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froggibus · 1 year ago

Text

Sex Rocks! - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: AMAB! Sloan Cameron x fem! Reader (reader uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Sloan is in for much more than they bargained for when they find a statue with magical properties—and you might be the only one who can help them out

CW: porn with plot, AMAB! Venture, sex pollen (but it’s a magical sex statue), dubcon, masturbation, showering, dirty thoughts (abt reader), slight voyeurism, blowjob, hair pulling, face fucking, cum swallowing, cock riding, mating press, multiple orgasms, protected AND unprotected sex, doggy style, multiple rounds, overstim, lots of cum, (think that's everything) use of the word shaft (im so sorry i hate this word but there’s only so many synonyms for dick)

yes the title is a pun ^.^ i meant to post this way earlier in the day but i got distracted and didn't end up finishing til tonight and it came out WAY LONGER than i thought. this is fr the longest smut ive ever written. anyway venture whores hope you all enjoy <3

It must’ve been Sloan’s lucky day. After barely an hour of searching, the glittering artifact they’d been looking for seemed to jump right out. Though the dusty gold colour blended in with the shimmering sand of the cavern, the three pink gems of the small statuette seemed to call to them.

The figure was cold to the touch and buttery, barely bigger than the size of their hand. It was shaped like a beautiful curvy woman, with full breasts accentuated with the pink stones and a thick tummy—the likeness of some old, forgotten deity that Sloan could never remember the name of.

They took out a soft piece of cut cloth and wrapped the statue before tucking it in their pack and beginning the short trek to the surface. Sloan buzzed the whole way up, that warm tingling washing over them. The kind they always felt when they found a new artifact, or when you laughed at one of their dumb jokes.

As the surface came into view, the golden sunshine just beginning to dip below the horizon, the warmth grew stronger. It had been a hot day, and it seemed that though the sun was setting, the heat had not yet begun to dissipate. They took a long pause, letting themself rest on the rocks outside of the cave.

Wiping the sweat away from their forehead, they took a big drink from the canteen of water they’d brought along with them. It was a short trek, they weren’t usually this sweaty and parched from something so basic—but with the warmth of the day at its peak, they shrugged it off.

The car they’d taken was only just down the trail, maybe ten minutes away. With one last sip of their cold water, they tucked it into their pack and started the walk back. The sky was turning pink as they set off, but slowly turned to purple and then the rich black of night.

Despite the day’s end, the heat only grew more unbearable with the walk. Their thighs cramped as they made their way down the trail, their heart beginning to race. Whatever, they tried to ignore it and power through to the car.

Sweat coated Sloan’s forehead and chest by the time they made it to their vehicle. Their hair was slicked to the back of their neck, and the t-shirt they’d been wearing was rendered near see-thru.

“Jeez,” they sighed, tugging off their t-shirt.

They tossed the sweaty fabric into their backseat along with their pack before sliding in the front seat to drive. They kept the AC on full blast the whole trip back home, though it did little to stop the boiling in their blood.

Sloan was just pulling off the highway when a gasp forced its way out at the sudden tight feeling in their pants. They risked a glance down to their hard cock now straining against the thick fabric of their carharts. They shook it off, turning onto their street and trying to ignore the feeling of the bulge in their pants only growing with each minute.

It was almost painfully hard by the time they made it home. Sloan almost forgot their pack in the back of the car in their race to get inside and free their aching cock from the fabric that confined it.

A sigh ghosted their lips when their cock sprung free from their boxers and they wrapped their sweaty palm around it. Their core was near sweltering, their cock throbbing in need.

With a glance at the door to make sure it was locked behind them, Sloan spat in their hand and started to spread it across their aching cock. A shiver crawled its way up their spine, acting as a brief reprieve from the heat that threatened to consume them. They clamped a hand over their mouth and began to slide their hand up their length.

With barely a touch, they were already so sensitive. Pre cum dripped down the tip, pooling across their fingertips and mixing with the saliva already spread over their skin. They squeezed harder, dragging their hand up and down faster. Their muffled moans vibrated against the clammy skin of their palm, their eyes falling shut as their hand fell into a rhythm.

Thoughts of you filled their head. Thoughts of your smile, of your warm skin, of pinning you to the bed and using you however they pleased. Sloan gasped, opening their eyes as they came into their palm.

Fuck. Cum rolled across their fingers, down their still hard cock and collected into the hair at the base of their pubic bone. They smeared the remainder of the cum on their thighs, shaking off the aftershocks of their orgasm and deciding a cold shower would solve both the mess they made, and the throb between their legs.

With their clean hand, they dragged their backpack with them all the way to their bedroom, tossing it in the corner before grabbing a towel and heading into the bathroom. They didn’t wait for the water to warm before stripping and stepping beneath the brisk stream.

The cool water settled the burning beneath their skin—but only just barely. Much to Sloan’s dismay, it also did nothing to soothe the ache between their legs. It was almost embarrassing, having an unrelenting boner for no reason like they were in school again.

They sighed, squeezing some coconut scented body wash into their hand and slicking across their cock. They didn’t bother to change the water back to warm, instead opting to let the frigid stream drip down their back. The nice smelling soap felt much, much better than their own spit—but they could imagine a few things that would feel even better.

Like your pretty lips wrapped around their tip, those kind eyes of yours pleading at them to cum in your mouth and—Sloan moaned, fingers clenching around their hard length. Just the thought of you touching them, or them touching you, was enough to have Sloan gasping and furiously jerking their cock.

Drops of soap flew away from their palm with every stroke, splattering the tile of the shower in front of them. God, wouldn’t they love to do that to you. What they wouldn’t give to do that to you. To have you lay down in front of them, completely at their mercy while they fucked you relentlessly and left you covered in their cum.

Their cock twitched, and then they were cumming. Wave after wave of hot cum burst out, coating the tile in front of them before being washed away by the water. Hard, shaking breaths wracked their chest as their senses returned to them and they could once again feel the cool water against their tanned skin.

As they looked at the cum mixing with the water down the drain, all they could think was ‘what a waste.’

It only took ten minutes after their shower for the tingling in their cock to become unbearable again. The heat had returned almost immediately—and with a vengeance—but they’d managed to ignore the tenderness between their legs for only ten minutes.

Sloan was glad they didn’t bother putting their clothes back on as they settled into their bed and grasped their shaft once more. Cumming once or twice a day was normal for them, but this was something else entirely. Something had to be wrong.

Sloan pushed away their fears and started once again stroking their dick, leftover water and precum acting as a lubricant for their hand to easily slide around. They closed their eyes, and let themself think of you once more.

How their cum would look running down your thighs, or splattered on your back. How nice your hands would feel gripping their cock, how you’d just beg them to fuck you.

Sweat dripped down their chest, wetting their tummy and the dark hair at the base of their cock. How long had they been jerking off this time? They risked a teary eyed glance at the screen of their phone—had it really been almost twenty minutes since they laid down in bed?

Twenty minutes and they were no closer to coming, but their dick was growing uncomfortably hard. A sigh passed through their lips. Their hand wasn’t enough, they needed something more, something hotter.

Their mind went to you, pleasure hazed thoughts wondering if they called you, would you come? Would you help them? Before they could think it through, their fingers were dancing across the screen. Just the sight of the tiny contact picture of you at the top of their screen had them squeezing tighter, thick drips of pre cum rolling down their tip.

Sloan lets themself fall back into bed, their mind dancing away to thoughts of you sinking down on their cock. They roll their head to the side, their eyes catching sight of the bag they’d carelessly tossed in the corner just before their shower.

Could the statue have done this? There were myths surrounding it, sure, but this? The thought was preposterous a week ago. Now though, with their insatiable lust, the thought doesn’t seem so crazy to Sloan.

Shit. They shouldn’t drag you into this. If it really is the statue, they don’t want to expose you to this. They reach for their phone to ask you not to come, to send you away, but just as their palm reaches the cold metal, the front door clicks open.

“Sloan?” You call, peaking your head in the front door. As soon as you’d gotten their message, you’d left your house. You’re talking more to yourself than them at this point, tiptoeing through the dark of their home. “I used the spare key you gave me to get in…are you here?”

Sloan bit their lip at the sound of your voice, risking a glance to the bag that contained the statue. Maybe inviting you here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“In here!” they call. Their voice is raspy, dripping with the need radiating from their core.

You follow the sound of their voice to the closed door of their bedroom, warm light leaking out from the cracks. It’s Sloan, and they don’t sound like they’re in danger, but something about their voice…

You push open the door. It takes two seconds for you to scan the room, two seconds for your eyes to fall on Sloan—sweaty, writhing and desperately jerking their cock in bed—and two seconds for you to turn away, covering your eyes.

“Shit,” you gasp. “I–I didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

But it’s strange. They called you here to help them, they knew you were going to come into their room—was this what they needed your help with? You couldn’t help but clench your legs at the thought, a heat rushing to your core.

Sloan’s voice cut through the darkness of your hand. “I-it’s okay,” they say. “You can look.”

You slowly peel your hand away from your eyes. Though they covered themself with a blanket, you could still see the glistening skin of their chest, and the up-down motion of their hand beneath the fabric.

Sloan knows it’s shameless of them to keep stroking their cock while talking to you, while you’re right there watching—but they can’t stop. Now that you’re here in front of them, the pressure’s increased tenfold.

You squint. “What’s going on?”

“I found that statue.” They keep jerking off.

“And?”

“The rumors about it were true.”

“Fuck,” you curse.

When they’d been telling you about the myths behind the statue, you’d both laughed it off, stealing wanton glances at each other as you did. They’d assured you it wasn’t possible, that there was no scientific reason a statue would bear unto its users an insatiable appetite for sex.

Seeing them now, though, all sweaty and desperate, has you thinking they were wrong.

“Sloan,” you say calmly, stepping in the room and gently shutting the door behind you, “what can I do to help?”

They bite your lip, and it’s just now that you notice their eyes are almost completely black in lust. A shiver runs up your spine.

They pull back the blanket. “Touch me,” they swallow. “Please.”

You glance at their thick, throbbing cock dripping in precum. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, wrapped up in the worst possible way. It wouldn’t be right—they’re clearly not thinking straight.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Sloan’s not sure whether it’s the statue, or their frustration, or some terrible combination of the two that prompts them to say, “oh don’t tell me you haven’t been wanting me to fuck you for months.”

Their brazenness sends another wave of heat to your core, your underwear suddenly feeling wetter than usual. “Sloan,” you say carefully.

“If you’re worried about consent,” they rasp. “I want it. All the time. For months, too. I think about it nonstop.”

Their words ease your nerves, and you find yourself approaching their bedside. Your eyes stayed glued to their cock and the hand furiously stroking it. “What do you think about?”

They watch you, dedicating each pump of their length to you. “I think about you while I fuck myself. I think about—about fucking you, and having you bounce on my cock and—god.”

You sink down on the bed next to them, wrapping your hand around the one rubbing their dick. “Let me.”

They slide their hand away, letting you take over. Already, your hand feels a million times better than theirs ever did, the ache in their core finally beginning to relent. They lay their head back, watching your hand glide across their sticky skin.

They suck in a breath. “Fuck,” they look at you through their lashes. “Use your mouth.”

You’re taken aback by their command. Their cock looks so inviting, dripping wet and throbbing in your palm. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever had which only makes you want it more.

You look them in the eyes while you lick a bead of precum away from the tip. Sloan shivers, wrapping a hand in your hair and pulling you down. You gasp as you take their cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it. It’s salty, a mix of sweat and precum, with a strange undertone of coconut—but it’s just how you imagined it.

Your jaw strains to take them into your mouth, their tip hitting the back of your throat after only a few seconds. You gag slightly, but Sloan only pushes your hand down further, groaning at the warmth of your mouth. This was exactly what they needed.

As soon as you start to see black spots, they pull you off. A strand of drool connects your lips to their length, dripping and coating your chin. They hum at the sight of you, so filthy already.

“Do you like how it tastes?”

You’re so flustered, so bewildered by the situation that you can only nod, clenching the base of their cock. You put your lips back on their tip and eagerly slide down for more. Their calloused fingers still tug at your hair, using the strands like reins to push and pull you how they see fit.

Sloan watches you intently the whole time, admiring the spit that coats your mouth and the way your throat bulges when they pull you a certain way. They’ve dreamt about fucking you for months now, but none of their wildest dreams could ever compare to this.

Despite the way your eyes water, Sloan pulls you down further. You look so fucking cute choking on their thick cock—they can’t help it. When you finally slap a hand against their thigh, they let go of your head and watch you gasp for air.

