat, the slow and gentle stretch of your sex made you mewl pathetically, jaw falling loose as he curled his fingers right into your sweet spot.

“Oh my g-” the words get caught in your throat when Seonghwa picks up the pace.

“You’re sucking in his fingers so well, kitten” San commented while he pressed his open hand on his length.

Your moans gradually grow louder and the wet squelching sounds of your dripping center bounce on the walls, Seonghwa composing a sinful symphony on your body. Pumping his fingers inside and out your heat then gliding up your folds to find your clit and dipping back in again.

As time goes by and as you inch closer to your edge you feel no intention in Seonghwa to stop. You know this time you won’t be able to hold back and after being so close so many times to your high. You just want to finally grasp it. You’re so close you can taste it. You just don’t want it to have it snatched away from you again.

“Seonghwa… Please” you breath out, cheeks flushed, nails digging into your palm.

“Please what?” Seonghwa asks, sounding as innocent as can be but the smirk you feel on the shell of your ear tells you the innocence as everything but genuine.

“Please… Aaaha. Can I c-cum?” you finally manage to ask.

“You wanna show everyone how you cum around my fingers?” The sinful choice of words makes your heart hammer against your ribs. But you would do anything for him to finally let you finish.

“Yes” you breathe out, overlooking the shame, somehow managing to open your legs even wider, letting the plug peek from beneath you, the pink gem twinkling under the dim lighting, determined to let the others have a good look at you.

Your efforts are noticed. You hear a couple of them curse under their breaths while other finally slip their hands inside their pants. But most importantly your resilience makes Seonghwa agree to let you cum.

“Go ahead, Princess. Make a big mess on my fingers.”

You don't need more, you just let yourself slip as soon as you hear the magic words. Your mind slips into a haze as you throw your head back, letting it roll on Seonghwa’s shoulders. You clench around the man’s long fingers, cunt uncontrollably pulsing around him, refusing to ever let go of them. Your legs shaking as you let a long string of moans escape your lips.

The group of men admiring how your pussy opens and closes around their friend’s fingers, some grunting as they press a little harder on their painfully hard cocks.

When Seonghwa rips his fingers out of your orgasming heat your cum just sprays out of your in streams, soaking the carpet beneath your feet.

Finally as the stream dies down you’re able to come down from your high.

“Goog girl” Seonghwa praises as he brings his cum covered digits to your mouth. You immediately, out of instinct, your mind still in a complete haze, welcome the long fingers inside your mouth. Eagerly sucking and licking, your taste taking over your mouth and rolling on your tongue.

Suddenly you feel another pair of hands on your thighs. When you look you see Yunho letting his big palms glide from your thighs to your calf and to your feet. He brings your foot to his face, one hand under your calf and the other wrapped around the heel while he kisses your ankles, going down on your feet, he slips his tongue out, licking the black leather of the pump. Before taking them off.

“How do you taste, princess?” Seonghwa asks when he sees you distracted by Yunho.

“Delicious, sir” you replied, still not taking your eyes off the tall man kneeling between your legs.

“Let me have a taste.” Seonghwa says before crashing his lips on yours, you share your cum with him as he pushes his tongue past your lips, eager to discover your flavor.

He breathes heavily as he keeps kissing you. You feel Yunho peel off one of the tights to give kitten licks to your toes.

The novel feeling has you moaning into Seonghwa’s mouth. He sucks on your toes before trailing up your thigh. Leaving blue and purple marks as he progresses up until he reaches your pubic bone. He kisses you everywhere but where you want him the most. You whine into the older one's mouth. Until the taller man finally gives a kitten lick to your clit. You rip your mouth from Seonghwa to look at Yunho between your legs. He doesn't break eye contact as he starts to relish on your taste. Your eyebrows knit on your forehead as your jaw falls open.

“Fuckkk” you swear before sucking your lip between your teeth.

“You like that?” He asks, lips still pressed to your folds.

“Yess! Yesss” you say as you eagerly grind your hips on his tongue, earning a low groan from the man behind you as your ass rubbed on his harder than ever cock. The raging hard on threatening to rip through the pants at any moment.

“What a greedy little whore” Mingi says as he gets up to come closer to the scene. Soon all of them follow and you find yourself surrounded by all 8 men looking down at you, hands either under or over their pants, playing with their cocks as they didn’t peel their eyes off you for a second.

Seeing all of them around you, their hungry gaze fixed on you makes you even more eager, and you find yourself grinding even faster on Yunho’s tongue, letting sighs and pleading cries roll off your tongue.

“You just came, doll” Hongjoong started. “And you’re already so eager to cum again?” his warm hand slipped between your breast to go up you throat, lightly squeezing, just enough to make it threatening, making your eyes snap to him. “You’re so naughty”.

While you were distracted by Hongjoong you didn't notice from the corner of your eye Wooyoung taking his pants off and pumping his length in his clenched fist. Swiping his tongue on his bottom lips watching you fuck yourself out on Yunho’s mouth while Seonghwa groaned behind you and bit your neck.

It’s only when you felt the hot tip against your cheek that you turned your head to him. When you look up at him the devilish grin that he adorns makes your inside flutter, your eager cunt twitching on Yunho’s tongue.

“Open wide for me, baby, okay?” Wooyoung’s raspy voice asked as he laid his leaking tip right on your lips. As soon as the tip of your tongue makes contact with his slit you give it a kitten lick. The salty taste goes straight to your head and makes you dizzy. You open your mouth a little wider and Wooyoung slowly pushes his length inside you. You can’t help but to moan as you feel the smooth skin gliding so easily on your wet tongue. Letting your eyes roll back as you feel your lips stretch to accommodate this fullness in your mouth while Yunho slows down his rhythm, allowing you just enough lucidity to be able to concentrate on your new found mission.

Wooyoung continues to progress until he bottoms out. And you hollow your cheeks to pull your head back on his length just to push back in. You start out slow, making sure to lube him up with your spit. And Wooyoung sighs at the pleasurable way your tongue swirls around his tip every time he hangs on your lips, letting his head roll back, thick veins ornamenting his neck.

As you pick up the pace you feel hands wrap around what was once your bun and push you back down further on Wooyoung’s cock.

“Come on, princess. You can do better than that” you hear Seonghwa purr in your ear. As Wooyoung groans, feeling you go deeper. “You can take him all in. Right Princess?”

With each coming and going Seonghwa pushes on your head a little harder until, your nose hits Wooyoung’s pubic bone. Seonghwa keeps you right there for a moment as you look up at the younger man with teary eyes.

“Ever since I picked this red lipstick for you I've wanted to see it around my cock. You’re so pretty like this baby.” Wooyoung says as Seonghwa finally releases you, allowing you to pull back and breathe. You suck in a deep breath, fighting back a coughing fit.

“You’re doing so good, Princess. So good for us” Seonghwa praises, already pushing your head back on Wooyoung’s length. You open your mouth once again, pursing your lips, hollowing your cheeks. So good that soon enough Wooyoung lets his head roll back and let a long string of profanities fall from his lips.

“Fuck you’re so good at this, baby. Like you were made to suck cock” he praised, through gritted teeth. “Fuckkk” he cursed again and you felt his cock twitch on your tongue while he suddenly gripped your hair, stopping you from pushing him back inside your wet mouth. “Fuck” he breathes heavily. “I need a break. Don’t want the fun to end now” he said, pulling his lips in a sinful smirk.

“I’ll take it from here” San said, pulling Wooyoung by the shoulder to take his place. When you are presented with San’s cock you can tell he has been playing with himself for a while, the tip is swollen, beet red and dripping. It is the most mouth watering sight you ever got the chance to witness. Instinctively you open wider and approach your lips but San pulls back before you can wrap your mouth around the alluring member.

“An eager little kitten, aren't we?” the man breathes out while he lazily pumps himself before your round out eyes. “You want my cock this bad ?” he smirks wickedly, looking down on you. You only nod, not peeling your eyes off San’s cock. “You have to properly ask for it before I give it to you” Your eyes snap back to his sharp ones. There’s not a trace of humor in his dark brown orbs, only dark lust burning holes into you.

“Please, sir. Fill my mouth with your cock” you whisper, your warm breath hitting San’s raw dick, making him suck in a breath.

“Good little kitty” he praises while pressing his cock against your lips, which you part as soon as you feel the hot leaking tip against your mouth, immediately the taste going to your head. Slowly you glide on San’s length as his hands wrap around both your ears, pulling you even further on his cock, grunting all the way down until he reaches the bottom.

“Stay completely still, kitten” he whispers, the sultry tone making you shiver under his unwavering gaze. “Let me fuck that pretty little mouth”

Suddenly you gasp as you feel two long fingers being pushed inside your dripping heat, Yunho, tired of being ignored, wants to get your attention back. And the least you can say is that it’s effective. His digits curl inside you deliciously, able to reach deeper than Seonghwa.

San takes advantage of your sudden gasp to push his length deeper, picking up right where Wooyoung left off. You feel the delicious burn of your throat expanding to accommodate San’s girth.

Yunho wraps his lips around your clit once more while San pleasures himself with your mouth, strong grip around your head, pulling your head in and pushing it back out again at a rapid pace. The pleasure makes you moan on San’s length, your eyes becoming watery.

“You like that, babygirl?” you hear Yunho ask you from between your legs. You can’t possibly respond because San doesn't allow a single word to leave your mouth, only muffled sounds of approval.

“Good girl” Yunho praises before returning to tease you. His tongue twirls around your sensitive bundle of nerves occasionally sucking and flicking it with his tongue.

“You like getting your little cunt stuffed while I fuck your face, kitten?” San asks, breath short, strong forearms contracting around your face. You only moan in approval, trying to nod your head which proves to be impossible due to San’s grip. Only the volume of the pitch of the moans you make, gives away at the state of urgency in which you find yourself.

“You wanna cum?” San asks, somehow grip growing stronger. You moan again, one single tear rolling down your cheek, dragging with it one streak of mascara. “Cum, kitten. Cum for Yunho with my dick down your throat”

Once again the permission makes you let go of the knot in your guts, the pleasure spreads to you through your core pulsing under Yunho tongue and clenching on his long fingers, deliciously curled right into your sweet spot. Gradually San and Yunho slow down allowing you to ride off your high.

Before you even gather up your thought you feel Seonghwa turn your head to him one more time, slipping his long tongue inside your mouth, the only response your hazy mind can come up with is to moan into his mouth before you feel yourself being lifted up by a couple pair of strong arms, Seonghwa grunting under you.