“Get on your knees,” they command.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice with the way your throat burns. The dominance in them only makes you wetter, a noticeable throbbing rushing through your clit. You’re all too eager to settle on your knees at their bedside.

They cup your chin, swiping their thumb across your lips to smear your drool and their pre across them. “So cute,” they murmur.

You lean back in to take their cock once more, but they tsk at you. Just as you tilt your head in confusion, you watch as Sloan grips their cock and rubs the messy, wet tip across your mouth. They smear it all across your face, making a mess all over your cheeks and nose.

A whine slips from your lips before you can stop it, but Sloan only laughs at it and finally lets their cock slap against your mouth. You open wide and take them once more, rolling your tongue over their length.

“So eager,” they tease, their fingers resuming their position in your hair, “if I’d known you’d be such a slut for me, I would’ve fucked you months ago.”

Sloan watches the shame glimmer in your eyes, followed by pure pleasure, and doesn’t miss the way you rock your hips against the floor.

It only takes a few minutes of you on your knees before they’re coming, pushing your head down so you have no choice but to swallow their cum. Your eyes shoot wide as the hot cum spills in your mouth, pulling back from their cock and opening your mouth so they can see it.

“Good girl,” they purr. “Now swallow.”

You nod and obey without a second thought, licking their cock a few more times after to clean up the excess. “Sloan,” you say quietly, your voice raspy from the way they just fucked your throat.

“Hm?”

“Do you have condoms?”

They tap the nightstand that you’re sitting next to. “You wanna fuck me?”

You pass them the condom, eagerly waiting as they lay back in bed and roll it over their cock. Though they’re slow to put it on, you don’t miss the way their hands shake in anticipation.

Sloan watches you the whole time as you strip, discarding your clothes as quickly as you can. You climb onto the bed and straddle their waist, a knee on either side of their hips. Their hands clench your waist tightly, fingertips digging in hard enough to bruise.

Usually Sloan would be happy to let you adjust, but with the warmth of your pussy right there, they can’t wait any longer. Using your hips as leverage, they thrust up into you, the tip of their cock bottoming out against your cervix.

You cry out, burying your head against their sticky chest. “Sloan,” you whine.

“Sorry,” they pant, but continue thrusting into you.

You relax into them, slamming your hips into theirs to meet their rhythm. It’s painful at first, both the stretch of their cock and how deep it reaches—but it’s amazing, too.

Sloan barely thinks as they pound in and out of you, using your own body weight as leverage to get their cock deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your whines are like music to their ears, complemented by the rhythm of matching groans they loose every time their cock brushes your cervix.

You cum so hard you swear you go blind for a second. Everything is hot, your vision goes white, and all you can focus on is the way your cunt is gushing around their cock, juices coating their thighs. You go limp on their chest for a minute, letting them fuck you like a toy while you recover.

Sloan’s own orgasm isn’t far behind, their cock twitching as they spill into the condom—though they’d much rather spill into you. They almost draw blood with how tightly their nails dig into your sides, and the only word they seem to remember is your name.

Even though they’re unbearably hot and their cock is so sensitive it hurts, they still need more.

“Can I keep going? Tell me I can keep going.”

You’re exhausted from the brutal pace they’ve set, but their cock fills you so well and they sound so desperate, you have no choice but to say yes. Upon your agreement, Sloan is flipping you onto the mattress beneath them and bending your legs to your chest.

They can get deeper like this, and Sloan knows it too. They start their pace off slower this time, trying to give you time to recover before their own need takes over. They hold your hands, pinning them above your head while they fuck you.

Their eyes lock with yours as they increase the pace, the tip of their cock hitting that spot inside of you perfectly every time. There are tears in your eyes from the pleasure, but it only makes them harder.

“Too deep,” you whine, squeezing their hands with as much strength as you can muster.

“You don’t love having me fill you up?” They mumble into your ear, “if I can’t stuff you with my cum, I’ll fill you with my cock.”

You gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, their dirty words sending you over the edge. You try to clench your knees together but Sloan’s body is in the way. They fuck you through your orgasm, squeezing your hands back with every bit of pressure you squeeze theirs with.

“That’s it,” though their words are soft, they punctuate each one with a thrust, “cum on my cock.”

They slide their hands down your body, resting on your hips once more. Their thrusts start to get sloppy, and you know they can’t last much longer like this. You reach up, desperate for something—anything—to ground yourself, your fingers coming in contact with their hair.

Sloan whines and cums in one sloppy motion, resting their head on your neck while they lazily thrust through their high. Soft groans and whines vibrate against your collarbone.

It takes a minute for them to collect their strength again, pulling their cock out of you. You look at them through tear blurred vision, eyes widening at the cum soaked condom dripping into the wild tangle of hair at the base of their length. There’s a ring of white around their cock from it all, and the only thought crossing your mind is how badly you want to lick it off.

Sloan can’t decide whether to admire the sheer amount of cum filling the condom, or be disappointed that they weren’t able to fuck it into you instead. They pull it off of their cock and toss it onto the floor—it’ll be a pain to clean later, but they don’t care. They reach into their nightstand for another one, but your hand wraps around their wrist first.

“You’re still hard?”

As if in reply, their cock twitches against your leg. Though the searing heat has finally begun to fade, the pure need coursing through their veins has not.

“You’re done already?” They counter.

“N-no,” you say quickly, though your pussy feels unbearably sensitive in the cold room. “But you don’t need to use that.”

They look down at the purple wrapper in their hand, then back up at you. Their eyes practically glitter in anticipation. “Raw?”

You nod shyly, reaching out your arms to beckon them back to you. You’ll never be able to match their insatiable pace—you know that—but you told them you’d help, even if it means letting them use you like a fleshlight.

They plant a kiss to the base of your throat, a devilish twinkle in the dark of their eyes. “Roll onto your knees.”

With their help, you roll onto your stomach and pull your knees up, arching your back to give them access to your dripping cunt. Too tired to keep your chest up, you rest your cheek against the single pillow in their bed and let yourself relax.

Sloan’s hands retrace the marks they left on your lips earlier, positioning you perfectly to line up with their cock. They land a harsh slap to your cunt with the head of their cock and slip it in all at once, relishing in the gasp that leaves your lips.

They rock their hips into yours, reaching up to tangle a hand in your hair. With one hand gripping your hips and another in your hair, they piston into you. You bite your lip to try and cover the onslaught of moans they fuck out of you and pray that Sloan doesn’t have neighbors—although at this point, they’ve probably heard enough.

“Feels even better raw,” they groan, balls slapping against your clit with a particularly brutal thrust. “S’like it was made for me.”

The burning in the pit of your stomach grows at their dirty words, your pussy utterly gushing around their length. Without the condom, you can feel the desperate throbbing of their cock, feel every twitch of their tip when they bottom out inside of you. They reach everywhere inside you, rubbing places you didn’t even know you had.

Waves of pleasure roll over you, each more intense after the last. Your pussy flutters around Sloan’s cock, but their pace doesn’t slow. They keep slamming into you, lewd slapping noises loud enough to cover your desperate moans. They tug your hair hard, pulling you closer, and roll their hips against yours.

Their cockhead brushes your cervix and your eyes roll back in the sharp pleasure that travels through your pussy. Drool leaks from the side of your mouth and your moans transform from fully formed words to stupid sounding babbles.

Sloan releases your hair from their grip and moves their hand to massage your ass. “Sounds so cute when you whine,” they coo breathily.

Your senses all come flooding back to you when you feel the first spurt of their hot cum inside of you. Your tummy flutters with butterflies, your pussy contracts, and you cum with them. Both of you writhe in bed against each other, Sloan’s desperate, near primal pants like music to your ears.

“Fuck,” you groan as you collapse into the bed.

They keep their cock inside of you, shallowly thrusting their cum back in. “Please don’t stop,” they whine. “Please, I-I need more. Please.”

Your whole body burns, your pussy is so sensitive you’re not sure you’d even be able to cum again. “Sloan,” you sigh, looking back at them.

“Please. Please let me keep using you. Please. You don’t even have to do anything but please let me use this pussy,” they pinch your clit in emphasis. “Please.”

“Well, with begging like that,” you joke.

Sloan wastes no time slamming their cock back inside of you, and though you can hardly feel the harsh slapping motion, you can tell their pace has slowed. You lay there, sweaty and hot and with their cum dripping out and being fucked back in.

Sloan murmurs praises to you while they thrust, their mind half gone from how fucking horny they are. They can see cum dripping down your pussy, down your thighs and it’s so filthy and it’s so hot and all they want is more. They pound into you, chasing that final high they may or may not get, desperately gripping your sensitive skin until there’s marks.

Finally, they cum again, their hot cum gushing until you’re so full it starts to burst from the seams between your pussy and their cock. Sloan watches it leak out in a trance, as if in disbelief that not only did they fuck you, they also just fucked you raw.

The heat has completely faded from their body, and as they pull out from your cunt and watch the cum drip, their cock finally starts to soften. “Are you okay?”

You manage a weak thumbs up from where you lay in the bed.

Just as they go to put on their pants, their cock twitches again, and the heat comes rushing back. Sloan sighs, looking at you guiltily, “think you can do a round 2?”

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#overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow2 #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #ow #overwatch fic #xreader #overwatch smut #venture x reader #venture x you #venture smut #venture overwatch #sloan cameron #sloan cameron x reader #Sloan cameron x you #Sloan Cameron smut

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ghostlynightpanda · 25 days ago

Note

Hellooo, could you write about an AIB x reader where they play with reader's hair? I love reading ur stories!

AIB Characters react to playing with Reader's hair

content/warnings: Ann, Kuina, Mira, Aguni, Niragi, Last Boss, Chishiya, canon typical blood and violence, 3.938 words

Ann

The sun was barely beginning to set, casting long, golden shadows over the cracked concrete of the rooftop. The world below buzzed faintly, but up here, it was quiet. For once.

You sat with your back against a warm metal vent, eyes closed, soaking in the rare calm. This world rarely offered peace, and this—this fleeting quiet—felt like a gift.

Ann sat beside you, cross-legged, boots untied, her ever-calm gaze fixed on the horizon. She didn't speak much, but her silence never felt cold. If anything, it was comforting. Like her presence alone anchored the world.

You felt her shift beside you.

Then, softly—so softly—you felt her fingers comb through your hair.

At first, it startled you. You opened your eyes, glancing sideways.

She didn't look at you. Instead, she let out a soft breath, brushing a lock behind your ear. "You have nice hair," she said, voice almost too quiet to hear. "Smooth. Relaxing to touch."

You blinked, caught between surprise and warmth. "Didn't think you were the type."

She gave the tiniest smirk. "I'm not. Usually."

Her fingers moved slowly, methodically. Not like she was styling or fixing it—but like she was learning its texture, memorizing the softness between her calloused fingertips. It was oddly intimate.

"I used to do this with my sister," she said quietly, almost like confessing something too soft for the world she now lived in. "Before all this."

You didn't know what to say, so you said nothing.

That seemed to be enough for her. She kept going, threading strands through her fingers, smoothing knots without tugging. Her face relaxed. For the first time since you'd met her, she looked almost… peaceful.

"You should let me braid it sometime," she murmured. "Might suit you."

You huffed a small laugh. "You're full of surprises today."

She smiled faintly—just barely—and finally met your gaze.

"So are you."

And with the sun dipping lower and the rooftop cloaked in quiet gold, you sat there—two players, two survivors—in a stillness that felt almost like a different world.

Kuina

The night had fallen, and the city stretched beneath you, a mass of distant lights flickering like forgotten stars. For once, the tension that usually hung in the air was gone—replaced with a stillness that allowed your thoughts to settle.

You sat cross-legged on the rooftop, the cool breeze lifting your hair slightly as you laid back, hair sprawled around you. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, letting the silence wrap around you like a blanket.

A small sound—gentle but deliberate—caught your attention. You opened your eyes to find Kuina sitting next to you, her legs tucked beneath her as she looked at you with a small, knowing grin.

"Hey," she said, her voice a bit softer than usual. "Your hair's a mess. Want me to fix it?"

You blinked, a little thrown off. Kuina, always so full of energy and fiery spirit, was offering to help you with something so... mundane.

"Uh, sure," you replied, unsure but curious. "I guess."

She didn't waste any time. Her hands moved like she was used to this—confident, practiced. She carefully ran her fingers through your hair, untangling the knots, smoothing down any frizz that had gathered from the wind. You watched her, trying to ignore the fact that her touch was gentle and oddly soothing.

Kuina's hands worked in rhythm, as if she'd braided and styled hair a hundred times before. The contrast of her usually fiery demeanor and this quiet, tender moment was striking.