“Princess, I need you right here” You hear the older man’s deep voice as his gaze points at his dick, now shed from its restraints, standing proud and tall. You step towards him and lift your leg to take him in but he stops you.

“No, princess. Other way around, I want the others to see the beautiful expressions you make with my cock deep inside you” he says as he lightly pushes on your hips, urging you to turn around. When you do and see the others you can’t help but to feel a new wave of arousal.

You find yourself hovering over Seonghwa while you hold his length in your hand. The whole room seems to hold their breath as you align yourself with him, gathering your arousal, taking your time to spread it on the leaking tip.

“Look how wet you are” Jongho commented. “We haven't even started yet and you already made such a mess”

“S-sorry, sir” you muster and bite your lip immediately after, sinking your hips on Seonghwa as the others all look at the precise place your two bodies meet, fist pumping around the results of their own arousal.

“Fuckkkk” you hear Seonghwa curse in your ear.

“Enjoying the eldest privilege, hyung?” you hear the low voice of Mingi ask as you can’t even bring yourself to open your eyes, your body automatically shutting down your other senses to focus solely on the delicious stretch of your walls around Seonghwa’s girth.

“I’m not the only one, am I Princess?” he asks short of breath, his hands tucking behind your ear one of many strands of hair that escaped your once sleek updo. When you fail to provide a satisfactory reply, Seonghwa’s hand drops down to your cunt.

“Didn't I tell you to…” his hot breath fans your ear, you sigh and let your head fall back on his shoulder as you feel his hand touch you in the place you need him the most only to receive a sharp slap right on your very sensitive bud. The unexpected and acute pain stirs your gut in a brand new way, making you clench around Seonghwa, ripping a low moan from your lips.

“... use your words?” he asks, voice a lot sterner.

“Yesss” you mewl. “Yesssss” you pant. “Yess, sir” not being able to tell if you crave another slap or if you had just gone completely mad.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks again.

“”Yes, sir. I am”

“So naughty, doll” Hongjoong comments, stepping closer.

“Now princess, work for me a little, okay? Make me feel good.” The eldest places both his hands on your hips making you sink down until he reaches the deepest part of you as you moan, feeling him deliciously splitting you open. “Show them how good you are.”

You start to rise up again, Seonghwa’s hands still on your hips but not helping you in any way, letting you take control over this. Once his tip is barely hanging inside you, you sink down again, this time faster. His lubricated length slides inside you with ease. You moan without restraint at the way his length rubs on the toy in your ass, stirring it around and making the metal push on all the right places. You repeat the motion until you settle in a comfortable rhythm.

As you behave according to Seonghwa’s order you can't help but let your half lidded gaze sweep the room. All these eyes on you make you clench again, urging you to bounce harder on Seonghwa’s girth.

“Look at you, slutty tits bouncing for us.” Jongho comments again, making you bite your lip, shame bubbling with arousal in the pit of your stomach. But at the same time you can’t seem to stop your hips, irrepressibly pulled down and pushed back up again and again until Seonghwa feels you flutter around him.

“You like giving a good show. Right Princess?”

“Yess sir” you whine, eyes prickling with tears.

“Aren’t you a pretty one, doll?” Hongjoong whispers, his voice barely covering your moans and whines, slipping his hands right between your breasts caressing with the tip of his finger your soft and dampened sweaty skin, trailing to cup your breast. Suddenly he pinches your nipples harden into buds, the dull pain makes you roll your head back, letting a throaty moan escape your lips.

“Doll, can’t you do anything with those pretty hands of yours?” Hongjoong asks, pinching ever so slightly harder.

Before you can even reply anything, Yeosang and Yunho step to each side of you, wrapping your fingers around their two cocks.

“That’s way better” Hongjoong compliments.

They start out by guiding you on their length until you continue on your own.

“Fuck sweetheart” Yeosang starts. “Those pretty hands were made to pleasure cocks” he praises as he brings your face close to his length, pushing your cheeks onto his tip, spreading the pre cum on your hot face.

“Such a good little girl for us” Yunho outbids the praise, pulling you close to also spread his essence on you. “Faster my baby” he exhales.

You oblige as you feel Seonghwa's hands on your hips urging you to go faster, his blunt nails digging into your sides. As you do so Seonghwa lightly scoots down on the bench, angling his cock in a brand new way. You can't help but to moan loudly at the way he’s now rubbing your sweet spot, each back and forth scrubbing against the toy in your ass and deliciously poking at the entrance of Eden's garden.

“Such beautiful sounds” Seonghwa praises, licking around your ear, the wet sounds of his mouth making your guts slush around as your grip tightens around the two cocks in your hand, making the two men groan.

You can’t help but to let your mind slip in delirium again, pleasure delightfully clouding your judgment.

“Sir please, can I cum?”

“Again?” Jongho scoffs. “You really can’t fucking wait can you?” the sharp glacial tone, contrast with the sadistic and amused smirk spreading on his lips. You whine in response, brows linking on your forehead, bouncing even harder as Hongjoong continues to tease your nipples, taunting the hard buds until they become so sensitive you could cum from the way he plays with them alone.

“I’m sorry I can't let you Princess” Seonghwa says, strong grip on your hips making you stop abruptly. Immediately your hungry little cunt starts to pulse around his length, yearning for more of the delectable friction as your ass clenches around the plug.

“Please, Please please” you start to plead. Lust speaking in your place, completely forgetting about everything else.

“You really have no shame” the younger comments again.

“No Princess. Seonghwa says sternly. “Unfortunately I made you cum once already and I have to let the others also have fun with our brand new toy.” you whine, tears of frustration brimming in your eyes. “I recall Mingi didn’t even touch you yet”.

Your eyes instantly snap to the tall pink haired man, standing in front of you while a wicked smirk spreads on his lips.

“No, I haven't played with our little play thing… yet” his low voice rumbles makes your chest tighten as you let Seonghwa’s length slip out of you in defeat. The last word somehow sounds like a threat and makes you shiver.

“What you say, y/n?” your heart makes a loop in your chest when the man uses your name. They only used pet names until then and you weren't expecting it, it somehow feels a lot more personal, almost making you forget you’re actually working right now. “Do you wanna play with me?” his large hand wraps around your neck, not squeezing in the slightest way. His fingers are only curled around you, lightly pulling you up to guide you out Seonghwa’s lap.

“Yes. Yes I want to play with you, sir” you say, entranced by the man.

“Good girl” he praises, still leading you by the neck and making you kneel on the carpeted floor. “Lay there Angel” his low but commanding voice said.

You lay on your back and bring your knees over your chest before spreading your legs open. Jongho and San sitting at each side hold your legs apart while all of them eye down your red, swollen and pulsing little cunt.

Mingi kneels down and places himself right between your thighs, the huge member sitting heavily in his open palm, you gasp when you feel the hot tip glide over your drenched folds. Mingi repeats the motion a couple of times, each time pressing down with his tip on your swollen and sensitive bundle of nerves. You jerk your hips everytime under the divine pressure he applies but soon you grow frustrated.

“Please…”you whine breathless, looking up at him with half lidded eyes, your messy hair stuck to your forehead.

“Please what, angel?” he asks as you feel a pair of foreign hands cup your breasts, you don't even take the time to look around to find the owner of those hands, only eyeing down Mingi’s massive cock laying over your quivering little pussy.

“Please I want to feel you” you finally say, just above a murmur, squirming not wanting anything more than to finally be filled to the brim with a cock. After all this teasing you just need to feel a cock inside you. Anyone. You just want to be filled.

Mingi chuckles darkly at your quiet request as he continues to tease you.

“You want my cock, baby?” he asks, deep and sultry voice lifting goosebumps on your bare skin. You nod, not peeling your eyes off the member. “Bark for it.”

“Huh?” you look back at him confused, the wicked smirk playing on his lips makes you shiver.

“Bark for my cock like the bitch you are” he lifts up his dick to let it slap back down against your sensitive and erect clit, making your jerk at the sharp sting of pleasure.

“He said bark!” Jongho adds, only now you see he’s the one teasing your nipples.

“Woof woof” you finally let out.

“Again!” Jongho commands as he lands a slap on your cheek. Making you gasp and arch your back into the carpeted floor.

“Woof woof woof woof” you repeatedly scream.

Tears of frustration are blurring your vision. Making you unable to see as Mingi finally plunges his fat cock into your desperate heat. Your walls immediately welcome him with happy spasms. Mingi grunts and moans all the way down to the bottom of your hungry little cunt.

But then again he stops moving, he just stays there, more tears spill from your eyes, dragging down your mascara, progressively ruining the makeup that was so thoughtfully planned out for you. Much to Wooyoung's satisfaction.

“Please. Please.” you say breathless, unable to stop yourself from trying to rock yourself on Mingi’s cock. “Please fuck me” you ask again.

“Color, doll?” you hear Hongjoong ask. You look back at him confused. You need a moment before the words even mean anything in your mind. But the question forces your mind back to reality.

“Green” you utter. To your response Hongjoong and the others snicker.

“You really like to beg don’t you?” Seonghwa's remark makes you whine.

“Such a good little cocksleeve, properly begging for us. You’re doing so good baby” Yunho praises, wiping the tears away.

“Go ahead Mingi… give her what she wants” Hongjoongs concludes.

The pink haired man then looks back at you and starts to push inside your greedy little cunt steadily.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir” you hastily say looking up at Hongjoong your orbs drowning in a sumptuous blend of desperation, gratitude and need. He looks down at you with a proud paternal smile. You’re so cute. Completely fucked out stupid. The perfect little fuck toy.

You feel your cunt deliciously stretch to accommodate Mingi’s fat cock as he bottoms out and lets out a low groan. You can’t help but to arch your back at the delicious filling sensation, the definitely girthy (to say the least) cock scraping against the toy crowding your other hole in exquisite pleasure.

Gradually Mingi picks up the pace as Jongho continues to play with your tits. Flicking the hardened buds and pinching them occasionally crouching down to suck on them.

Pleasure rises, your gut tightens in the familiar knot but as you become more vocal and as your walls start gripping Mingi a little tighter he slows down, denying you your high. You can’t help but to whine in disappointment.

But as a distraction from the frustration Wooyoung crouches down next to your face and once again teases your lips with his blazing tip. You gratefully open your mouth to take your mind off the agonizing pleasure Mingi inflicts to you. Hungrily sucking on Wooyoung’s length, bopping your head to the side as you felt another cock graze your cheek but you didn't open your eyes to see who it was you solely concentrated on Wooyoung.