"Do you braid your hair a lot?" you asked, trying to make conversation, though her focus seemed entirely on what she was doing.

She hummed in acknowledgment, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. It's kind of a habit. You'd be surprised how useful it is to keep your hair out of your face when you're fighting."

You nodded, thinking about the countless times you'd both been thrown into dangerous situations in this strange world. But this moment felt different. It wasn't about fighting or survival. It was just… quiet. Safe.

Soon, you felt her fingers move with more intention, gathering strands into a braid. The motion was smooth, sure. Every twist and pull seemed perfectly timed, and you realized she was very good at this.

"Your hair's pretty soft," Kuina said, her voice playful but with an undercurrent of warmth. "It's kind of relaxing to do this."

You shifted a little. "I didn't think you were the type to care about hair."

Kuina chuckled, a soft, low sound that felt oddly comforting. "I'm not, usually," she admitted. "But sometimes, it's nice to do something that doesn't involve life or death."

There was a brief silence between you two, but it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it was more like a shared understanding—a rare peace in the chaos of your lives.

When she finished, she gently tugged at the braid, securing it. "There," Kuina said, her hands moving to inspect her work. "All done. I think it suits you."

You reached up, feeling the neat braid resting over your shoulder. It felt surprisingly… perfect.

"Thanks," you said quietly, the gratitude unexpected, but real.

Kuina flashed a grin at you, her usual mischievous spark returning. "No problem. Besides, I'm pretty good at this. Might teach you how to do it someday."

With that, the two of you fell back into comfortable silence, side by side, watching the lights of the lasers flicker in the distance, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten.

Mira

The sky was darkening, and the faint hum of the Beach filled the air. The usual chaos had quieted down just slightly, leaving the steady rhythm of music and the occasional clink of glasses. It felt like a rare moment of peace, one that Mira seemed to embrace fully.

You found her sitting on the edge of the pool, her legs dangling loosely over the side, her long hair swaying gently in the breeze. Her gaze was distant, as though she were lost in thought, but when she noticed you sitting nearby, a soft smile spread across her lips.

"You look like you could use a little relaxation," she said, her voice calm and velvety. "You've been on edge for too long. Come here."

You weren't sure what she meant, but you found yourself moving closer to her, settling beside her on the edge of the pool.

For a moment, the two of you simply sat there, the wind playing with your hair, the world feeling strangely distant.

Then, without a word, Mira's hand moved to your hair, fingers brushing through the strands with a practiced gentleness. Her touch was light, almost soothing, as she began to play with it.

"Your hair's a bit dry," she murmured, her fingers threading through it, untangling a few knots. "But I can fix that. It's a shame, really. A soft, smooth mane like yours has potential. With a little care, it could be as flawless as mine."

You blinked, surprised by the sudden attention to something as simple as your hair. "You really think so?"

Mira didn't answer immediately. Instead, she continued to work with your hair, her fingers gliding through it with skill and ease. "Absolutely," she said finally, a playful edge to her voice. "It's all about proper care. I'm not just looking this good for nothing, you know."

Her tone was teasing, but you could sense a genuine care behind it. It was as if she was sharing a secret with you, a piece of advice only she could give.

"You need to wash your hair with a gentle, nourishing shampoo," she continued, her voice smooth as she slowly smoothed out a small knot. "Something that won't strip it of its natural oils. And, after that, conditioner. Don't be shy with it. You want to keep the moisture in."

She let out a soft sigh as her fingers worked their magic. "See, it's already softer."

You couldn't help but smile. It was strange how something so simple could feel so comforting, especially coming from Mira, someone whose grace and beauty seemed unattainable at times.

She paused for a moment, her fingers gently tugging at a particularly stubborn tangle. "And when you're drying it, never rub it with a towel. That's a mistake a lot of people make. Pat it dry. Gently. That's the secret to keeping it smooth and shiny."

Mira's fingers were tender but precise, the act of grooming almost meditative. You could tell she had spent hours on her own hair, perfecting every strand, but the way she shared these tips with you made you feel like you were in on something special.

"You're the expert, huh?" you asked with a small chuckle, feeling oddly at ease despite the world around you.

Her laughter was soft, but it held the same warmth as her touch. "I'm just someone who appreciates the finer details," she said, a playful smile curving her lips. "And let's face it, who wouldn't want hair as soft as mine?"

She finished by running her fingers down the length of your hair, smoothing it down. There was a moment of silence as she inspected her work, her eyes soft and pleased. "Perfect," she murmured, almost to herself. "You look much better now."

You smiled, feeling a little lighter than before. "Thanks, Mira. I didn't know you cared about stuff like this."

Her eyes flickered with amusement. "You'd be surprised what I care about, dear. Beauty is in everything—even in the smallest details."

And with that, she leaned back slightly, allowing you both to enjoy the soft, quiet moment on the rooftop, the city lights twinkling far below, as if the world had momentarily slowed down just for you.

Aguni

The world felt like it was closing in, the weight of everything that had happened pressing heavily on your chest. The Beach was gone. The flames still haunted your mind, and the looming threat of the King of Spades kept you both on edge. It was only a matter of time before the madness reached you here, deep in the shadows of the forest.

You were lying on your side, curled up against the rough, uneven ground. Exhaustion had finally caught up with you, and despite everything—the adrenaline, the fear, the noise of the world around you—you had drifted off to sleep. Your body craved rest, even if your mind couldn't keep up with the chaos.

Aguni, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. His back was pressed against the gnarled trunk of a tree, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his eyes scanning the darkness. The sounds of the forest were strange, foreign, and unsettling—too many things that didn't belong. The King of Spades was out there, somewhere, hunting. His mind raced with the image of the Beach burning down, the faces of the people he had failed, and the bloodshed that followed.

He tried to breathe through it, to focus on anything other than the memories that were clawing at the edges of his sanity. But it wasn't working.

Then, he glanced down at you.

Your breathing was steady now, calm in the way only sleep could allow. You were safe, for now, and Aguni couldn't help but feel a strange sense of protectiveness that he wasn't used to. His gaze lingered on your peaceful form, and before he realized what he was doing, his hand reached out.

It was an impulsive move��one he hadn't planned. His rough fingers brushed lightly against your hair, just testing the softness of it. But the moment his fingers tangled through the strands, something shifted in him.

The contact, the softness, the stillness—it was soothing, in a way that made no sense at all. The tension in his shoulders, the racing thoughts in his head—they all started to quiet, just a little.

Aguni's hand moved again, his fingers carefully sliding through your hair, the motions slow and deliberate. He didn't know why he was doing it, but it felt… good.

His mind, still haunted by the screams and fire of the Beach, finally found something to focus on. The sensation of your hair, smooth and soft between his fingers, was like a strange anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

He let out a quiet breath, his fingers gently combing through your hair, the act almost automatic. There was no rushing it, no need to be anywhere or do anything. Just this simple, quiet act of care that calmed him in a way he didn't understand.

He looked down at you again, and the sight of your peaceful face, unaware of his touch, gave him a strange comfort. There were so many things Aguni had seen—so many things he had done—but this? This small, quiet moment, so mundane in the grand scheme of things, felt like something worth holding onto.

He didn't speak. Didn't disturb you.

He just continued to run his fingers through your hair, each pass smoother than the last. He could feel his heart rate slow, the endless swirl of thoughts and images in his mind settling, quieting.

It wasn't like sleep, but it was close enough.

After a long while, his hand stilled in your hair, and he found himself just watching you, his breath steady. In the midst of the chaos, the violence, and the endless fight for survival, this small act of care had given him something he hadn't realized he needed—peace.

He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes for a moment, still listening to the sounds of the forest around him.

He would stay awake.

He had to.

But for once, he didn't feel so entirely lost in his thoughts.

And as the minutes passed, the sound of your steady breathing and the warmth of your presence beside him became a small, fleeting anchor in the wild storm of the Borderlands.

Niragi

The sun was setting over the Beach, casting gold and pink over the water. The pool area buzzed faintly with music and chatter — that strange, shallow kind of joy people faked in places like this. After enough games, you realized the partying was less about fun and more about pretending no one was dying.

You were perched on the edge of a lounge chair, knees drawn up, sipping a warm soda and barely listening to whatever nonsense Chishiya and Kuina were quietly arguing about across the deck. You felt someone drop down beside you with a familiar chaotic energy, and you didn't even need to look.

Niragi.

He sprawled out lazily, legs wide, rifle slung across his back like always. His presence was loud, even when he wasn't talking — cocky grin, quick eyes, that ever-present edge that made most people give him a wide berth.

But not you.

You barely blinked as he sat a little too close, like he always did.

"Damn," he muttered after a few seconds, tilting his head to eye you from the side. "You always smell this good, or is that new?"

You rolled your eyes. "Maybe it's just that no one here showers but me."

He laughed — short, sharp. "Fair."

Then, without warning, his hand reached out and caught a loose strand of your hair between his fingers.

You froze for a moment, ready to swat him away on instinct. But… he didn't pull or tangle or mock. He just twirled the strand slowly around his finger, brows lifting slightly in genuine surprise.

"Shit," he said under his breath. "Your hair's soft."

You blinked. "Okay…?"

He didn't let go. He kept twirling it, like it had suddenly become more interesting than whatever had brought him over in the first place. His fingers moved slowly, the strand slipping over his knuckles, then curling again. There was something oddly focused in the way he did it — like it wasn't a game or a flirtation, just… something he liked.

"Didn't peg you for someone who actually took care of their hair," he muttered absently.

You raised an eyebrow. "What does that even mean?"

He smirked and shrugged, still not letting go. "Dunno. Just... figured everything here would feel like shit eventually. But this?"

Another slow twirl. Another curl around his finger.

"Feels nice."

You stared at him for a second, unsure if this was some long setup to a joke, or if he really had found a moment of peace in a strand of your hair. Then again, Niragi was a mess of contradictions. Violence and charm. Fire and silk. You'd long stopped trying to sort the pieces.

From that day on, it became a habit.

Anytime you sat beside him — on the deck, near the pool, sometimes even in the meeting room — his hand would eventually find its way to your hair. Sometimes he'd pull a strand around his finger like before. Other times, he'd just run his fingers through it, idly, like it helped him think. Or calm down. Or just be.

He never asked. He never said why. And you never stopped him.

In a place where everything was fake — the safety, the smiles, the idea that anyone could escape this alive — the simple act of him toying with your hair felt strangely real.

A small, chaotic comfort.

His fingers, your hair, and silence that didn't demand to be filled.

Last Boss

The Beach was unusually quiet.

The chaos of the most recent games had faded into a numb sort of calm. Barely anyone was celebrating. No wild poolside dancing. Just the hush of exhaustion settling over everyone like humidity in the air. Even the neon glow felt dimmer tonight.

You'd showered the second you got back, trying to wash off more than just sweat and dirt — like maybe if the water was hot enough, it could scrub away the lingering adrenaline and fear too.

It helped. A little.

Now you found yourself stepping out onto the pool deck, towel draped loosely around your shoulders, hair still damp and clinging to your neck.

The air was cool against your skin. You spotted him immediately — Last Boss, sitting on the edge of a lounge chair near the water, his katana leaning at arm's reach.

He was alone. Silent. His gaze fixed somewhere far off, like he wasn't really seeing the Beach at all. You didn't speak. You didn't have to. You simply walked over and sat down beside him.

Neither of you said anything. The night didn't ask for conversation.

A few moments passed. The only sound was the soft ripple of water in the pool and the far-off murmur of voices behind glass doors.

Then, quietly, without even glancing at you, Last Boss reached out.

His fingers touched the ends of your damp hair, brushing gently through the wet strands.

At first it felt accidental — like maybe he hadn't realized what he was doing.

But he didn't stop. His fingers, calloused and surprisingly careful, began to comb through the slight tangles, moving slowly and deliberately.

You didn't react. Didn't look at him. You just stayed still, letting him do it.

It was unexpected — startling, even — but not unwelcome. His movements weren't rushed, weren't rough. They were calm. Thoughtful. A quiet rhythm in the middle of everything you both didn't say.

Maybe it was the silence between you. Maybe it was the fact that he never really talked much anyway. But this—this simple act—felt like the closest he could come to grounding himself. Or maybe comforting you. Or both.

His fingers reached a small knot, paused, then carefully worked it loose. Still no words.

You didn't ask why. You didn't break the quiet with small talk. Whatever this was — it wasn't about questions or meaning or anything that needed to be said aloud.

It was just him, sitting beside you, gently untangling your hair with a kind of focus he usually reserved for blades and blood.

The stars above the Beach looked fake, like someone had drawn them onto a painted ceiling. But in this still moment, with his touch so strangely careful and your breath finally slowing, the world felt just a little more real.

Time passed, but neither of you moved.

And when his hand stilled and just rested lightly against the ends of your hair, you didn't flinch away.

You let him have his peace.

And in return, he gave you yours.

Chishiya

The game had ended, but the noise hadn't left your head.

It echoed still—panicked breathing, footsteps on broken glass, the sound of a last scream that didn't come from your throat but still seemed to live inside it. You didn't remember how you made it back to the Beach. Only that somehow, your legs carried you there.

You didn't go back to your own room.

You went to his.

Chishiya was already there, seated in the corner chair with his legs casually crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. He looked the same as always—blank, unreadable, like the horror didn't reach him. Like it never could.

He looked at you as you stepped in. Not surprised. Not curious.

Just… looking.

You didn't say anything. You didn't need to.

Without waiting for permission, you walked past him and lowered yourself onto his bed. The sheets were cool, the room quiet, the scent faintly antiseptic—clinical, detached, like him.

You lay down on your side, facing away, not bothering to explain. You didn't want to be alone, and somehow, being near him didn't feel like company in the overwhelming way other people did.

You heard the chair creak. A soft shuffle of footsteps.

Then the mattress dipped gently behind you.

Chishiya didn't say anything. No questions. No cutting remarks. Just silence.

You thought that might be the end of it—that he'd sit there in his usual stillness until you fell asleep or left.

But then his hand reached out.

Light fingers brushed your hair away from your face. You almost turned, startled by the touch—by the tenderness of it—but something in the movement stopped you. It wasn't calculated. It wasn't showy. It wasn't even particularly intentional.

It was quiet.

His hand trailed down through your hair, slowly combing it with his fingers. Soft. Methodical. Like it gave him something to do. Like it gave his thoughts something to focus on other than how many lives had been lost today—or how close yours had come to joining them.

You stayed still.

He continued.

Each pass was smoother than the last, his fingers learning the rhythm of your hair—where it tangled, where it fell straight, where it curled slightly from sweat and wind and the chaos you had just survived. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

You knew him well enough by now to understand what this was.

This wasn't him trying to comfort you.

This was him trying to feel anything again.

You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the day fall into the mattress. The tension in your jaw loosened. The fear in your chest softened. And as Chishiya's fingers continued to glide through your hair, you felt your breathing finally begin to steady.

He wasn't affectionate. Not in the way most people were. But this—this subtle act of presence—meant something.

More than he would ever say aloud.

You closed your eyes, and he didn't stop.

For the first time in what felt like hours, the world didn't feel like it was crushing you.

It was just the two of you. Quiet. Close.

Untangling something neither of you had words for.

Masterlist

#alice in borderland #Ann x reader #Ann Rizuna x reader #Kuina x reader #Kuina Hikari x reader #Aguni x reader #aguni morizono x reader #niragi x reader #Niragi Suguru x reader #last boss x reader #takatora samura x reader #mira kano x reader #mira x reader #chishiya x reader #Chishiya Shuntaro x reader

106 notes · View notes

riboism · 5 months ago

Text

haunted ═╬ act III: the woman in the painting

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, necklace fucking (?), using pearl necklace as pussy beads, fingering, cum eating, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ wordcount: 5.4k

↳ series masterlist

The weeks passed in a blur, the crisp autumn air gradually replacing the lingering warmth of summer. The trees surrounding the Count’s estate were beginning to shed their leaves, scattering shades of gold and crimson across the grounds. You had grown used to your tasks, and even more so to the rhythm of the Count’s presence.

Though his demeanor was often reserved, he had softened in small ways—an occasional kind word, a fleeting smile. These moments sent your heart racing in ways you tried to suppress, but it was futile. He was charming, his allure impossible to ignore. Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself looking forward to his appearance, your stomach fluttering with anticipation.

Tonight was no different. You finished raking the leaves that blanketed the garden, humming softly as you worked. The sun cast long shadows across the grounds, the sky painted in hues of orange and purple. Gathering the last pile of leaves into a neat heap, you set the rake aside and stretched, savoring the quiet beauty of the evening.

A sudden rustling caught your attention. You turned to see a sleek black cat darting out from behind a bush. It stopped a few paces away, staring at you with unblinking, golden eyes. A strange sense of deja vu washed over you, though you couldn’t place why.

“Where did you come from?” you murmured, stepping closer.

The cat meowed softly, its tail flicking once before it bolted toward the open door of the estate.

“Wait!” you called, hurrying after it.

It moved quickly, its black fur blending into the dimly lit interior as it bounded up the grand staircase. You hesitated at the bottom step, your heart thudding. The Count’s rules about the upstairs were clear, but the thought of the cat clawing at his furniture—or worse, his paintings—spurred you forward.

Taking the steps two at a time, you followed the cat’s swift movements. It slipped into a room at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. You approached cautiously, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside.

Your breath hitched.

The room was bathed in the warm glow of the descending sunset, illuminating rows upon rows of paintings leaning against walls and scattered across the floor. The scent of oil paint and turpentine filled the air. The cat sat perched on a stool near the center of the room, its tail curling lazily as it observed you.

You stepped inside carefully, your eyes widening as you took in the sheer volume of artwork. Most were landscapes—lush forests, serene lakes, and vibrant meadows. The detail was astonishing, each brushstroke imbued with life.

But then your gaze shifted to a different set of paintings, ones that made your cheeks flush.

Nudes.

You froze, the heat rising to your face as your eyes lingered on the delicate curves and shadowed contours of the women. They were striking, their poses artful and sensual. Your discomfort deepened when you noticed that one of the figures seemed… familiar.

Your breath caught. The woman in the painting bore a resemblance to you—not an exact likeness, but close enough to unsettle you. Her features were softer, her hair styled in a different time, but the eyes… they mirrored yours in a way that sent a chill down your spine.

You took a step back, your pulse quickening.

“Y/N,” came the Count’s voice, low and sharp from the doorway.

You spun around, heart leaping to your throat. He stood there, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes locked on you. He didn’t seem angry. Instead, his expression softened, worry—perhaps even concern—filled his eyes. His gaze moved from your flushed face to the painting of the nude woman, then back to you.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you stammered, words spilling out in a rush. “The cat—it ran into the house and came straight up here. I didn’t want it to ruin anything, so I—”

“It’s alright,” he interrupted gently, his voice calm but firm.

You stopped, biting your lip nervously, watching as he stepped closer and bent down to scoop up the cat. The sleek black creature immediately began to purr in his arms, nuzzling against his hand as he stroked its fur.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, this time in a whisper.

A thick silence hung in the air. You wanted to leave, but your feet refused to obey, keeping you rooted to the spot. Despite yourself, your eyes flicked back to the painting—the one that had startled you so much.

He noticed.

“It’s not proper for a lady such as yourself to look at,” he said, stepping closer, his voice lowering in a way that sent a shiver up your spine. “In Italy, it’s different. I studied art there, and the nude is seen as something natural, even divine. Here, my clients want something a little more—family friendly. So, I’ve made the shift to making nature scenes.”

You swallowed hard as he moved closer, the warmth of his presence making your pulse race. His gaze was steady, and as he spoke, his tone took on a certain reverence.

“The Renaissance,” he said, his voice steady, “was a return to the classical ideals of Greece and Rome, a time when humanity stood at the heart of creation. It marked the rise of Humanism—the idea that, despite its imperfections, mankind is a reflection of divine perfection. The nude was revered as a symbol of that sacred beauty, portrayed without shame or indecency. It wasn’t about desire or scandal; it was about capturing truth and honoring the sublime.”

Your eyes darted back to the woman in the painting. She reclined lazily, resting against a soft mattress. She is partially draped in a soft, flowing fabric that cascades around her body, revealing her form with elegance and grace. The only attire she bore was a string of pearls cascading around her neck. Her posture is relaxed, her arms resting behind her head, and a gentle smile graces her face, as if someone was whispering sweet nothings to her. You cleared your throat finally. “I… I see that now. It’s… beautiful.”

His brow arched slightly, as if surprised by your comment, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, into what might have been a smile. “You really think so?”

You nodded, your voice soft. “It’s detailed. Expressive. I can see the care you put into it.”

For a moment, his expression shifted, almost as if he were caught between pride and something more intimate—a connection, perhaps.

“Who is she?” you asked hesitantly, breaking the fragile silence.

His gaze lingered on the painting for a moment before he spoke, his voice quieter, tinged with an emotion you weren’t familiar with seeing him with. “She was my wife.”

The words struck you, their weight hanging in the air.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured, your chest tightening with empathy.

He didn’t respond immediately, his attention fixed on the painting as if searching for something long lost. Finally, he said, “It was a long time ago.” His tone was flat, devoid of the warmth that had just been there.

The cat let out a soft meow, breaking the tension.

“The studio is a private place,” he said, his tone shifting to something authoritative. “But… I appreciate your concern. Thank you for ensuring nothing was disturbed.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” you said quickly, your cheeks heating again. “It won’t happen again.”

His gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained unreadable. “See that it doesn’t. But… I don’t fault you for your curiosity.”

He turned, carrying the cat toward the door, but paused for a moment. “And, for what it’s worth,” he added, his voice quieter, “I’m glad you see the beauty in the work. It’s not something most people here care to understand.”

He left then, leaving you alone in the studio, your heart pounding as you took in the myriad of paintings once more. The weight of his words lingered, along with the unmistakable ache of his unspoken sorrow.

⸺

Every night, he haunted your dreams. Some nights, they unfolded like fragments of memories—intimate moments that felt impossibly real, yet foreign, as if they belonged to another life entirely. Other times, the dreams were a tangled haze, a blur of longing and unspoken desires. Each night, your yearning for him grew more insistent, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, harder to push away when you woke.

This time, the dream placed you in your bed, lying on your side. The room around you was cast in a dim, golden glow, as if lit by candlelight. Everything felt heavier—the sheets, the air, even the weight of your own body.

His fingers pumped inside of you languidly, his chest pressed up against your back as he laid next to you. Although you couldn’t see him, you could feel his hot breath hitting the nape of your neck, his lips tracing over your soft skin gently. You pressed your face against your pillow, using it to muffle your moans after each thrust of his long fingers.

“Don’t do that,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, making your nerves twist. “You know I like to hear you.”

He burrowed his fingers deeper inside of you and curled them tightly, the sounds of your filthy squelches now filling up the room. You tilted your head back, desperate whines leaving your lips as you were absorbed in ecstacy.

Your body stilled, your eyes feeling heavy as your release consumed you, his soft, plush lips nibbling at your neck while his thrusts slowed down.

His fingers left you, and he brought them up to his mouth, sucking and licking them clean of your sticky juices. He groaned at your taste, each suck not enough to fulfill him, leading him to crave more of you.

He brought his hand down again, rubbing the slick all over your raw skin. “One more.”

You shivered at his touch, your cunt overstimulated from cumming so much for him. Your body grew exhausted at each passing orgasm, the sheer sweat making your nightdress cling uncomfortably to your body, but not once did you deny him. You craved his touch just as much as he craved yours, the reward for your obedience too enticing to give up.

You nodded weakly at him, throat too dry to say anything more. His thumb pressed onto your clit, his voice soothing you into another round of pleasure.

“My sweet girl.”

⸺

You awoke the next morning, tangled in your sheets and feeling a familiar discomfort lingering just between your legs. The dreams were so vivid, and you got used to waking up with your undergarments stained with your arousal. You sighed, sitting up and brushing your hair out of your face, your lips forming an unconscious pout. It had ended too abruptly, leaving you yearning for more—more of his touch, his voice, his closeness. The way his presence lingered in your thoughts unsettled you, yet it was impossible to deny how much you craved it.

You sat on the edge of your bed, clutching the hem of your nightdress as a wave of shame washed over you. Longing for the very man you served—dreaming such intimate, improper things about him—felt dangerous, almost reckless. This wasn’t a harmless crush anymore. It had grown into something more consuming, something darker.

An obsession.

The thought turned your stomach. You were disgusted with yourself. How could you let your mind wander so far? He was your employer, a man burdened by grief, and you were nothing more than his hired help. What would he think if he knew the things you fantasized about him?

You pressed your palms to your face, willing the heat in your cheeks to fade. "Get a hold of yourself," you muttered, as if scolding your heart would make it beat any slower when he was near.

At least you had the day to yourself to help clear your head. While the Count slept, you busied yourself tidying up the house, scrubbing, sweeping, and organizing as the morning light poured through the tall windows. Your thoughts drifted aimlessly, but you tried to push them away, focusing instead on the tasks at hand.