“That's it baby. Suck my cock” you heard him praise as he wrapped his veiny hand around what was left of your bun. “Fffucck… y/n” he moaned.

Mingi started to pick up the pace again making you moan on Wooyoung’s length, the vibrations making the younger man shiver. As you didn’t slow down, hollowing your cheeks on his length as you pulled and moaning as you pushed your head back.

“You’re so good for us, Princess” you heard Seonghwa from beside you, guessing it was his cock caressing your cheek. “That’s right, keep going like this” he encouraged and you picked the pace again.

“Fuck… You… mmmh… want my cum that… fucking… bad?” Wooyoung struggled to say as you felt his grip become tighter around your hair. You nodded again, you didn't know if your point came across but you didn't care you only wanted to taste his cum on your tongue.

“Fuckk” you heard Mingi still smashing himself between your legs.

“Fuck I’m cumming” Wooyoung pulled on your hair, popping his length out your mouth to release all over your face, warm white cum crashing on your nose, cheeks and lips. You hungrily licked your lips as Wooyoung grunted, emptying his balls on your face.

“Shit” the younger man breathes out as he unravels his fingers around your hair. Immediately Seonghwa pinches your chin and turns your head to the other side, to look at him.

“Mingi please” you whine again as he decreases the pace again, you try to turn your head to the pink haired man kneeling between your legs but Seonghwa firmly maintains your face to him.

“Shh, Princess.” he gently says as your body is shaken under each of Mingi's slow but powerful thrust. “Don't waste Wooyoung’s cum, okay?” with his index finger he scraped your cheek and dragged the thick liquid to your mouth, pushing his cum coated finger past your lips, as you wrapped your lips around it, moaning as Wooyoung’s taste filled your mind.

“That's it. Eat it all” Seonghwa praised as he jerked himself off with his other hand. “Good girl. You want mine too, Princess?” he asked, inching his length closer to you.

“Yes! Please! Sir, please I want your cum” you eagerly reply.

“Sweetheart is starved for cum, isn’t she?” Yeosang commented.

“Open. Stick your tongue out” Seonghwa’s tone was urgent, his voice was roughed up and strained, giving away at his own need. “Don't close your eyes, Princess” he says breathless, his fist frantically going up and down his aching cock. “Keep looking at me” he said, barely above a whisper. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth and knitting his brows as pleasure contorts his beautiful delicate features.

You happily obliged as Seonghwa lets himself go. Aiming primarily at your open wet hole but the uncontainable powerful streams also get on your nose and all the way to your forehead, perfectly splitting your ruined face in half.

Seonghwa grunts in satisfaction as the others approve and jerk themself off at the beautiful and sinful sight.

“Keep your mouth open Baby. Don’t swallow yet” Mingi orders. “I want to see their cum in your mouth while I pound into you.”

This time Mingi seems to be more serious, he doesn’t mean to tease you any longer.

“Fuckkkkk” Mingi grunts as he plows into you, making your tits jiggle under Jongho’s hands. “You're so fucking pretty with all that cum on your face, angel” He hisses through gritted teeth. “Wanna cum on my cock, baby?”

“Yesshhh” you managed to say, swirling the two loads on your tongue.

As the pleasurable feeling spreads from your core to your whole body you feel warm hands laid against your erect clit, drawing tight small circles on it.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum for us, sweetheart?” Yeosang purrs as he teases your clit, instantly taking you to unknown heights. The pleasure fogs up your mind as you can only think about Yeosang’s hand on you and Mingi’s cock pounding you into oblivion.

“Fuck… Cum now.” Mingi ordered as his thrust became shallower, less regular.

“Thank you. thank you thank you” you blabbered, your mouth still full of cum as you let yourself come undone at Yeosang and Mingi’s touch. Your cunt uncontrollably pulsating around Mingi’s big cock, the indescribable pleasure making your legs shake and your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let your tongue hang out your mouth, the cum threatening to spill with each jerk of your body.

“Fuckkk I’m cumming” Mingi announced as he became uneven, finally letting himself release deep inside you, his hips snapping to yours a couple of more times as he painted you a brand new shade of white, your convulsing little cunt milking him to the last drop, eagerly wanting to drown itself in the precious and delicious essence.

“Swallow now, darling”. Yeosang allowed you. And you gladly did so. Finally getting the thick cum down your throat, relishing on the intoxicating taste as you let Mingi slip out of you and his cum lazily dripping out your shapeless hole.

“Come here and clean your little mess” Mingi said out of breath as he stumbled back sitting on the floor with his legs in front of him. You got up on all four and crawled to him, finding your spot between his ample thighs while he held out his sticky cock to you, covered with your slick and his cum. You kept your ass up as you bent over to wrap your mouth around the tip and giving it a hard suck. You felt the warm load drip down your thighs as the mixed flavors of your arousal and his cum flooded your mouth.

As you licked clean every inch you felt a pair of hands gently pat your ass.

“You really have no shame, do you?” Jongho commented from behind you, landing a slap on your raw ass. You jerked and moaned as you popped Mingi’s freshly cleaned length out of your mouth.

You felt Jongho pull on the plug that was still inside you. He pulled lightly on it a couple of times to let it be sucked back in by your ass.

“Oh what a greedy little hole, clinging onto the toy like this” he said finally pulling the toy out, admiring your hole opening and closing in need to be filled again. “Don’t worry darling, you won’t stay empty for long”. Just as he said that he plunged two fingers inside your blinking hole. His index and middle finger forming a V to spread your hole open as much as possible. You moaned in bliss as the others watched you being split open in awe.

“You like my fingers in your ass?” Jongho asked as his other hand was rubbing soothing circles on your bare bottom.

“Yes!! Yess sir I love them” you almost yelled back eager to feel more of him.

“What a good little whore” he praised, landing another spank on your reddened cheek. He then curled his fingers to rub against your sweet spot. You let your head hang as you close your eyes only focusing on the pleasure happening behind you when you feel a gentle touch on your cheek. When you look up it’s San, kneeling in front of you, holding his swollen and painfully hard length in his hand.

“My turn now, kitten.” he says in a raspy tone. “Open up” as soon as you part your lips he slips inside the wet hole, directly aiming for the back of your throat. As you are on your hands and knees your mouth and neck perfectly align in a flat line and San is able to reach the back of your throat easily. You feel the pleasure burn again in your already sore throat, awakening the dormant and dull pain, a little souvenir of his previous visit.

After a couple of back and forths he pops his length out your mouth, making you whine but it’s caught in your throat when you feel Jongho stuff one more finger inside your crowded little ass.

San wraps his fist around his length as lazily pumps himself a few times.

“Give me a hand Woo”

You see Wooyoung’s veiny hand wrap around San’s cock. San lets out a throaty moan as the younger man’s fingers curled around his length, pumping him lazily while you observed in awe as his catlike eyes creased and his eyebrows met on his forehead.

San’s now free hand gently rubbed your face, his lips being pulled in a sinful smirk.

“Faster” he instructed Wooyoung. and he immediately started to pump his fist quicker. “Ffuucckk yesss” he hissed clenching his jaw as his half lidded eyes stared right into you.

“I think kitten wants her milk” he chuckled at the way your eyes started to grow in approbation, pupils dilated at the thought. “Let’s not make her wait any longer”

You licked your lips in anticipation while San caught his bottom lip between his teeth, completely dropping the cocky smile as you saw him twitch in Wooyoung’s hand.

“Open your mouth, darling” Wooyoung ordered, aiming San’s cock right at your wet hole.

“Fuck, kitten! Want my milk?” San asked as you saw his muscular thighs contract.

“Yes please sir I'm a thirsty kitty” you said before sticking your tongue out. Which made San push his jaw forward.

“Then take it” he said, his hand going from your cheek to your neck to pull your face further onto his crotch right before he cums as Wooyoung clenches his fist around the twitching cock. A colossal amount of cum spurts out of his open slit, crashing on your face and mixing with the others’ loads, your tears and smudged makeup.

“Good girl” Wooyoung praises.

The salty and bitter taste wraps around your tongue as you moan in satisfaction letting your mind focus on this intoxicating flavor.

But Jongho pulls you out of your trance by circling your waist with his free hand, to be able to play with your clit. Which has you moaning instantly.

“I want you to cum around my fingers” Jongho whispered as he drew tight and rapid circles on your over-stimulated clit. More tears spill from your eyes as the pleasure elevates your body again.

“Pleaseeee” you whine. At this point you don't even know what you are begging for anymore. Are you begging him to stop, to let you rest? Are you begging him for more?

Then Wooyoung crouches down and sticks his tongue inside your mouth as your jaw is slacked. Your moans and whines are muffled as your eyes roll back into your skull while you share San’s taste mixed your spit with the raven black haired man.

“That's it baby” Jongho praises a carnivorous grin pulling at his lips.

Another earth-breaking orgasm washes over your body as your tight little asshole tries to swallow Jongho’s fingers whole, your cum spraying out of you in a powerful stream again while you moan into Wooyoung’s open mouth.

When Jongho pulls out you are left breathless and fucked out of your mind.

“She’s ready back here” Jongho announced, wiping his fingers on your skirt abandoned on the floor. “Who wants to have a go?” he asks.

“Me” Yunho answered immediately.

You can't help but to gulp. Out of the eight of them, Yunho is easily the biggest one. You can’t help but to nervously chew on your bottom lip as you eye down Yunho’s hard and leaking huge cock.

“Stay right here” Yeosang says as he sees you squirming.

Yunho kneels behind you but as soon as you turn your head to look back, Yeosang gently pinches your chin and makes you look at him.

“Look what you did to me, sweetheart.” he gently purred, swiping the raging hot tip across your wet swollen lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard ever. That’s all for you, darling” Yeosang sings as he pushes back his long black hair. You let a moan escape your lips as you feel Yunho’s fingers swipe up your slit to your clit, flicking the poor exhausted nub a couple of times, when he notices how sensitive you are. You hear him chuckle behind you.

“Don’t you think you have to take responsibility for it?” Yeosang’s grip on your chin grows tighter but his voice remains as sweet as honey.

“Yes, sir” you agree as you open your mouth again. As soon as Yeosang’s hot cock head glazes over your tongue the sweet taste of precum completely wipes away the soreness of your already abused jaw.

“Yesss” Yeosang hisses, gentle hands wrapped around your nape and guiding your lips to meet his pubic bone. “So fucking good baby” he gently pulls out and goes back in immediately.

Then you feel Yunho’s cock rub against your soaked center, emitting a lowly grunt, making you moan on Yeosang’s cock. The latter chuckles and the way you shudder feeling your little cunt being teased again.