As you made your way into the dining room, a sigh escaped your lips. The familiar sight greeted you again: the bowl of stew, untouched. The spoon rested at the same angle you’d left it, the once-warm broth now congealed and unappetizing. Sometimes, the Count had the decency to throw the food away, sparing your feelings, but other times, like now, he simply left it behind as if he’d forgotten it entirely.

You frowned, lifting the bowl and turning it over in your hands as though inspecting it might explain why he didn’t eat. How could someone go on like this—sleeping through the day, working endlessly through the night, with seemingly no sustenance to keep him going?

Grief. The word slipped into your mind unbidden. It must be eating him alive, you thought. You set the bowl down gently, your fingers lingering on the edge as a pang of pity hit you. He was so mysterious, so closed off, but moments like these revealed a fragility you couldn’t ignore. A part of you wanted to understand him, to reach out and offer comfort, but another part—a stronger part—warned you to stay distant.

Shaking your head, you grabbed the bowl and carried it to the kitchen to clean, telling yourself it wasn’t your place to worry. But the unease lingered, settling in your chest like a weight you couldn’t quite shrug off.

⸺

The castle felt especially quiet as you tidied up that morning, the echo of your own footsteps filling the halls. While dusting the shelves in the kitchen, you noticed the pantry shelves were growing bare—flour, sugar, and a few other essentials were nearly gone. With a sigh, you knew there was no avoiding it. You’d have to venture down into town.

You groaned at the thought of the long walk downhill and the prying eyes of the townspeople. It was never a pleasant experience; they always seemed to whisper or stare as you passed by. Still, the Count needed his meals, and you had an idea to try something new—a sweet treat, perhaps an apple pie. Maybe that would finally tempt his appetite.

When you reached the market, the stalls were bustling with activity. You took your time browsing, your eyes scanning the piles of red and orange brushed apples displayed in wooden crates. They looked perfect, plump and ripe. You ran your fingers over the smooth skin of one as you imagined how the pie might turn out.

But your calm was broken by a sudden commotion. Shouts and murmurs rose in the distance, and you turned your head toward the source. A crowd was gathering near the edge of the market, voices growing louder and more frantic.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you hurried over to see what was happening. The crowd parted slightly, revealing a dead calf sprawled on the ground. Its throat was torn open, dried blood pooling beneath it. The sight made your stomach churn.

“What happened?” you asked someone nearby.

“Another attack,” the man said grimly. “It was found in the square this morning.”

“I lost a cow too!” another farmer called out, his voice shaking with anger. “Found her this morning, just like this one—opened up and bled dry.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by uneasy whispers.

“This isn’t natural,” an older man said, shaking his head. “It’s like somethin’ out of a nightmare.”

“I saw somethin’ last night,” another farmer interjected, his face pale. “By my barn. A figure—dark, shadowy. It wasn’t human, I swear it wasn’t.”

“Who else could it be?” the first farmer spat, his voice rising with fury. “It has to be him! The Count!”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“Him? Really?” someone finally asked.

“Yes, him!” the farmer continued. “Lives up there in that eerie castle, never comes down except at night. Probably takin’ the blood for some satanic ritual—or worse, eatin’ them alive!”

The accusation sent a ripple of fear and agreement through the crowd.

“That’s enough!” you snapped, stepping forward before you could stop yourself.

All eyes turned to you, the market falling silent save for the rustle of wind through the trees.

“You have no proof of any of this,” you said, your voice steady but sharp. “And yet, you’re ready to blame a man who’s done nothing but keep to himself? Do you even realize how ridiculous you sound? Satanic rituals? Eating cattle? You sound like children telling ghost stories.”

The first farmer glared at you, his jaw tightening. “And who are you to defend him, huh? You work for him, don’t you?”

“I do,” you replied, meeting his glare with your own. “And I can tell you he’s no devil worshipper. Maybe you should spend less time spinning tales and more time taking care of your cattle. This is an obvious wolf attack. We had them on the ranch where I grew up.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “If you’re so certain he’s behind this, then why don’t you march up to the castle and confront him yourself? Oh, that’s right—you won’t. Because you know deep down how absurd this all is.”

The crowd shifted uncomfortably, the men muttering under their breath as they exchanged uneasy glances. They didn’t press the issue, but the tension lingered in the air.

You turned back to the apple vendor, your pulse still racing. “I’ll take these,” you said, handing over a few coins and bagging the apples.

As you walked away from the market, the crowd’s murmurs faded behind you, but your frustration lingered, bubbling just beneath the surface. The ignorance and fear of the townspeople made your blood boil. How could they be so quick to condemn someone they barely knew?

You thought back to what Mr. Kang had said about them. The townsfolk had a few screws loose, no doubt about it. Their boredom, lack of education, and excessive piety made them turn to gossip like moths to a flame. And for what? Because the Count didn’t attend their church? Didn’t partake in their social activities? That somehow made him a demonic spirit, capable of dark rituals and unholy acts?

It was absurd—laughable even, if it didn’t rile you so much. They blamed him for every misfortune in their lives, as if casting the shadow of their own grievances onto him would somehow solve their problems. It was easier, you supposed, to create a villain out of a recluse than to face their own shortcomings.

You adjusted your grip on the basket, your knuckles whitening with the effort. As the castle loomed closer, you couldn’t shake the thought of their wild accusations. It was ridiculous, yes, but it was also dangerous. Ignorance and fear had a way of growing into something worse, something volatile.

Yet, as you got closer to the castle, a shadow of doubt crept into your mind. The state of the calf —violently opened up and bled dry—gnawed at you. You recalled finding a few mangled cows on your family’s ranch before, but nothing like this. It was as if the predator had drained it completely, leaving nothing but an empty husk behind. What kind of animal would do that?

⸺

Night had fallen, and you bustled about in the kitchen, carefully removing the pie from the oven. The buttery, sugary scent of the golden lattice crust mingled with the warmth of the room, wrapping around you like a comforting hug. You clasped your hands together, beaming with pride at how beautifully it had turned out.

The sound of soft footsteps startled you, and you spun around to see the Count standing in the doorway. His presence was a surprise; it wasn’t like him to appear so early in the evening. His dark eyes wandered to the pie, and for a moment, his sharp features softened.

“Sir,” you said, quickly setting the pie down. “You must be starving. I’ll start dinner right away—”

“That smell,” he interrupted, his voice unusually gentle. “Is that apple pie?”

“It is,” you replied hesitantly, caught off guard by the faint glimmer of interest in his tone. “Would you like a slice?”

His brow furrowed, as if caught in an internal debate. He stepped closer, examining the intricate latticework with quiet intensity. “It looks…beautiful,” he admitted, his voice carrying a trace of warmth. Then, as if reminding himself, he added, “But I shouldn’t. I don’t usually eat such things.”

“Oh, come now!” you said, grabbing a knife before he could protest further. “Just one bite won’t hurt, will it?”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as though trying to resist. But when you flashed him a teasing smile and cut a perfect slice, his strength faltered. “I suppose,” he murmured, “just a small piece.”

You handed him the plate and spoon, watching as he sat down at the kitchen table, the golden glow of the lanterns casting soft shadows across his face. He stared at the pie for a long moment before finally taking a bite.

The change in his expression was subtle but unmistakable. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and his eyes closed for a brief moment as the flavors melted on his tongue. “It’s…delicious,” he said softly, as though the words cost him something to admit.

A quiet smile tugged at the corners of your lips, happy to finally see him enjoy your cooking. “I’m glad you like it. It’s an old recipe of my mother’s. Apple pie was always a favorite in our house.”

He paused mid-bite, his gaze distant. “My wife used to make apple pie,” he said, his voice tinged with a melancholy that made your chest ache. “She would spend hours perfecting the crust, just like this. It was her specialty.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw emotion in his tone. “It sounds like she was an incredible woman,” you said gently, your voice warm with sincerity. “It’s a lovely way to honor her memory, I think.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the weight of his grief seemed to hold him back. “She was,” he said quietly. “She truly was.”

A heavy silence hung between you, and you saw his fingers tighten around the spoon as if grounding himself. Then, as if to break the somber mood, he took another bite of the pie. This time, the faintest hint of a smile broke through, bittersweet and fleeting, but there all the same.

Just as you felt the moment begin to ease, the Count suddenly lurched forward, his body wracked with violent coughs. “Sir!” you cried, rushing to his side as blood speckled his pale lips.

“It’s nothing,” he rasped, though his trembling form told a different story.

“It’s not nothing,” you insisted, panic rising in your chest. “You’re coughing up blood!”

He tried to wave you off, but his legs gave out beneath him, forcing you to catch him as he slumped forward. His skin was icy to the touch, and his breath came in shallow gasps.

“I’ll help you to your room,” you said firmly, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head weakly. “Not there.”

With no time to argue, you guided him to your bed instead. He collapsed onto it, his pale face etched with pain. As you dabbed at his damp forehead with a cool cloth, his eyes fluttered shut.

“You’re burning up,” you murmured, your worry deepening. “You have a fever.”

“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, though his voice lacked conviction.

Ignoring his protests, you continued to tend to him, fetching water and whispering reassurances. Hours passed as you stayed by his side, watching helplessly as his condition wavered. His fever finally broke in the dead of night, but he remained unconscious, his breaths shallow and uneven.

You sat back in the chair by the bed, exhaustion tugging at your eyelids. Despite his weakened state, there was something oddly serene about the Count as he slept. His dark hair fell in tousled waves across his forehead, a stark contrast to the usual perfection of his appearance. His features, so often guarded, were soft and vulnerable.

You couldn’t help but reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. A pang of something unnameable stirred in your chest as you took in his quiet beauty.

As the night wore on, fatigue finally claimed you. Without realizing it, you leaned against the bed, your head resting near his as you drifted off to sleep.

⸺

The world around you shifted, the faint glow of moonlight through the bedroom window dissolving into the warm hues of sunlight. You found yourself lying on a bed, softer than any you’d ever known, draped in a sheer blanket that did little to conceal the bare curve of your body. The air was still, the only sound being the faint scrape of a brush on canvas.

You lifted your head, your gaze landing on the familiar figure of the Count. He was standing behind an easel, his dark eyes peering over the edge of the canvas to study you with an intense focus that made your heart beat fast. His hands moved deftly, the brush in his grip capturing something on the blank surface that you couldn’t see.

“How much longer do I have to stay like this?” you asked, breaking the quiet. Your voice carried a teasing whine, though there was a genuine edge of boredom in it. “I’m tired.”

He didn’t respond at first, his focus unbroken as his gaze flicked between you and the painting. The sunrays from the grand window played across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the furrow of his brow.

“Seonghwa,” you called again, the name slipping from your lips as naturally as breathing.

This time, he stopped, lowering his brush. His eyes met yours, softening ever so slightly. “Just a little longer, my love” he said assuringly, his voice low and melodic. “I’m nearly finished.”

You huffed, letting your head fall back against the pillows in exaggerated defeat. “You said that an hour ago.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though he tried to suppress it. His clothing, richly adorned in what looked like 17th century garb, made him look regal yet familiar, as though he belonged to this moment as much as he did to you.

“Perfection takes time,” he said, dipping the brush into his palette and returning his attention to the canvas.

You pouted, pulling the blanket higher as if to shield yourself from his watchful gaze, the only thing visible being the pearly white necklace that rested against your collarbones. “It’s just a painting,” you muttered.

“It’s not just a painting,” he replied, stepping out from behind the easel. He moved closer, his long coat brushing against the floor. “It’s you. Every stroke, every shadow, must be just right.”

There was a reverence in his tone that made your cheeks warm. He crouched beside the bed, his face now level with yours. “You don’t see it, do you?” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “The way the light touches you? The way your soul shines through every curve, every detail?”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. His touch was tender, his words intimate, as though they were meant to be etched into your very being. His fingertips traced over your nose, to your lips, and down to your shoulders, playfully fingering the sheer fabric that was draped against your quivering body.

He took your pearl necklace into his hands, carefully examining it with lips parted open. “Aphrodite herself would come down and tear me to pieces if I did anything less than justice to her masterpiece.”

He had a way with words, his charm effortlessly delightful, but this time it didn’t sway you. “You’d rather paint me than touch me,” you pouted, your voice tinged with mock indignation.

Seonghwa grinned softly, a playful gleam lighting up his dark eyes. “Oh? Is that what you want?” he teased, his voice low and velvety. “You want me to touch you?”

He reached out and slowly pulled the sheer blanket down, revealing your bare form to him. Though he remained still at your side, his gaze roamed over you painstakingly slow. It was as if he was memorizing every inch of you, savoring the sight in silence.

Your frustration bubbled to the surface, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m afraid if you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to tear you to pieces myself.”

A laugh escaped him, soft and rich, as though he was enjoying your boldness far too much. "Now that," he murmured, leaning in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath, "is an art I’d be curious to see."

His lips graced yours gently, their softness leaving you feeling warm and fuzzy. His fingers traced your perked nipples before pinching and twisting them, forcing a soft moan out from your lips, which he swallowed up with ease. Your hands slipped into his silky, black strands, pulling at them just perfectly enough to send blood rushing to his crotch.

“Do you do this with all the girls you paint, Count Park?” You asked, a faint touch of tease hinting in your tone.

His fingers found their way behind your neck, unclamping the gift he got you months before. He pulled the pearls down, running it slowly across your heaving chest, until you felt its coolness resting against your hot center.

“Only the ones that give me a hard time.” He grinned. His lips left yours for a brief moment, and he watched your core intently as he rubbed the expensive pearls over your throbbing clit.

You grabbed onto his arm tighter, the sensation happening between your legs feeling both blissful and empty. It just wasn’t enough. You needed him, and you needed him desperately.

“Why do you tease me like this?” You whined, your hips rolling as he continued his perverted ministrations. “I want to feel you.”

Seonghwa let out a soft chuckle, clearly amused, finding your impatience utterly endearing. He stuffed the long string of pearls into your wet pussy, smirking to himself in satisfaction with how well they slid into you.

“Patience, my love,” he said to you, though his attention was focused solely on how pretty your pussy lips looked, the chubby skin hugging the pearls so beautifully. “Have I ever denied you what you desire?”

You gasped at the sudden intrusion, the feeling foreign yet satisfying. He tugged on the necklace slowly, smirking to himself to the sounds of your pleading moans. He worked you like this for quite a while until he lost all restraint. He pulled your cum soaked necklace out from your needy hole, and replaced it with his warm tongue, spending the rest of the day between your soft thighs, the painting he was working so hard on now forgotten.

⸺

You stirred awake, his face and voice still lingering in your mind like whispers in the dark. Your body was damp with sweat, and a familiar wetness slicked your thighs, a shameful reminder of your perverted dream. You shifted, turning to the side, only to realize the Count was no longer there.

Your hand instinctively reached for the sheets where he had laid, but the spot was cold. He must have risen, you thought, feeling better and retreating to his chambers before dawn. The thought made you want to check on him, to be sure he was all right, but your body remained rooted to the bed.

The dream still clung to you, vivid and overwhelming, leaving you disoriented as you sat there. There was something hauntingly familiar about it, as if it wasn’t just a dream but instead an intimate memory.

You pressed your fingers to your temples, trying to make sense of it. Who could you confide in about this? The strange, lifelike dreams that left you trembling in their aftermath, the Count haunting you night after night with his touch, his lips, his voice?

The pale moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating your room in a silvery glow. You stared at it, as though the answer might lie in its light. But the feeling only deepened—an impossible certainty that this dream, this aching moment, wasn’t just a figment of your subconscious.

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act IV: the cat ➜

#seonghwa smut #seonghwa fanfic #ateez fanfic #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa smut #ateez smut #seonghwa scenarios #park seonghwa scenarios #my works: haunted

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npookie0 · 3 months ago

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hi! i love ur work and cant stop reading them everyday :3 how do you think the kc li's would propose or react to you proposing?

MARRIAGE Proposals with the KC! li's.

Fluffy headcanons with the love interests when they propose to the reader.

Cws: Killer Chat! spoilers, mayhaps some blood (Ronin™)

Ronin Beaufort

The place: Ronin wouldn't be himself if he picked out a normal spot for a proposal, nah that ain't him. He proposed in the middle of a flower field, but not just any flower field. No. Surrounding the two of you were flowers dipped in blood, white petals soaked crimson, a sweet place turned into a massacre by the very man who was proposing to you. What a romantic.

The ring: A regular ring wouldn't be his style, too boring, too perfect. He needed the ring to be a reminder of him, handmade, gory, something that would just scream Ronin all the way. If he felt particularly silly, he would just bite the ring onto your finger, bite deep and hard, leaving a scar, his teeth forever on your skin. Still, if he wanted to make it something more special and less painful, he could give you a ring made out of someones bones, his victim's bones, fingers maybe, maybe some gore attached to it too, just a cute little piece of jewelry for you. Less creepy? Ah, but that'd be so boring, love. Alright, he'd make it, engrave some skulls into metal, paint it black and red, something imperfect because your love is just like that.

How would the proposal go? Ronin planned the whole day, he took you on a date first, just to build up the romantic value of the day, maybe a lil couple bonding murder, ripping out hearts from the bodies and using them to symbolise the love you two have for each other. Then he'd take you to the spot, prepared night prior to the proposal. He gets down on one knee, tells you how utterly rotten you are, how much he loves your rot, how much he loves you. You say yes (why are you here if you wanted to say no?) and then you kiss, kiss like there's no tomorrow, kiss like the world is about to end, blood in your mouth because he bit your lower lip, blood around you because he killed someone here yesterday. Destruction is the best form of love, destruction is perfection in this rotten romance of yours.

Maria de la Rosa

The place: She wanted it to be perfect, memorable, something for you to look back a few years after your wedding and smile. An intimate place with as little people as possible, it's your moment, no one should disturb your peace. A meadow, a beautiful cave hidden behind a waterfall, a place torn out of a Disney movie, a princess dream in real life.

The ring. Maybe the place is sweet, but it's still The Heartsick Angel we're talking about, the ring can't be too ordinary. A beautiful rose gold ring with a tooth instead of a diamond, something she partially made by hand. A wedding ring on someone's (cut off) finger, similar to the one she gave you for valentine's but this one way more grand. It's sickening and sweet, makes your stomach turn, but also the butterflies come back to life. She's so romantic.

How would the proposal go? She'd clear out her schedule as much as possible, dress up all nicely, favourite outfit, carefully done make up and all that. First it starts innocently, you go to a restaurant, ignore the paparazzi as much as possible, chat about your book and her new video ideas, ones that ae far from the beauty and fashion videos she usually makes. You go for a walk, somehow managed to scare away the paparazzi, she has her ways. Then, when sunset is near, she takes you to a very special place, asks you to close your eyes and allows you to open them once she holds an opened box right in front of you, there's the ring. Yo tear up, say yes, hug her, kiss her. It's sweet, deep, hungry. You want this romance to go for as long as possible, you want to grow old by her side, tease her with cannibal jokes, annoy her with Ronin, love each other forever. A life from a dream by your lover's side.

Valentin Viljoen

The place: He carefully handpicked the place, a private place full of greenery or art or both. A botanic garden he rented out all for only the two of you to enjoy, amidst flowers, trees, so many beautiful colours all around you. Maybe an art gallery, a room with only the best and most romantic pieces of art, but for him, you're the only one worth his gaze to linger on.

The ring: V knew that big didn't mean better, though if he could he would give you a ring with the biggest and most expensive gem on it. He only stopped himself because he didn't want to overwhelm you. V would pick an elegant ring, flowers engraved in it, looking like a metallic vine wrapped around you finger, or something more elegant, small stones all around the band and V.V. engraved on the inside, maybe even some words about the hunt that started your relationship or a date if the words are too long.

How would the proposal go? It's all carefully planned, he travels with you to England, he wants to do it in his home country, somewhere that feels more like home than anything. After a day spent on sight seeing and a dinner, he takes you to a botanic garden, suspiciously empty ("I wanted us to enjoy the beauty of nature alone.") You don't mind, it's not uncommon for him to do something like this. When you're talking about how fascinating the flowers are, you hear him cough to grab your attention, you turn around to see him down on one knee in front of you. He's flustered, but he will fluster you more with his love filled words, he prepared the speech long before he had the engagement ring ready, every word was well thought, he didn't want to worry about adding too little and adding too much wasn't a bad thing. You say yes, shy from all the things he said about you, he cups your face with his hands and kisses you, tender, sweet, promising something more to happen later in the evening. You feel yourself falling more and more in love with every second spent with this man.

Misaki Katsuo

The place: They thought of the place for long, made a whole list of their favourite places and crossed out most of the names right after. In the end she decided on an abandoned amusement park. The same park you burned down their assassin stuff, everything that held even the smallest memory of their previous job. They prepared it for the day, turned on the electricity and lit the whole place up, decorated it with stars, cats and anything that came to mind.

The ring: Misaki can't afford an expensive ring, nor did they want to. They love handmade gifts, they will hand made your wedding bands if they'd want to. The ring is crocheted. Who needs a big diamond when you can have pretty flowers, or any pattern they'd like to make it out to be? They were gathering info on your favorite colours, flowers, anything that'd help them make this project possible. She wanted to give this her all, after all you would wear this for like forever after the proposal!

How would the proposal go? They pick you up from the airport, laugh at how tired you look, embrace you with all the excitement in the world. Misaki would let you rest in her place if you were too lazy to go to a hotel, or more trick you into sleeping in her trailer ("Why go so far when you can cutely sleep in my arms?") The moment you wake up, there's only chaos, they take you around the city, grab food with you, make wishes in a temple with you and then take you to the abandoned amusement park. You're in awe of the place, excited to test the rides that shouldn't work but somehow still are. Once you're on the Ferris wheel and you can see most of Tokyo from the top, they propose, it's awkward, they're shy and anxious if you will actually marry them (of course you will, you love this silly goof too much.) They hug you and hold onto you even after you make it back to their trailer (police probably tried to catch the people who used the theme park but you somehow escaped.) The rest of the night you spent looking at the stars and planning your life with Misaki by your side. Chaotic life with your even more chaotic partner.

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holybibly · 1 year ago

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Object of Desire | OT8 |

Pairing: otx8 x reader

Genre: sugar daddy au, dark romance, smut, vampire au,

Word Count: 9.2 k

Summary: Caught in a web of deceit and forbidden pleasures, Nabi quickly learns that some obsessions can be deadly and love can bite.

WARNING: only!18+ Blood drinking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, voice kink, daddy kink, master/pet game, pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, seduction, BDSM, polyamory, mirror sex, marking, voyeurism, power play, and more.

Disclaimer: I do not support themes of violence, obsession, possessiveness, or emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended for entertainment purposes only.

A/N: I honestly didn't expect so much interest in this story and I'm so happy to see these cute 'hearts' popping up in my notifications all the time. I'm an emotional mess. And so, even though I know I should be concentrating on "The Divine Rosa", there are too many other ideas in my head that I can't (won't) ignore, so here we go. "Object of Desire" will be different in style, so I hope you'll love it as much as my main work "The Divine Rosa". A promised bonus for everyone who voted for Seonghwa in the poll will be released this weekend. I'll try to release Woosan next week, the preview will be out this weekend. Comments are welcome, I really appreciate your reactions. If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this or future updates, let me know in the comments. Divider @saradika

Part 1. Do you want to make a deal with the Devil?

Now going out of town in the middle of the night with Yeonjun seemed like a bad idea.

A very bad one, I thought.

God, what was I thinking when I agreed to do this? Yesterday, this whole venture seemed like a great way to solve my problems, but now the prospect was not so rosy.

Sometimes I feel like a complete idiot, and this is one of those times.

Outside the window the dark landscape was sweeping by at high speed; the bare trees were shrouded in an ominous gloom, and only the dim light of the tall street lamps over the road was the only source of illumination to guide us in the darkness.

It seemed that the darkness around us did not stop Yeonjun from driving. His posture was relaxed and his hand was sure as he turned the wheel in the right direction, the diamond bracelet on his thin wrist sparkling with starlight. One of the many family jewels that Yeonjun treated with special affection.

In contrast to him, I couldn't relax and kept fidgeting on the leather seat made of black Iberian leather, no less.

Every part of my body was begging me to stop and come home before it was too late. Not so, I had imagined that we were going to an elite club. I knew that we would be there late at night, but the fact that the club was way out of town came as an unpleasant surprise.

At the moment it's an hour's drive from Seoul and more than an hour and a half to the destination on the GPS.

The whole thing was strange and made me dizzy, or was it the thick smell of Yeonjun's perfume? It was a dense, smoky scent with a hint of vanilla. Powerful enough to draw the eyes of everyone around to its source, and sexy enough to make you want to kiss the naked skin of the wearer of this tantalising scent.

It would be several days before I was able to wash off the remnants of his perfume after our meeting, so much of it had eaten its way into my skin.