“You want Yunho’s cock, sweetheart?” he asks, pulling his dick out of your mouth to allow you to answer.

“Yes! Yes please Sir!” you eagerly say, trying to look back again but Yeosang doesn't let you..

“Look at me, darling. Only me” he reminds you. “Where do you want his cock?” he traces the outline of your lips with his spit coated member, teasing himself in the process.

“In my ass please. I want Yunho’s cock in my ass” You said with pleading eyes looking up at Yeosang.

“So greedy” Yunho snickered once more as he finally pushed himself inside your blinking hole. You can’t help but to gasp at the way your ass expands to accommodate Yunho’s enormous cock. Each of the rings inside your tiny hole stretches to a brand new limit to fit the monstrous member forcing its way inside of you. You groan and bite your lip all the way until Yunho has pushed the whole thing inside and you manage to take him completely. You suck in a couple of deep and shaky breaths.

“Such a good girl swallowing my big cock whole like this” Yunho praises as he stays still for a moment, allowing you to adapt to him. “Are you alright, babygirl?” he asks with his sweet voice, the caring tone makes your heart flutter.

“Yes sir, I’m good” You answer with a short breath.

“You’re so pretty, darling” Yeosang says, wiping a tear off your mascara stained cheek. “So beautifully ruined for us” he says before pushing his dick past your lips again. At the exact same time Yunho slowly pulled himself out of you. Scraping you so deliciously as he did so, making you moan on Yeosang’s cock, the vibrations making a shiver run down his spine.

“Fuck you’re gripping me so tight babygirl” Yunho growled as he pushed his length back inside. You could have cum with just this. Just by the way he was making you so full of him, scraping you in all the right places. To take your mind off the pleasure that was burning your guts you started to focus on Yeosang instead.

You bopped your head along his cock and hollowed your cheeks when you reached the tip, sucking a little harder as your tongue lapped at his slit making sure your tongue never forgot his taste.

“You’re so good with your mouth, sweetheart” Yeosang said, warm hands gently wrapping around you as his hips helped you to get him off. Snapping his hips against your face but never to the point to trigger your gag reflex, there was a gentleness to him, a softness in the way he looked down at you almost amorously as you felt his cock throb on your tongue. The tenderness made you want to be the best girl you could be for him. You wanted to give him your all and you intend to do just that.

“Fuckkk” he hissed as you wrapped your tongue around the sensitive head, bopping your head a little harder.

“Babygirl wants our cum too?” Yunho asked as his hips became sloppier against yours, the two large palms tensing on your ass cheeks and squeezing them to keep himself balanced on his knees as he smashed himself inside.

“Stay still, sweetheart” Yeosang suddenly says, steadying himself right in front of your mouth. One hand wrapped around the underside of your chin, the other still on your nape. “I’m gonna use your cute little mouth. That's what you want, right darling? Wanna be my toy?” You nodded your head quickly while you obediently waited for him to fuck your mouth, staying as still as Yunho allowed you to be as he pounded into you.

Yeosang’s thrusts were shallow at first. But quickly grew deeper, making your core tighten and your eyes prickle again

“Fuck baby. You’re gonna make me cum if you clench like this” Yunho grunted. “I want you to cum with me, understood, babygirl?”

You only moaned back, unable to form words as your mouth was clearly occupied and busy.

“Goog girl” he moaned, his trusts becoming more and more sloppy as Yunho became more vocal, grunting and moaning with each coming and going, his grip on your ass growing tighter until he was ready to bust.

“Fuck, baby. Now” he breathlessly said as he gave you one particularly powerful thrust. “Now. Cum for me. Cum for us, baby”

You let yourself leap past that edge once more, the overwhelming pleasure makes you moan and whine against Yeosang’s length while your ass clings onto Yunho’s huge cock, demanding to be filled with his cum, walls pulsing and clenching in exquisite bliss as you felt him slip out of you. Yunho only had to give himself a couple of light pumps around his fist before he exploded all over your ass, long ropes of scolding hot cum splashing on your back even reaching all the way to your hair and the back of your head.

“Fuckkkk” Yunho cried out, clenching his fist around his cock, pressing his thumb over the throbbing head to push every last drop of his cum out just for you.

“Shit, darling, I'm gonna cum” Yeosang declared, following right after the taller man, his hips snapping one last time against your lips, as you felt his throbbing cock releasing the thick cum right into your throat, not even leaving you the pleasure to feel it slide against your tongue, directly delivering it down your throat. Stuttering hips and pubic bone flushed against your face. A long string of deep moans echoing the ones of Yunho.

When Yeosang slipped out of you and pinched your chin again to make you look up at him. He looked back at you like you were the most precious thing on earth, a treasure that needed to be protected at all costs. Looking so fondly at his fucked out toy, your half lidded eyes hung in nothingness as your body was still lightly shaken by the intense and multiple orgasms.

“So pretty, sweetheart” he lays a gentle kiss on your swollen and numb lips, which you barely had the conscience to even reciprocate. “Such a good girl for us”

When Yeosang gently lets go of you, you have to gather all the strength left in your body not to let yourself collapse to the ground and hold yourself still on your hands and knees. You barely even notice when Hongjoong crouches in front of you.

“Color, Doll?” he asks as he lazily pumps his swollen cock inside his hand.

“G-green” you barely manage to say. Your mind still completely hazy from the previous events but you are brought back instantly as Hongjoongs lands a quick slap on your mascara stained cheek, making you whip your head to the side.

“Didn’t hear you, doll” he said, giving you a chance to correct yourself.

“Green, S-sir” you sniffled, remembering to use the correct title, your eyes snapping to him.

“Good girl” Hongjoong added, soothing your burning cheek with his thumb. “I guess it’s my turn now, right, doll?” he looked down at you with a carnivorous, predatory smile that made you shudder.

“Yes, Sir. Whenever you are ready”

Hongjoong sat right in front of you, in the cum soaked carpeted floor of the jet.

“Sit on my cock, doll.” Hongjoong said, holding the base of his length up in the air, urging you to be filled up once again.

You struggled to get up on your two legs and staggered over to Hongjoong, placing your feet at each side of him. When you lowered your hips, aligning your entrance with Hongjoong’s member your thighs barely held you anymore. Your body was exhausted but somehow you were yearning for more. Your insatiable and sore little cunt was throbbing at the idea of being filled up again.

When Hongjoong’s tip glided along your slit you moaned and draped your arms around his shoulders, using him as a way to get balance. You let out a long moan when Hongjoong finally splits you open, his length pushing the remnants of Mingi’s load deeper inside you.

“Fuck. You’re already throbbing, you dumb little whore” Hongjoong said, hand untangling with your hair and breaking your neck backward, to give himself access to your already bruised neck. Adding his touch to the stained canvas with bites and kisses. “Yearning to be filled again. Isn't that right, doll?” he asked, yanking your hair a little harder when you didn’t reply fast enough.

“Yes, Sir. I wanted your cock so bad. It feels so good!!!” you moaned as you started to bounce yourself on him, earning a satisfied groaned from the blonde man. “Right thereee” you let out as you sink your hips all the way down, slowly again, feeling the head of his cock rub against your sweet spot.

“Good girl. Keep going” Hongjoong urged, letting go of your hair and laying himself back on his elbows, backing away slightly to take your whole form in. He wanted to admire you fuck yourself up on his cock. He wanted to see your tits bounce and your pussy throb as you drove yourself to madness. He wanted to see you cry. He knew exactly how.

He landed a purposeful and sharp slap right on your soaked little clit. The reaction is immediate and exactly what Hongjoong was looking for. You emit the most divine of screams, the perfect blend of pleasure and pain. Hongjoong can't help but to smirk when he sees how your bottom lip trembles and your eyes fill up with tears again all the while never stopping your hips snapping against his.

“Say thank you” he orders, putting both of his hands on your thigh keeping them nice and parted, eyes only ogling the way your hungry little cunt swallowed him only to spit him out covered in your slick seconds later and do it all over again and again and again.

“Thank you, sir” you whine. “Please another one, sir” you ask, mind slipping back into an indiscernible fog. Hongjoong cocks an eyebrow in surprise at your sudden request. But he’s pleasantly surprised by your obedience and devotion.

“What a pathetic little pain slut you are, y/n” He lands another slap just as perfectly aimed as the previous one making you moan and finally making the precious tears spill from your eyes at the mention of your name.

“Such a good little fuck toy, asking so nicely. Good girls get rewards, right doll?” Hongjoong says as he starts to draw small circles on your throbbing clit with his index and middle finger.

“Oh my god. Th-thank you, Sir” you whine, more large tears rolling on your heated cheeks. The pleasure makes you eager to chase your high and you find yourself bouncing harder on Hongjoongs’ cock. Not even realizing Jongho creeping up behind you again.

“Sir, can I please cum?” you ask, feeling your high dangerously nearing as you feel your walls tighten around Hongjoong’s length and your clit throbbing under his touch.

“You’re an eager little whore aren’t you?” the voice of the youngest resounds behind you. When you turn your head he pushes on your shoulder making you fall forward onto Hongjoong’s chest. Hongjoong chuckles as Jongho gets on his knees and shimmies himself between the older man’s legs. You still yourself completely when you feel him rub his tip around your rim.

Without even another word he shoved his whole cock inside your available hole in one thrust, making you moan into Hongjoong’s ear.

“Now be a good little cocksleeve and stay still while we fuck you stupid.” Jongho ordered as he was slowly pulling on his length while you felt Hongjoong squirm beneath you and plant both his feet on the ground only to thrust up inside of you at the exact same time as Jongho.

You can't help but scream-moan as the two rods inside you grind against each other. You plant your manicured nails on Hongjoong’s shoulders, almost to the point of drawing blood making him arch his back and chuckle at the dull pain.

“Fuck yes!!” you cry out, hanging your head on Hongjoong’s shoulder as they move in unison to rearrange your guts.

“That feels good, doll?” Hongjoong asks, continuously fucking his hips up into you.

“Yes. Yes. Yes, sir. I fucking love it” you say through gritted teeth trying your hardest not to let yourself cum from the sheer pressure the both apply in turns to your sweet spot.

“Yeah” Jongho added from behind you. “You love two cocks fucking you up like this?” He said squeezing your ass, nails digging in the supple flesh of your raw cheeks.

“Yes Sir. I love both your cocks” you reply.

“Two cocks at the same time is the bare minimum for a whore like you right, baby?” he asks, landing a harsh slap on your bum.

“Oh my god. Please can I cum now?” you ask in a strangled moan, knowing well enough by the way your pussy and ass are throbbing you won’t be able to hold back much longer. You are desperate for your release.

“Beg us for it.” Hongjoong said, his hands holding your waist down.

At this point you've lost consciousness of everything that isn't the two cocks slamming inside you right now. You can’t remember anything except for the unbearable pleasure you feel, making your walls clench and your center gush with wet and slimy arousal, coating the two man fucking you into your next life right now. If anybody asked you, you couldn’t even remember your own name. At this point you would do anything, anything at all, to finally grasp your climax. You only want one thing and it is to finally cum around these two cocks. And if you have to beg for it, so be it.

“Please. Please. Sir. Please let me cum for you. There's nothing I want more than to show you how I shake and scream for your cocks. Wanna cum for you, wanna give you the best show. Wanna make you cum inside my throbbing little hungry cunt” You struggle to say between moans, your voice interrupted by the incessant carousel of their thrusts inside your tired and shapeless little holes.

“Go ahead, doll. Cum.”

Finally you let go of that pressure building in your core, the burning pleasure spreading into your limbs and making you shake. Your cunt and ass violently throbbing and clenching on Jongho and Hongjoong. You cry and moan as tears of relief roll down on your cheeks.

“So fucking pretty cumming on our cocks, doll” Hongjoong praises as his hips become sloppy. “Want me to fill your pretty little cunt with my cum?” he asks, teeth grazing your ears.

“Yes please, sir” you reply in a sob, your orgasm continuing to rip through you.

“Fucking take my cum deep in your ass, fucking whore” Jongho demands a he releases inside your throbbing little hole.

“Yes Thank you sir” you cry out, your ass clenching around the younger one’s thick cock.

“Fuckkk” Hongjoong grunts as he finally cums inside you filling your wet hole with hot cum, the thick slimy and white liquid spilling and dripping down, joining the existing mess on the carpeted floor.

The three of you ascending to your peaks at the same time in a beautiful unisson of moans and grunts. Until they gradually stop their hips smashing into yours. For a couple of minutes you all just lay there to catch your breath, all piled on top of each other.

After that you barely have enough time to summarily wash up (meaning roughly wipe away the smudged makeup, cum and sweat with a hot towel and hop back into your former uniform) before you have to fasten your seat belt again.

The descent is smooth, in this general euphoria there’s nothing awkward left between you and the members. After being so intimate with each other there’s no place left for embarrassment or discomfort. You are even able to crack a few jokes and communicate light heartedly. Except for the stain on the carpeted floor and the remnants of your endeavors in your hair there was no way of knowing what had happened between all of you only minutes ago.

As they disembarked the jet Hongjoong gave you one last small paper bag. He insisted that it was more than well deserved after the service of the highest quality you provided.

“Really I insist” he says, pushing the small bag into your hands. “Please take this and open it as soon as you get the time” he says before glancing back at his members waiting for him a little further already geared up with the beanies, bucket hats, sun glasses and masks.

“Thank you very much” you said bowing your head respectfully. “Thank you for choosing Air France, we hope to see you soon” you said waving goodbye at them while they disappeared in the elbowed tube.

You sat on the bench and opened the small bag to find huge stacks of cash in 500 euros bills. Your heart almost looped in your chest and you thanked yourself to have chosen to sit before opening the final gift. You found a small card inside it.

We wanted to get you enough that you could retire if you wanted to. But we really hope you don’t ;)...

See you soon y/n.

-8 makes 1 girl cream, ATEEZ

ps: it was Mingi’s idea.

ateez masterlist | navigation

taglist: @eastleighsblog @starillusion13 @hgjfever @legohwas @hwaightme @justhere4kpop @goldnhwa @bella-hi @twancingyunhao @darlingaurora-h @mulletjoonsupremacy @dreamlesswonder86 @erensluut @atinism @slu77ym4nw415ts @minkysmilk @hongglovs @chocolagirlstuff @fudgeflyssworld @seonghwasslytherin @anamalik1201 @phalanxiphor @owjohny @marsstarxhwa @tojifush1 @8makes1scream @meloeuphoria @archive-of-z @kitten4sannie @gh0stbish @senpai-of-doom @hyukssunflower

you read the whole thing and you survived please answer this poll? it would help me so much! <3

a/n: so?? how was it?? honestly im so so happy to present that to you finally! i've had this idea first since 2020 and it took 3 whole years for the idea to be shaped into something that i could actually write then actually taking the time to write and edit and publish... so pleaseeee tell me you enjoyed if you did. in the comments or in my asks if you wanna stay anon 🥸 (especially if you read the watersports and you liked it. im scared about publishing something like this so reassure me pls <3). you really have no idea how happy it would make me if you left a nice comment. honeslty just come fuel my praise kink please 🥺. And reblogging would be really great too <333 that being said im thankful you read it wether you choose to react or not and ily <3

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honeysmoonn · 6 months

Note

finnick being protective?

warnings: set in catching fire b4 quarter quell, tiny signs of panic attacks if you squint, mean peacekeeper (nothing new), very short but don’t fear at least one more part will be posted soon!

a/n: thanks for the request anon!! i hope i did this justice, if not lmk and id be happy to rewrite something similar: )

when you were crowned victor of the 67th annual hunger games, the last thing you expected was to be thrown into the quarter quell.

it was like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from, constantly stuck in a never ending state of fear and anxiety. it was slowly killing you from the inside out.

one thing, one person kept you grounded, though. finnick odair. finnick had been your mentor for your games. he taught you everything you knew about surviving. he taught you how to tie intricate fishing knots, which led you to survive off fishing during your games. every time a fish swam into the fishing net, you smiled up to the sky. and in the other side, finnick smiled back.

though survival wasn’t the only thing finnick taught you.

he taught you how to control your emotions, he taught you how to be strong, and most importantly, how to love.

love was a tough thing in your eyes. you never had any childhood crushes after river, a boy a year older than you, got pulled into the hunger games and died. to you, it felt like the universe was against you, so the idea of love never came easy. though, after finnick was in the picture, he took note of your hesitancy to his flirting and made it his mission to make you feel loved. he ultimately came up with the conclusion that you yourself hadn’t been loved on enough; and no one should live without love.

after you won your games, nightmares and panic attacks came often. but it wasn’t your mother or father you comforted you; it was finnick. he was the one you sat with you on endless nights, cradling you in the protection of his arms.

even now, as the two of you stood on the stage facing your district, you looked to finnick with tears in your eyes. even as ocean formed in your eyes and the crisp air began hard to breathe, finnick remained calm. once the two of you were directed backstage, your first instinct was to go to finnick. luckily, his was too.

“finn,” you sobbed into his shirt. he was quick to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace, holding you close to him, but not too tight; like you were a porcelain doll. it felt like you were, that a single wrong word would shatter you into a million shards of glass. “i don’t wanna go back.” you let out a long and shaky sigh, tightly shutting your eyes as if the world around you would melt away, leaving just you and finnick.

one of his big hands fell on your back, gently stroking the soft material of your light blue dress your mother made especially for reaping days. the other one cradled your head, holding you close to his chest. every so often he would press his soft lips to the top of your head, murmuring softly. “don’t worry, don’t worry about a thing. i’ll protect you. i won’t let anything happen to you.”

his words paired with his gentle touch almost calmed your nerves. but the immediate though of him flooded your brain. “oh, oh no finnick,” you pulled back, only slightly. finnick arms were still latched onto yours, grounding you to him. “what about you? what about us?” the quiver in your voice made finnick heart sink into his stomach.

while it wasn’t true, he continued to soothe you by whispering “it’ll be okay” and “we’ll be alright” into your ear while rocking your gently. he knew, when it came down to it, it wouldn’t be him walking out of that arena.

the quiet moment shared between you was cut off by a peacekeeper. the man dressed in white didn’t waste anytime, nor give any warnings before he ripped you out of finnick warm grasp. it was only to get you ready for the train, but finnick jaw ticked as your brow furrowed at the man’s tight grip. somehow, you were back in the area. just a teenager again as another tribute tried to pull you to your certain death.

“hey, hey, hey!” the blond boy rushed forward, taking hold on the peacekeepers white jacket and trying his best to keep you away from the government troop. he could see the fear in your eyes, he knew those eyes. the same eyes that he looked into countless nights when either of you had nightmares. “no need for all this, let her go.” it was so sincere, his tone. it was kind of how he talked to you, calm and gentle. but behind the sweetness there was a tang of venom, a underlying sense of tension hung over finnick head as the peacekeeper didn’t move a muscle.

and older woman (you couldn’t remember her name. diamond? sapphire? something stupid like that), another previous victor (and now your mentor) stepped forward. her hand fell of finnicks shoulder, she meant it in a motherly way but the boy in front of you frowned. “oh finnick, darling, don’t worry. he’s just trying to help.”

“she doesn’t need any help.” this time his words came out as rough and full of intention. and yet the peacekeeper didn’t budge. finnick was fed up. he lurched forward to harshly shove the man shoulder, causing him to stumble back and let go of you. “i got her from here.” he grumbled to the man now on the floor before turning to you. “you okay? anything hurt?” you shook your head and he smiled.

“thank you.” you smiled back at him. his efforts to make you feel better certainly went a long way considering the circumstances. “you didn’t have to do that.” you hated to admit, but you could feel a certain pink blush creeping across your cheeks. finnick must have also noticed, seeing he smirked and placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you away from the peacekeeper and mentor.

“i know,” he replied softly. “but they shouldn’t be doing all that to you. you’ve been through enough.” he gently nudged your shoulder. how he could go from being rough with the capitol people do being so very delicate with you was an odd thing, but beautiful nonetheless. “now cmon, let’s get you to bed.” he smiled with a kiss to your head.

#oh man #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair imagine #finnick #thg series #finnick odair fanfic #the hunger games

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

Note

hii, i love your page, it’s so cute!! i was just wondering, can we have a fic where ghost/the 141 forgets the readers birthday?

tysm,

~ 💖.

A/N: Apologies for the delay, anon! Also, I hope that didn't happen to you, but if it did, happy belated birthday. Here’s your gift, I hope you like it.

———————————————————————

Type, type, type.

That’s all you’ve been doing since this morning.

Replying to emails, developing the recruits’ training programme for the next week, preparing reports, and going back and forth on that group chat with the engineering team about that stubborn drone that refuses to take off but is mandatory for the next mission.

They wished you a happy birthday. Yes, it was through a faceless and impersonal message, but at least they did.