I glanced at Yeonjun; a stray yellowish-white light from the lantern momentarily illuminated his face, and a shadow of long velvet eyelashes fell on his pale cheeks. His black raven hair was streaked with flashes of platinum and gold. He looked otherworldly - I would even say demonic.

I felt a palpable shiver run through my body, as if someone had just dipped my heart into a bucket of icy water.

"Jun." My voice was terribly uncertain. "I don't think I can do this." I said as my fingers pulled down the hem of a short dress. The expensive material looked luxurious in a perfect shade of white and was decorated with a sprinkling of crystals. Yeonjun insisted that I wear it tonight and said that I would be grateful for it as soon as we got to the club. I don't think I'd ever choose something like that for myself, and not just because of its crazy cost; Jun's fashion preferences were so different from mine. He was a fan of overt sexuality and bold lines; I, on the other hand, preferred neutrals and comfort. "I have changed my mind; this proposal does not suit me at all. Maybe we can go back..."

Yeonjun smiled softly as he turned to me, but in the darkness of the drawing room the smile was more ominous than reassuring, his lips the most breathtaking shade of red I had ever seen.

Warning bells began to ring in my head. There are times when you can sense danger even before you are faced with it.

"Nabi, my dear, there is nothing for you to be worried about. We have already discussed this. Remember?" His hand was cold as he laid it on my knee. "I will take care of everything. You're my guest tonight, which means you're under my protection." The long fingers shrank a little, a kind of confirmation of his words. His fingernails were painted glossy black, and his fingers were adorned with several silver rings.

I would like to believe that nothing is going to happen to me, but my insides are tied up in a tight knot of fear.

Miss Kim Seoyun's words echoed in my head like thunder: "Humble yourself and surrender to destiny; you are where you are supposed to be.

When did I start believing all this? This is no time to panic, Nabi.

Everything will be fine.

To be honest, Yeonjun was never my first choice when I needed help, and I always tried to keep a certain distance from him for a number of reasons. There was something so predatory about him, almost animalistic, that lit up the red lights of danger, but I was desperate; student loans, rent, insurance and food were starting to pile up. I was in desperate need of money, and preferably a lot of it, fast.

The threat of being left out on the streets and being thrown out of university has never been as real as it is now.

The only thing that gave me the slightest bit of confidence was Jimin's assurance that I could trust Yeonjun completely and how carefree he was.

Damn, Jun looked like we were going on a spontaneous romantic trip instead of a closed elite club outside the city in the middle of the night.

I asked myself again, "Why did I agree to this?" Oh yes, money. A lot of money.

A few days ago, Yeonjun contacted me and offered to help me with my money problem. Of course, Park Jimin couldn't keep his big mouth shut and told him about my problems. He told me that one of his friends at the private club had a good deal for me. I could make a lot of money out of it.

The income was enough to pay off all my debts and the number of zeros on offer was enough to turn my head.

It was an unequivocal and desperate "YES" and at that moment I did not think at all about the consequences or the characteristics of this proposal.

Jun also promised me a lot of fun but after I signed the NDA and read the multi-page contract with its veiled meaning and rather vague wording of some specific points, doubts blossomed in my chest, and I began to understand what kind of fun was being discussed.

Looks like I made a deal with the Devil.

The dress was delivered on the eve of our trip, a few hours before Yeonjun's chic Ferrari pulled up outside my dorm room. The all-white gown, richly embroidered with blue topaz and opal, was incredible. The plunging neckline of the corsage barely covered the lace bralet of the same colour as the dress.

I have never seen my breasts look so full and so soft. I would even call it seductive. Everything I moved had to be clean and graceful; if I moved too sharply, the soft pink halos of my nipples would start to show. This was beyond the limits of my modesty. At one point, I could even feel Yeonjun's searing gaze resting on my cleavage. It was a carnal look with a shadow of hidden lust in the depths of the dark, shining pupils. It was the first time in the several years of our dubiously friendly communication that he had shown such a desire for me.

The dress and underwear came with four-inch heels. Of course, if my life had been in danger and I had tried to escape, there would have been no chance of success. Incidentally, I'm a terrible runner; I bet I couldn't have run more than ten meters before I collapsed with breathlessness. I should have gone to the gym when Jimin offered it to me.

Oh my God, Nabi, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Jun's silky voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"You have such a tense look on your face, my darling." He purred. "We'll be there soon, Nabi. Try to relax; you're going to love "Crescent", I'm sure."

Why did it have such a sinister ring to it? "Crescent" - the name was sweet enough, I would say poetic, but the way Yeonjun rolled the word over his tongue as if he could feel its taste - thick and viscous - made the name something forbidden and sinful. Well, the idea of the cult was not so absurd to me. And that stupid prophecy never left my mind.

"You're where you should be..."

In the reflection of the small mirror in the car, I met my gaze. My pupils were dilated like those of a hunted prey. And though I tried to calm down, I could feel the cold, predatory touch of Yeonjun's hand all too well. Baby, it looks like you're going to get caught.

I ask myself again. Why did I find myself in this situation?

Dressed in the most luxurious designer clothes, like a real doll. Ready to become an exclusive blood donor for a very wealthy private community whose clients needed this kind of service, accompanied by one of Seoul's wealthiest heirs.

Now I can say: "Hey, Nabi, you really screwed up."

❤︎❤︎❤︎

A few days before the visit to "Crescent"

I looked again at the envelope lying on my bed. It had been delivered early in the morning, when the whole city was in a half-awake haze and the streets were not yet filled with coffee and fresh pastries from charming little cafes. The envelope was just left on the door, as if it were something unwanted, without bothering to deliver it to the to the addressee.

Why do we even pay for a delivery service?

He's been there for a couple of hours with the overdue bills and some flyers. I found him on my way to get a life-saving coffee, which had to be postponed due to the unexpected arrival of this mysterious object.

And that didn't make me feel any happier at all.

The thick, dark purple paper looked regal and too expensive to be mediocre; usually such envelopes contained bad news or invitations to a private bohemian reception, but it was too fancy for the former and impossible for the latter. Poor students can't get into high society unless they spread their legs in front of someone's wrinkled dick. And I wasn't inclined to do that.

I took the envelope back to my room and put it on the bed. It looked impossibly ridiculous—I would even say vulgar—surrounded by fluffy pink pillows and a variety of stuffed animals—a small army, as Jimin liked to put it. The envelope was a perfect match for its sender—luxurious, vulgar, and obscenely expensive—the very embodiment of Yeonjun's tastes. Judging by the ten missed phone calls and a whole bunch of messages, Jun wanted to make sure that the envelope had been delivered. He even linked it to Jimin, which almost offended me.

I still remember how, on a stupid whim, I had to dye his hair pink in the middle of the night while his sweet, high-pitched voice babbled something like, "Make me look like the Sugar Plum Fairy." After that, you swore to be absolutely loyal to me, Jimin.

All men do is lie.

I didn't have the strength to play in peepers with purple paper. It was giving me a headache. I also had to give an answer to one of the culprits in this situation; otherwise, the scale of the drama would reach the dimensions of the universe.

Come on, Nabi. It's just an envelope. It won't bite you.

After I had settled down comfortably on the bed, I decided to begin to reply to Yeonjun's message.

"I've received the envelope with the documents you told me about, Jun. I'm so grateful for your help." Okay, that was nice, maybe. Or at least I wanted it to be that way. I'm definitely not going to text him to say that I've been deliberately ignoring his texts and calls. Anyway, we had a pretty interesting relationship with Yeonjun. They were never very sweet. The second one was for Jimin, and as my fingers were hovering over the letters with the first apologies, the phone started to vibrate.

Our photo with Jimin flashed on the screen. We were on a trip to Pusan, his hometown. The golden beach in the purple sunset, smiling Chim and Taehyung—his gorgeous boyfriend-and me with a grimace, burnt shoulders and one shoe in hand, the other lost in an unequal battle with tidal waves. When you look at this photo, you can immediately say that it is summer, my least favourite season. I don't even know why it was necessary for them to drag me along on this trip. Most of the time I was on my own. While Chimin tried to lick Te's tonsils or fought off the frat boys who thought buying a sugary-sweet cocktail would magically open my legs. So that was how two weeks of my "fun" summer holiday went by.

And here we are again, back to the lie. Let's go; it'll be fun, they said.

How this photo ended up on Jimin's contact screen is still a mystery to me. But that's not the point now. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone:

"Hi baby."

"Oh! Did you really answer my call instead of ignoring it as usual? How can you treat me like this? I am your soul mate. The only light in your dark world; you don't love me at all?" There was the sound of a fake sob on the other side of the phone. "I've never been ignoring you, Chim." I didn't get to finish because I was interrupted.

"I've called you a lot—eighteen times to be exact. And you, my dear butterfly, haven't answered a single call. You're making me nervous, Nabi, and that's making Taehyung nervous."

"If you'd let me finish, then you'd know how much I love you and how impossible it is to ignore you." He couldn't see my smile. But I'm sure he could feel it in my words. "You are the only light in my boring life; will you forgive me? And please apologise to Tae. I know my sunlight can be quite unbearable sometimes. So why did you call me?"

"First of all, I wanted to know if you'd received an envelope from Yeonjun; you don't answer when he calls, so he called me. More importantly, have you opened it, Nabi?" He asked, sounding genuinely interested as he spoke.

"Yes, Chim, I got the envelope." I ran my fingers over the dark purple paper in a thoughtful manner. "And no, I didn't open it yet. I'm not sure I even wanna. Is this a good idea, Jimin? All of it?"

"You're being too dramatic, in my opinion. Jun wants to help you. All you have to do, my beautiful butterfly, is relax and accept his help. Sometimes sweet little girls like you just need someone who can solve all of their problems for them." Jimin told me in a patronizing way. In a way, I had to agree with him, but hey! I'm not a damsel in distress or a sugar baby; even though I was in trouble, it wasn't as bad as it looked. Jimin's a bit of an exaggerator. "It's not that hard. You go to the club with Yeonjun, have fun, and in the morning you have a few thousand dollars in your account. How does that sound for you?" Park Jimin had a very annoying way of being right all the time. It really wasn't that hard to accept Yeonjun's offer, earn enough to pay off your debts, and take a little time out of the eternal race for money. In the end, I have to think about myself sometimes.

"Okay, I'll listen to you and try to relax. One last question, though: Are you trusting Yeonjun?" And this question made me feel much more uncomfortable than the secret clubs, the elite society, and the complete financial crisis.

"Absolutely." Now his voice sounded confident and serious. "Nabi, Yeonjun and I have been friends for years. I'm sure you'll be safe around him. Jun wants the best for you, and so do I, and if you'll let us, we'll give it to you. You do know that you can ask me for anything, right?" The warmth and care that I could hear in every single word that he said to me warmed my heart. "I am not going to ask you for money."

"You're a stubborn, willful, and terribly categorical bitch, and now I can understand why you haven't had sex for so long. Can't you just let me and Tae look after you? Say the word, and you'll have the whole world to yourself. Sometimes I honestly don't understand how I can love you with such intensity. Given your utter inability to take advantage of opportunities. We're the best package deal ever. Do you know that? Where else are you going to find such a good dick and a black card as a bonus?" He asked.

"Jesus, Jimin! You can stop this. We're not fucking, is that clear? And I'm not going to take your money, even if you try to put your credit card in my hand every time. I can handle this on my own. "I shouted in a huff.

"OK, don't be uptight." He was such a bitch sometimes. He really enjoyed irritating me. "But I'm right. Aren't I? It's been a long time since you've been scolded. Go on, say I'm right. Come on, Nabi, tell me everything. Are you playing with yourself, dirty girl, or do you need to be taught a lesson? I want details."

There were times when I couldn't understand why God was punishing me in this way, but I guess it was the reckoning for the sins of my ancestors that could come in the form of the pink-headed Park Jimin.

"I hate you. I wasn't serious.

"I know." Chimin said cheekily. "By the way, to calm your nerves a bit, I'll tell you. I personally know some members of the club you and Yeonjun are going to. They are Taehyung's friends, so have no fear. But the best thing about these clubs are the men. Nabi, there are men there who make me believe in the existence of Greek gods and fallen angels." Jimin said it dreamily. "God, I would show them how flexible I can be if I didn't go out with Tae."

"All right, stop with that. I get it." I wasn't in the mood to listen to the dirty fantasies of my best friend right now. Especially when you consider the fact that he was absolutely right about my sexual life. I'd been single for a long time.

"Okay, nun, I won't corrupt you; otherwise, you'll have a desire for sex."

"Park Jimin!" I squealed.