Unlike him.

He’s been sitting across from you all day, doing the same—typing, typing, typing.

Not at the pace you’ve been going, though. He’s much slower compared to you.

His fingers hesitate as they hover across the keyboard, lacking the speed and confidence he usually has in the field. The keyboard feels foreign in his hands—it’s not an MP5, you see.

His eyes, trained for action, struggle to adjust to the screen in front of him. He types, pauses, looks up at the screen, and then resumes typing. Yet his posture remains rigid like he’s ready for action at any given moment.

“Do you need help?” you ask, noticing his struggle to find the right shortcut for copying and pasting.

“I need a cigarette,” he replies, standing up from his chair. He opens the window, turns his back to you, and lifts his mask halfway.

He opens the packet and bites down on the cigarette filter to extract it from the package. Tilting his head to the side, he lights it up and takes a deep inhale.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Shit.” He swears and shouts at the door to “wait a fucking minute.”

He extinguishes the cigarette, pulls down his mask, and returns to his desk. You wait for him to sit down before inviting the person outside to come in.

Two recruits currently assigned to your team enter the room.

“Happy birthday!” says one, and the other repeats the wishes more timidly.

You give them a warm smile and thank them.

Their eyes, however, often drift from you to him. They look like they regretted coming into the office. Like they’d rather be anywhere else but here.

You empathise with them—you, too, were scared of him when you first came to the base.

You decide to relieve them of their discomfort.

“There are cupcakes in the kitchen,” you say, “please help yourselves.”

You can’t tell if they are too excited about the cupcakes or relieved that they now have a reason to escape the trap they’ve gotten themselves into. With a nod, they quickly exit the room and shut the door behind them.

You turn to the computer screen and continue typing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You slightly turn your head towards him while keeping your eyes on the screen.

“Why didn’t I tell you what?”

“That the sky is blue,” he replies sarcastically. “That today’s your birthday, of course!”

“That’s not the kind of thing you go around telling people, Ghost,” you explain, “besides, you already knew.”

He stands up from his chair, and you turn to look at him.

“Why didn’t you remind me?”

“What should I say, Lt.?” You ask, “Hey, by the way, it’s my birthday today, in case you’ve forgotten?”

“Yes!” He insists, lifting his hands, “Yes, you should have told me that! Then you should have added a ‘you fucking idiot’ to complete the sentence.”

You look at him with furrowed eyebrows and a smirk.

He sighs and drops his hands to his sides.

“Come here,” he says, waving his hand for you to come closer.

You look at him, amused, and your smile widens. Yet you remain seated, and lean back to your chair.

“Come here!” He repeats and starts walking towards you.

You stand up, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, locking your arms to your sides. You hug his waist.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers and leans down, planting a kiss at the crown of your head.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” you reply, your words muffled against his chest.

“I’m such an idiot, aren’t I?” He murmurs, his lips lingering against your head, “I’m sorry.”

You chuckle and push yourself away to look at him.

“No, you’re not,” you reply, “these things happen.”

He releases you from the hug but keeps his hands on your shoulders.

“Thanks for the cupcakes, by the way.”

“You had one?”

“Two,” he says, letting you go and returning to his desk, “but I didn’t know who they were from.”

You sit back in your chair and continue to type, type, type.

But this time, there’s a smile on your face.

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod ghost #ghost cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost cod mwii #ghost call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2

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buryustogether · 1 year

Text

lilac - chapter 8 + epilogue

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: the walls are crashing down, and even spiderman can’t hold up an entire universe.

wc: 6k

warnings/tags: smut, kidnapping, universe collapsing, torture, filming, blood, blade violence, explosions, choking, falling off a building, love confessions, major character death, start-overs

If you closed your eyes hard enough, if you flooded your senses with your deep, treasured memories and blocked out everything around you, you were able to transport yourself back into last week. Last week, when Gabriella had crashed on the couch, and you and Miguel were lying in bed with chests heaving and sweat cooling across your necks. The bedside lamp was dim; the bulb needed to be changed. Outside, the city continued to thrive, churning and burning and spitting. But inside your bedroom, your hand clasped in his, the world was still.

He had rolled you over so that you lay on top of his broad frame, but he was still inside of you, soft and flaccid now that he’d finally chased his release - after giving you yours four times. You blinked tiredly, staring at nothing as you felt one of his long, thick fingers skimming over your back.

“I’ve been thinking,” you murmured against the warm, tan skin of his shoulder.

Miguel hummed, acknowledging your words. His fingers continued to graze across your skin, up and down, up and down.

“Obviously we’re… planning on staying together. For a long time. Right?”

Though he kept his eyes closed, his thick, full lips quirked upward into a smirk, allowing the tips of his fangs to poke into view. “Believe me, sweetheart,” he rumbled from deep in his chest. “I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

His words stirred inside of you, like a new hope springing to life. “Well… we’re going to need to move. Someplace bigger, with more room. For all of us. And this city, Mig, it’s… it’s not safe.”

It was then that Miguel’s eyes opened, and that smile slowly disappeared from his lips. You felt your heart sink with them, like an anchor in your belly. “You’re talking about moving away?” he said. When you only lifted your head to look at him, chin resting on his sternum, he exhaled deep and moved his hand to begin carding through your hair. “I can’t leave, bebe,” he said softly. “You know why.”

Yes, you knew why. It was because he was Spiderman, and this was New York, the worst city in the country to live in. With criminals on every block and fires and shootouts and a sky so deeply and violently purple you’d never even known its true color.

Being a lover, a father, everything before and after and in between, was what made Miguel who he was. But that was only a part. That other half came from being a hero, from helping those who could not help themselves. Walking with a sense of pride in what he did, knowing that people had something to trust in.

And you knew he could never leave that.

So you swallowed thick and let the issue go. You sighed and wrapped your arms around his large, naked form, nestling your face into the soft, delicate spot where his throat met his chest. “Okay,” you said, and you felt him lean down to kiss the crown of your head. “I’d still like a bigger place, though. Your daughter can’t sleep on the couch forever.”

Miguel chuckled, wrapping a sinewy arm around your middle to keep you close while you both dozed off. “I think we can do that.”

You were suddenly brought back to the present when, behind the glass partition you were facing, the giant, hulking machinery moved a few inches before coming to a halt. The metal groaned and squealed, startling the little girl held tight against your chest. Gabriella was heavy, and your arms were beginning to grow tired, but you would hold her until the end of time, if you needed to.

The Alchemax viewing area was dim and dark in the corners of the room, illuminated only by the glow of the control panel to your right and the stark, white lights projected onto the molecular collider in the lab. It was a massive piece of machinery, built to withstand its own otherworldly power, armored and bolted to the ground should the walls and ceiling be blasted away into nothingness.

You turned slightly when the collider moved again, twisting and turning in on itself, and Gabriella released a small, pitiful cry against your shoulder. Twisting your expression into a sneer, you fixed the man at the control panel with the meanest look you could muster.

Doctor Octopus - Otto Octavius, a visionary genius turned terrorist after his mechanical arms took over his head - lifted his head slightly and let his shades slip down his crooked nose. In return to your harsh frown, he gave an apologetic expression that carried no genuinity whatsoever. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said as one of his arms reached out to flip a few switches. “Just a few test runs.”

Shifting Gabriella’s weight to your hip, you glanced down and smoothed the girl’s hair from her face. She was still wearing her jacket that she would have put on at recess - they must have been watching the school, waiting for her to emerge from those brick walls so that they could snatch her up. Suddenly you were cursing yourself, wishing you could face your reflection in a mirror and shatter the glass with a fist. You could have been there. Could have made sure she was safe, she was secure.

Her being here was your fault.

And her being here meant something that made your veins turn to ice when you thought about it; they knew who Spiderman really was.

When the collider began to shift again, shaking the building slightly in its very foundations despite being here in the basement of the building, you turned your head to face Octavius again. “What exactly are you all planning to do with this thing?” you said, watching as he shifted across the control panel to reach a few buttons and scanners. “I heard it wasn’t ready for tests yet.”

“From who, darling?” he said, meeting your eyes over the rims of his shades. “A spider on the wall?” When you said nothing, averting your eyes to the floor, he hummed and continued on, allowing his mechanical arms to carry him over to a large monitor. His gloved fingers typed faster than you thought possible for a person. “Alchemax is playing a dangerous game with a toy they don’t understand. Tests mean nothing when dealing with a piece of the future like this. That Spiderman of yours told you about the multiverse, didn’t he?”

Told you about it. Explained it. Came from it.

Octavius raised a finger and beckoned you toward him. You hesitated, holding your breath, before silently padding across the observation area to stand behind him at the monitor. Squinting your eyes against the light, you watched as he gestured to a warping, live image of string-like animations repeating in a loop on the screen. “These,” he said, finger grazing along the lines, “are realities close within one another. They’re different, sure, but only in little ways. Someone’s eyes are a different shade. A grain of sand is misplaced a foot from where it landed. Again - little ways.” He used the touchpad of the computer to scroll outward, giving you a view of so many lines warping together it looked like almost an entirely colored screen. “And these are the realities within our grasp with the collider. Meaning -” he looked down at you - “every reality in the multiverse.”

You stared at the screen, hugging Gabriella to yourself tightly. One of those lines was Miguel’s reality. Where he was supposed to be.

As Octavius scrolled back in, you caught a glimpse of a line flickering and glitching, unlike the others. You stopped him. “That one,” you said, and he halted. “What’s that one?”

“Earth - 9193,” he said, his voice low and grave. He met your eyes, his gaze darker than it was just a moment ago. “Our home universe.” He gave a rather rueful smile as he watched your expression melt into one of confusion. “In our reality,” he explained as his mechanical arms set him - finally - on the ground, “there is no Spiderman. This city - it’s not supposed to get better. So imagine the universe’s bafflement when Spiderman from a different reality swoops in to save the day. It tries to expel him. Tries to correct canon events gone wrong. But it couldn’t. And so - it’s collapsing.”

“Collapsing?”

“Correct.” He paused and you both looked up when, overhead, there came a distant boom; the city falling apart at the seams. The building shook again and dust fell from the ceiling. To your surprise, he lifted one of his arms and shielded your head as it bounced off your shoulders and clung to your hair. “Call us selfish,” he said and lowered his arm again. “But my associates and I aren’t particularly fond of sticking around when the end comes around.”

You blinked a few times at the screen, feeling your heart skip a beat or twelve as you let his words sink in. Your universe - it was collapsing. That was what the glitches in the city had been. That was why Miguel’s apartment building had folded in on itself - it was because of him. No matter where he went, the glitches followed.

Because he was a virus here in your reality, and when viruses could not be expelled, the system would ultimately kill itself.

You clutched the little girl in your arms a bit tighter. “You’re… running away,” you murmured as Octavius fiddled with the monitor and its data. “You’re leaving us all here to die.” The words were barely able to clear your throat, barely able to keep themselves afloat.

He hummed in that way you noticed he did. “Running away wouldn’t be the correct term,” he replied. “Moreso… self-preserving.”

At that moment, the doors leading into the observation area were thrown open on their hinges to reveal the figures you had come to fear striding into the bay. You took three steps back as the Prowler slid down a railing and came to a smooth landing at Octavius’ side. “How are we looking, Doc?” he said as his purple, eye-lit mask dematerialized to reveal his face. His gaze was a touch crazier than you remembered it, bold and wild in a way that screamed danger.

Octavius’ cold, stony facade slid back into place as he adjusted his shades and rose, his mechanical arms lifting him off the ground. “Swimmingly,” he replied. “A few more tests, and she should be ready for lift off.”

“Perfect!” shouted Ferris abruptly, causing you to jump slightly. He clapped his hands and approached you as, behind him, Kraven hefted a news broadcasting camera onto his shoulder and began to fiddle with the settings. “Sorry to keep you waiting, babe,” said your ex as he approached you, taking two steps forward when you took one back. He showed off a disturbing, unnatural smile. “Had some loose ends to tie up.”

You sneered at him and turned, placing yourself between him and Gabriella. “You’re fucking insane, Ferris,” you hissed, inches from his sickening grin. “Taking me is one thing, but a kid? You’ve lost it, for real this time.”

“Big words, coming from you,” he said, tilting his head as the collider twisted and churned again. “Shacking up with a vigilante who crossed realities to dick you down.” He snickered to himself. “Listen, babe. That day when Spiderman - sorry, O’Hara - cracked my spine and broke my jaw and left me to suffer in that fucking alley, I realized something; why stick around in a dump like this when I can make like your little fuck buddy and squeeze myself into another dimension? Hell, why do I need you when I can just find another one of you who won’t screw me over?

“So I managed to get myself up. Crossed paths with these guys, told them…” He brought his lips close to your ear, so close you felt his breath fan across your skin. “I knew the identity of Spiderman.” He grinned again, drew back slightly to touch his forehead against yours. You would have smacked him, shoved him away, were you not still shielding the little girl in your arms. “I would say it’s not personal, babe,” he whispered. “But it is.”

Then his lips were smashed against yours, so roughly and ruthlessly you were flashed back to when you still lived with him, let him touch you, let him fuck you. He would always kiss you like this, like he possessed you, like he owned you. It only lasted a moment or two before he pulled back, forcefully plucked Gabriella from your arms, and handed her off to the Vulture, who was standing beside Octavius.

“Alright, boys,” he said as his mask materialized back over his face. “Let’s make a movie!”

Taking a few steps closer and backing you up against the glass partition of the observation area, Kraven hoisted the camera up and pointed it directly at you and Ferris. You found yourself frozen in place, petrified and staring back at your own reflection in the lens. His clawed hand came up to grip the back of your neck, and the other clapped over your mouth.

“Stick to the script,” he murmured in your ear, “and I’ll let the kid live.”

“Broadcasting to every system in New York,” said the hunter, then clicked a button and the camera and a light near the top flashed red. “...Now.”

Unbeknownst to you, across every screen in the city - televisions, phones, Times Square, everything - the broadcast crackled through and began to stream. There was not a soul in New York that was not watching.

Not one.

Ferris tilted his head at the camera in a way that made your stomach churn. Even behind his mask, you knew he was smirking and squinting his eyes in that way he did when he was playing coy. “Hello, Spiderman,” he said in a low, even voice. It sent chills crawling up your spine, made you struggle in his hold until his claws dug against your skin. “You and I have unfinished business, and it would be rude to leave hanging in the air - you know, before we both jump ship. You know where I am.” Behind you, the collider moved, and this time, it did not stop. A blast of energy exploded from the edge, shaking the building again. You stumbled slightly, raising a hand to clasp at his wrist over your mouth. “And just in case you need some incentive…”

You let out a small shriek when Ferris ripped you forward, sending you spinning around to face the camera. Before you could get anything out, he came up behind you like a vengeful apparition and grabbed your jaw, his claws digging into the soft skin of your cheeks. “Go on,” he murmured in your ear, just loud enough for the camera to pick up. “Cry for help. Cry for him.”

Against every ounce of willpower you had, because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, you felt tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. Just a moment later, they spilled over, cascading down your cheeks and staining the fabric of his glove. Yet despite your tears, despite the silent sobs racking your body, you refused to speak.

Ferris dug his claws into your cheek further, drawing a few dots of blood and pinpricks of searing pain. “Come on,” he whispered against the shell of your ear. “Beg for him.”

Your eyes turned behind the camera, where the Vulture held Gabriella’s collar in a grip tight enough to pale his knuckles. She stood beside him like a confused puppy, tear tracks staining her face as she watched you. And you knew you couldn’t do this alone. Not with her here. Not with Ferris.

“Spiderman,” you breathed, then cried out when Ferris yanked your hair to expose your neck and poise a claw over your throat. It gleamed in the light that the collider was throwing about the lab, shaking and burning out energy.

“Ah-ah,” he tutted. “His real name.”

You didn’t have time to mull over the realization that you were going to expose his identity, didn’t have time to think about that, really, it wouldn’t matter, because your reality was tearing apart, anyway. Blood collected on your cheek where his claws dipped in, and pain seared through your face.

“Miguel!” you finally wailed, feeling your tears mix with the scarlet. “Mig, we need you - please! He has Gabriella. I need you, please, Mig, I need you!”

With a grunt, Ferris spun you to the ground, then stalked forward and grasped the camera by the lens. “Come and get your girls, O’Hara. Alchemax. You have until the universe collapses. Or, you know…” He trailed off as his mask tilted downward toward you. “I decide to let one of them go a little early.”

You found yourself sitting against the row of desks holding computers, cradling Gabriella to your side as you watched Ferris and the rest of the vigilantes watch the collider charge, murmuring amongst themselves. You heard the words ‘sensors’ and ‘turrets’ and ‘muzzle for those teeth’ and ‘dead before he hits the ground.’ They had planned for Miguel, were waiting for him.

Gabriella murmured your name - the first thing she’d uttered since you both had been brought here - and you at once looked down. She clutched onto your dress, her cheeks stained with tear tracks and her chest rising and caving with deep, panicked breaths. “Is Daddy going to come and save us?” she whispered.

Doing your best to shove down the dread, and sorrow, and grief hanging suspended in your throat, you put on your best wobbling, warped smile and brushed her hair back from her face. “Yeah, sweetheart,” you replied quietly, just barely audible over the sounds of the collider. You sniffled, holding her closer. “He’ll be here any minute.”

It couldn’t have been just a few minutes later when, from the corner of your eye, you saw one of the computer screens jump to life. You thought it to be chance, a touchpad disturbed by the constant shaking and rattling of the building, but then images began to flash across the screen. You turned your head and realized they weren’t images, but letters. Words - being typed out across the monitor.

Letter by letter, your name was spelled out. The cursor blinked for a moment before everything was deleted. Then -

H E R E.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you leaned forward. The word was typed again, this time in bold. Then in italics. The computer - no, someone behind it - was beckoning you forward. With a few words of reassuring nonsense in Gabriella’s ear, and a quick glance to make sure the men were still distracted, you crawled on your hands and knees along the row of computers. Sitting up on your heels, you faced the dim screen.

Hesitantly, you whispered, “Hello?”

The word disappeared, soon replaced by another. L Y L A.

Lyla - Miguel’s AI. A surge of hope flooded through you like a tidal wave, filling your veins, your heart, your soul.

H E I S C O M I N G.

You exhaled, blinking at the screen. Then -

D U C K.

Your body reacted before your mind even had a chance to catch up. The entire world seemed to move in slow motion as you scrambled to your feet, grabbed Gabriella and huddled behind the desk - just moments before the back wall blew outwards in a ground-shaking eruption. The glass partition shattered and the collider shrieked as debris rained upon the observation area like hail from a hellstorm. A chunk of rock sliced across your cheek, letting pain rip through your face and blood spill down your face.

Like a train unable, unwilling to stop, to keep from plowing into the first thing it saw, a flash of red and blue came tearing from the site of the explosion and collided with the purple figure of the Prowler as he struggled to his feet. They went sprawling across the rubble-covered deck, only separated when a mechanical arm grabbed the back of Spiderman’s leg and hurled him across the room.

He caught himself and landed in a striking pose - then his mask dematerialized, and Miguel’s scarlet eyes raised to the men before him. He opened his mouth, exposing those long, glinting teeth, and released an animalistic snarl that froze the blood in your veins. His hair was mussed and the lines beneath his eyes seemed deeper than before. His hands, his claws, practically trembled with the rage and fury radiating off of him in waves. In that moment he was truly more beast than man.

You shielded Gabriella’s eyes as he snapped, standing again to his full height.

“About time,” said Ferris behind his mask, then readied his own steel claws. “Let’s settle this once and for all - Spiderman.”

The next few moments were blurs of violence, of villains with metal limbs and wings and a thirst for blood all came down to assault Miguel where he stood. He was a whirlwind of action, taking blows and giving them back in a tempo you knew was not humanly possible. His teeth sank into skin. His claws tore through muscle. He roared and thrashed and fought for everything he had, because life outside may have been falling apart, but his entire life was right there inside that observation bay.

Bits of light poking through the still-settling dust from the explosion drew your eye away from the nauseating fight, pulling your attention to the place where the door used to be. Flickering from the corridor - the exit.

Gripping Gabriella’s hand so tight you knew it ached, but you didn’t care, you brought your face close to hers so that she could look into your eyes. Blood still seeped down your cheek, now staining your collar and your neck. “Listen to me,” you said to her, just audible over the sound of her father snapping one of the Vulture’s wings in half. “We’re going to run, okay? And we’re not going to look back. You hold my hand and don’t let go. Just like we practiced with the drills at school, alright?”

She nodded her head, and then you were off. You ducked your head as a piece of technology sailed past, tugging the little girl along over rubble and through the shattered doorway. From there you took the first stairwell you found, listening as the sounds of the battle grew more and more faint. Up and up you went, until you reached a heavy metal door that you shoved open with all your might. Gusts of wind rushed in to greet you, whipping your dress skirt about, whispering about your fate in your ears, and when you reached the roof, it seemed that, really, they were right.

New York was no longer recognizable. It had turned into a hellsite of glitches and chaos, entire streets folding in on themselves before completely vanishing. You nearly screamed upon realizing Harlem, Queens, Brooklyn… they were all gone. From this height you could see past where the river was supposed to be, but instead it was all… nothing. There lay a vast, wide nothingness, like a blank canvas. No ground. No buildings. No people. Everything, just… erased from existence.

Panic rose in your throat like bile, pulling you to your knees and fresh tears to your eyes. It was all true - your reality was collapsing in on itself. All those people, gone. And soon, you would be, too.

It was a long moment before you realized Gabriella was tugging on your hand, attempting to pull you further along the roof as she kept her terrified gaze trained on the door to the roof - until it was too late. You both shrieked as the Prowler emerged from the frame, his suit ragged and torn, stained with blood and his mask vanished. Scarlet ran down his face, same as yours, as he approached you on the roof.

“You want to know something funny, babe?” he said. The last word, that awful pet name, was rasped through clenched teeth as he stalked you, taking his time even as you scrambled to the edge of the building, because you both knew - you had nowhere to go. “I wasn’t really going to kill you in that alley. Just wanted to scare you, ‘ya know?” His face dropped. “Now I really wish I had.”

In a moment, Ferris had pounced, rolling you over and over yourself on the roof of Alchemax, his clawed hands tight around your throat and his knees on either side of your waist. No matter how much you struggled, how much you kicked and screamed and wailed and bucked, he refused to let go.

How ironic, came a quiet, barely-there voice. Even while it dies, the universe is attempting to fix itself.

As tears blurred your vision, you shifted your gaze to Gabriella, who watched the life being strangled from you with wide, petrified eyes. To Gabriella, who suddenly clutched at her stomach, her lips parting. To Gabriella, who, slowly, like a channel stuck on a loop slowly fading out, began to dissolve into a reality-splitting glitch.

To Gabriella, who was there one moment, and gone the next.

For a moment, you stopped your struggling. You stopped trying to grasp at Ferris’ own throat, stopped your kicking and howling. You just lay there, feeling the life drain from you slowly, staring at the spot that little girl had been just seconds ago.

You would have cried, could you have breathed. You would have screamed, could you have breathed.

You would have died inside - could you have breathed.

“Isn’t this romantic?” panted Ferris over you as his hands tightened their grip on your throat. “The two of us, going out together? Like we were always meant to?”

You knew he would have killed you then and there, had you both not heard the thundering, storming, ground-shaking thuds pounding up the stairs leading to the roof. Footsteps. A body being slammed into the walls as they ran. An ear-splitting, heart-skipping roar of your name.

Ferris let out a long, trembling, exasperated groan before he yanked you up by the neck, hauled you over to the edge of the building, and held you out like a lure over a lake. Your hands, your nails, scrabbled at his wrist as you looked down the best you could, watching as people stories and stories below scrambled for cover before glitching out of existence. Your legs dangled, your hair blew in the wind.

This was it. This was how you bit it. Not from strangulation or being winked out of your reality - but from a drop that would hit you before you knew what had happened.

Slamming out onto the porch in a frenzy of raw, untamed, wild fury, Miguel skidded to a stop and began to lunge at the Prowler - before he laid eyes upon your form at the end of his arm. His gaze searched wildly for his daughter, for his Gabriella, before it met yours. Before it took in the tears spilling down your face.

“Don’t you see what you’ve done to us, O’Hara?!” said Ferris, flexing his fingers around the column of your neck - the only thing keeping you from plummeting. “What you’ve done to our world?! Can’t you just leave us this last bit of ourselves before we all kick it? Can’t you just leave us alone?”

Miguel began to pace on the rooftop, edging closer and closer with each step. “I can offer you a bargain,” he said, but his voice came out more snarl than word. “Give her to me and I send you home. To a different home, one just like this. You’ll never know the difference.” His tone dropped. “You’ll think you’re in the real thing.”

Your legs were beginning to go numb, your fingers clawing at Ferris’ wrist losing feeling. One hand dropped to your side.

Ferris shook his head, sneering at him with all the hatred left in this collapsing, dying universe. “You already took my world,” he said. “So I’ll take away yours.”

And suddenly you were falling. Released from his grasp, because in the split moment after he let you go, his body glitched and jumped and disappeared. But you were still there, plummeting toward what remained of the earth below you.

You didn’t think it would be so fast.

Craning your neck against the wind screaming in your ears, against the sight of the Alchemax building beginning to crumble as it, too, succumbed to the fate of all else, you watched as that familiar suit of red and blue jumped off after you. Extended his arm. Released a web that, you thought, wouldn’t get there in time.

But it did. The webbing clung to your chest, pulled taut, buoyed you like a bungee cord as Miguel stuck himself to the side of the building that was still standing. He slowly lowered you to the ground, then began the descent himself.

You stood. Extended a hand to him as he raced toward you.

Then fell as you lost the feeling in your legs, lost what it was to be still.

Miguel caught you before you hit the ground, skidding to his knees and gracefully pulling you into a cradle in his lap. “Hey, baby, hey,” he said in a strained, strangled voice. Red stained his temple, the crooked bridge of his nose. “Hey, I’m here. I’m right here.”

You realized then that you were crying again, letting sobs and wails rack your body, because you knew what was happening. You knew it because everything else of this world, of this reality, had vanished. Ceased to exist. It was just him, and you, and the sky overhead. Nothing else. And soon, you would be gone, too.

“Miguel,” you gasped, reaching up a shaky hand to paw at the side of his face. “Gabriella - I tried. I really, really tried, I’m sorry -”

“Shh, baby, I know. I know you did.” Through the wetness in your eyes, through the sensation of your lower portion becoming static and fuzz, you watched as tears pricked at his own eyes. They trickled from the corners, mixing with the grime and blood on his face, and he did not wipe them away. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

You cried and clung to him, desperate to hold onto the feeling of him. Of his hand cradling the back of your neck. Of his lips against yours. Of his body on your own. Of his laughter against your skin, and his fingers trailing across your back, and the warmth that spread through your chest when he smiled at you.

God, that smile. What you wouldn’t do to see it again.

“I don’t want to die, Mig,” you said, your voice wavering. You’d forgotten the feeling of your waist, of your belly. They were foreign to you. Glitched out. Going. Gone.

You did not jump when Miguel opened his mouth and released a stifled sob, his warm, salty tears dripping onto your face. “I know,” he shushed you through his own cries. “It’s going to be okay, alright? I’m right here, baby. I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”

Arms dropped. Your chest stilled.

“Hey,” you said, nudging your nose against his when he leaned down to press his lips against your temple. He met your eyes, his forehead pressed against yours. “Look.” Your gaze tilted upward, upward, to the sky. He followed it. “No smoke.”

You were right. Without the buildings to churn out smog, without the people to feed the machines, without the universe to choke itself out… the sky had cleared. And it was not violet, or plum.

It was lilac.

Miguel dipped his head again, his lips quivering as you stared up at him. “I love you,” he said.

You would have said it back - were you not already gone.

He stared at his now-empty arms, eyes trained on the spot beneath him you had just been. There was no trace left. Nothing left behind, nothing to tell him you had even been there.

For a long, long moment, Miguel sat still, his chest heaving and his eyes wide and his lips parted. Then he dropped to all fours, shoulders shaking and knuckling the ground, and opened his mouth to scream. It was a wail heard in every corner of the empty universe, a cry that shattered everything of the nothing left. Filled with agony, and grief, and horror, and guilt. Again and again he screamed, fangs glinting and tears gleaming and throat hoarse.

When he at last could not take any more, he collapsed onto his side. Hands twitching. Chest shaking.

Nothing.

For a long while in that empty universe, it was still. Silent. Lilac.

Then, from behind Miguel, there came a voice. “Hey, boss,” said Lyla gently. “Ready to go home?”

—

Earth - 2943

New York

Roses, peonies, lilacs, irises… the bundles of flowers crowded your workstation at the back of your store like a wildflower field had grown right in the middle of the little shop on seventy-first. Greens and pinks and yellows and oranges filled your windows. Petals littered the floor like a chapel. Living walls carefully and lovingly-kept occupied the sides, a rainbow display of every flower and blossom one could name.

Your little flower shop was doing well - and you couldn’t have been more proud. You lived alone in your apartment just upstairs, your rent was on time, you didn’t have to work a second job at all to keep yourself fed.

Everything was perfect. As it should have been.

Your attention was drawn to the front of the store when the little bell above it chimed, signaling someone had just entered your shop. “One second!” you called around the corner, hurrying to clip off the remaining thorns from the blossoms. “I’ll be right there!”

When you were finished, you wiped your hands off on your apron, gathered the bunch of flowers up in your arms, and swept around to the front room. There, a man and a little girl - his daughter, no doubt, they looked almost identical - stood admiring the displays you’d set out just last night.

“Good morning!” you greeted them, carefully setting the bundle down. “Can I help you find anything?”

Brushing a bit of hair from your face, you were able to see the man more clearly. Your breath hitched in your throat; you were staring at the one of the best looking men you’d ever seen. Tan skin and cheekbones placed high on his face, full brows and lips, a sinewy body and a tapered waist… he was beautiful.

The man smiled at you - with his lips closed, but nevertheless it was gorgeous - and jutted out his hip to place his hand on. Oh, fuck, that was hot. “Just browsing,” he said kindly.

You found yourself unable to pull your gaze away from him. You could not say precisely what it was, but there was something that drew you to him. Like a magnet between walls, almost, yearning and needing to be closer.

When he realized you were staring, he smiled wider.

“Heh - sorry,” you said, shaking your head. You leaned over your counter as he meandered closer, letting his daughter marvel at your flowers. Up close, you were able to see the tired, exhausted lines beneath his eyes. “It’s just… have we met before? There’s just something about you…”

Unbeknownst to you, because he could never let you know, could never let you go… you had met before. In a different universe. In seven, to be precise. He had met you as a teacher, a stripper, a doctor, a thief, a hero, a villain… He’d seen you in every form your soul had to offer. And he would continue to do so. Because he wasn’t going to let you go.

Not then. Not now. Not ever.

He chuckled, his free hand reaching up to touch the delicate skin of his throat. “No, I don’t think so. First time in here.” He tilted his head, smiled at you. “But… I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better.” Then, like every other time before, and every other time that would come after, he stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Miguel. You are?”

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