Jimin just laughed out loud on the other side of the phone.

"I won't do it again. I promise." Actually, I didn't call you in the first place because of Yeonjun or your arrangement, but I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go somewhere with me.

"Where exactly do you have it in mind?"

"Do you have any idea about Paradigm?" "That fancy spiritualist boutique on Instagram everyone's talking about? I've had a bit of a hearing about it." Why would Jimin want to go to Paradigm? It was a place that was just as private and secret as the one that I had to go to with Yeonjun. "I have to pick up some packages for Taehyung; you know he's obsessed with all kinds of mystical stuff, and this damn boutique only gives out packages—no deliveries—can you imagine that? It feels like the Holy Grail, not a silly amulet."

"As defined by your style with Tae, it sounds terribly stilted and expensive. Sure, I'll go. Give me an hour or so; I need some time to pack."

"Fine, I'll pick you up. Wait for me, my love."

"Please, just pick something a little more simple than your Porsche.

"I love my Porsche; what's wrong with my car?"

"It's too much attention. Last time, everyone at the university talked about it for a whole week. There were even questions about whether you were my sugar daddy or not.

"I definitely love it. It is the universe's way of telling you that there is no need for resistance. I am going to take care of you, my little butterfly. And I am definitely going to come and pick you up in a Porsche. See you in one hour, baby."

"Jimin, just not in a Porsche!" I shouted, but it was too late; I only heard beeping.

As always, it was Park Jimin who had the last word.

I was happy to be able to postpone opening the purple envelope for a while because of this unexpected trip. Even though an occult boutique or something like that wasn't the best prospect.

Anyway, it's time to pack.

Jimin has a strict rule. He's never late.

Exactly one hour later, Jimin's Porsche picked me up from the dorm, and to all my indignation, the only response he gave was a mocking giggle.

There was good traffic on the roads. After twenty minutes, we stopped at the glass door with the silver star engraving. The exquisite sign above the door read as follows: Paradigm is a boutique of spiritualism." The phases of the moon, from New Moon to Descending Moon, were written on the board below the sign.

"Let's go, Nabi. Pick up the package, and I'll take you home. I know you still need to get Yeonjun registered." Chim wrapped his hands around my forearm and literally dragged me into the boutique as we entered.

As we walked in, the bells above the door began to ring, but the sound was not familiar to me; it looked more like glass than metal. When I looked up, I understood the reason for the sound. There were crystal bells hanging above the door, with long strings of pearls and little silver crescents. It was a very beautiful sight. While I had my eyes on the bells, Jimin was already in conversation with the girl behind the counter. She was tall, with a cascade of long, golden hair. Her features were large and expressive. The girl looked more like a model than a soothsayer or spiritualist, although in the age of Instagram, maybe that's what modern wizards and witches should look like.

I couldn't hear the whole of the conversation, just bits and pieces of it: "It's a parcel for Kim Taehyung. "Yes, it concerns the Kim family." "Please deliver it as soon as possible."

While they were talking, I thought I'd take a look around the shop.

The common room was not large; the shape of the room was round, probably because of some mystical meaning. The walls were covered with velvet curtains, behind which a number of doors were concealed. On metal shelves were various objects: crystal balls, shards of precious stones, heavy tomes on voodoo and fortune-telling, ancient talismans in forged frames, hare legs—a symbol of good luck—and other magical items. There was something macabre about this place—a thick, dense air in which the scent of frankincense and myrtle was vivid—and the heavy, lingering presence of something otherworldly, like a ghostly footprint—a very evil footprint. In all other respects, it was the same luxurious, new-fangled boutique for the chosen rich or the mystical amateur.

My attention was drawn to a crown. It lay on a velvet cushion on one of the many shelves. There were nine black diamonds at the center of the crown. They were surrounded by rubies, so deep in scarlet that they cast a black glow, and pearls to match. The lines of the metal were twisted. They were like snakes wrapped around jewels. The cut of the diamonds was not typical; it was something extremely rare for this kind of gemstone—the Empress.

I was drawn to this crown as if it were a magnet. This feeling of inescapable attraction that you can't resist—I have a feeling like this crown has always belonged to me. Now we are finally reunited. I reached out to touch it, to feel the coolness of the dark, glittering diamonds under my fingers, and I almost did when someone's hand fell on my shoulder.

"You shouldn't touch that, dear."

I gave a frightened jerk, either at the touch of someone else or at the low voice that had come so close to me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just attracted to this crown, and I..." I had no idea how to explain the fact that I'd literally had a call from a piece of metal. Even for a place like this, it might have sounded crazy.

As I turned, I saw a woman in her 40s. Like the girl at the counter, she was more like a modern socialite on Instagram than an occult shop worker.

"All right, darling, the important thing is that you stopped it in time. This thing has a bad reputation; every one of its owners has ended up committing suicide. Anyway, my name is Kim Seoyun, owner of Paradigm. What brings you here today?"

"I'm here with a friend who needs to pick up a package for his boyfriend."

"A young man with pink hair, right? He's in the office with JaYoung; they're in charge of the registration," Seoyun said.

Even the names of the two were breathtakingly beautiful and meaningful. Sometimes the universe invests more in some than others. Seoyun frowned for a moment, as if she had read my thoughts. Then her face cleared, and she smiled softly.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

"Thank you." I sounded terribly stupid; sometimes I act like a complete fool, but I couldn't think of a more witty response. There was an uncomfortable silence between us. Until it was broken by SeoYun, who asked me a question.

"Do you want me to tell you what your fate is going to be like? My clients are of the opinion that I'm very precise in my predictions."

"Oh no, you don't have to do that." I waved away. "I don't really have a lot of faith in destiny and omens."

"You don't believe in destiny?" She arched her eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "Or don't you want to believe in it?"

"I'm a realist; I can't imagine believing in a destiny and hoping for some mystical higher power to intervene."

"Hmm, this is quite interesting. Come on, let's play," she said, picking up a Taro deck and opening it like a fan. She handed it to me. "You choose five cards; two of them are about love, two of them are about the future, and the last card is about the inevitable destiny, something that's been foretold since your birth."

I won't lie, I was so curious, even though I had no faith in the cards in my hand. My hand reached out for a pack of cards, my fingers hovering over the smooth, flickering surface as if I were trying to feel the ones I needed.

Fatum—the word had a scary ring to it.

AfterI had quickly decided on the four cards, I solemnly drew the last card and handed it over to Miss Kim.

Seoyun took the cards from me with a knowing smile. She began to turn them over one by one and started to explain what each meant.

"You are going to love like it is hard to imagine." She said. Feelings carried threatening limits. Crazy, wild, and burning love—this is a card that comes up very rarely, but it has a very strong meaning. It is the Queen of Cups. For someone who really loves you, you are going to be a true queen, a goddess; everything will be done for you; everything you want will be fulfilled; but if you get too caught up in this feeling, you will be too easily controlled. As strong as this love is, so strong is the destructiveness of it. You should be more careful with it.

The next card was turned over by Seoyun.

"The star is a bright omen for you. You have a choice in front of you that will change everything. Follow the star, and it will show you the path, but remember, no star shines without darkness. This is a map that will lead you to where you need to be. In search of that guiding star, it looks like I'm going to have to look up in the sky some more. Perhaps I should also follow the spiders in order to find the Chamber of Secrets as well.

I treated them with absolute skepticism.

"Death: everything has a cycle, and when death appears, it means you're nearing the end of one. The appearance of death is the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. It may have something to do with the love that awaits you. Your loneliness is about to end."

"The Five Cups is a situation in which you are stuck and can't move forward. This card is about your problems and the need for change in your life. This is the same kind of magical kick that is followed by heavy and dramatic events. The Fives indicate that this is only the second act of the great play; there is still much to come, but the finale promises to be happy if you accept your destiny. Otherwise, it can always end in tragedy. This card tells you: Accept yourself and surrender."

I didn't have a bit of faith in her words. If Jimin or Lia had been in my place, they would have been on a shopping spree for amulets and shamans; their belief in the afterlife was absurdly high.

Before I turned the last card, Seoyun took my hand. She looked me in the eyes seriously and asked:

"Are you sure that you want to know what fate has meant for you, because sometimes it's hard to deal with it?"

"Yes, I do. I'd like to hear it." Isn't that the whole point of a fortune telling?

It's just a deck of cards and some vague words from a pseudo fortune-teller. What could possibly go wrong?

When Miss Kim turned over the last card, her face went pale, and she let the palm of her hand slip out of hers as if it had been burned.

"Go away." sounded like undisguised horror in Seoyun's voice. "Leave immediately. JaYoung, accompany her to the exit, now." She turned away from me, clutching the card in her hand.

I never had a chance to have a look at what was on it.

"What is going on? Why are you kickin' us outta here? What did you see on that card? "In complete disregard for my questions, Miss Kim hurried to the office door, hiding behind the curtains.

Just then, JaYoung and Jimin came out of the other room with a small black box tied with a gold ribbon. It must have been a parcel for Taehyung to take.

"Nabi, are you all right?" Jimin asked me in a worried tone.

No, it wasn't all right; the lady looked at me as if I were one of the bad omens of the biblical coming.

What was it about this card that was able to frighten her to such an extent?

"JaYoung, take her to the exit and close the boutique; we will not be working any more today."

I grabbed the woman's hand before she could turn the doorknob and disappear into the darkness of the room.

"What's the meaning of the last card? Tell me; I'm not going to leave here until you tell me."

"Death is closer to you than you think. It's already on its way to you." Her whole body began to shivered as if it were cold, but the shop was warm. I would say stuffy.

"Who's comin'? What are you talkin' about?" I insisted on it.

Seoyun suddenly turned to me and pushed a crumpled tarot card into my hand. There was There was madness in her dark eyes, and her pupils were so dilated that they were almost the thick green of her iris.

"The Devil."

After that, she practically pushed me to the exit, where I met a worried and confused Jimin. We came out of the boutique, and the door behind us clicked in a characteristic way.

This was not how I had imagined a trip to Paradigm.

"What the hell just happened?"

"You'll believe me when I say I have no idea." Jimin and I looked at each other.

"Next time Taehyung will pick up his stupid packages themselves, I will not go to places like that again. Nabi, I saw someone's canned heart in a jar and bat carcasses. Did you know they have such tiny, sharp teeth? I could swear that I've never seen anything so disgusting in all my life." He said.

"No more occult boutiques, I totally agree with you. Let's go home, I still have to send the paperwork over to Jun."

"I must have something to drink first, and the stronger the better. Let's go to 'Salvatore' and then go home."

I took one last look at the sign, which was now shimmering faintly in the setting sun. I crumpled the card into a small ball and threw it in the rubbish bin next to me.

The Devil, of course. I'm not going to believe the words of this crazy fortune teller. Maybe I should scatter the salt at the entrance, or then he will suddenly knock on my door.

Two hours later, after a big margarita for two and a few glasses of red wine, Jimin took me home, and I was in the same position as before the whole stupid trip to Paradigm.

Sitting on my bed, hypnotised by a dark purple envelope with documents from Yeonjun. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

Instead of pulling a millimeter at a time, I need to learn how to rip off a plaster in one move. Maybe deep down I'm a masochist if I prefer this method, but right now I don't have the time to sort out my hidden sexual desires.

I picked up the envelope; it was surprisingly heavy and pleasantly soft to the touch. The paper had a pleasant odor of powder and velvet, a reminder of the Victorian era in England. Unrequited love letters must have smelled like that.

The envelope was sealed by a wax seal with a monogram cast in an antique shade of gold. When I opened it, the thin wax cracked under my fingers, leaving a glistening particle on them. Inside were a number of documents tied together: a non-disclosure agreement, a handwritten note, and a velour jewellery bag bound with silk ribbons and embroidered with opals and sapphires. I'm sure this little thing was worth twice what I'd been paid in six months, and what lay inside cost much more.

My first choice was a piece of paper. Yeonjun had always written in an incredibly beautiful way - calligraphed, like a fountain pen, with little curls at the end of the letters.

"My lovely Nabi, I look forward to seeing you this Saturday. I am so glad that you have agreed to take me up on my offer. A treasure like you deserves the best in the world, and I'm overjoyed to give it to you. In case you change your mind and decide to back out of your contract with ”Crescent,” I will be the one to pay all of your bills and your tuition fees in the future. We have already discussed this with Jimin. Despite your stubborn refusal to accept any financial help from us, I will do it anyway."

Sometimes I think that all of my friends have a sugar daddy complex; their desperate desire to pay for everything in my life is taken to the extreme. Of course, if you grew up with a "golden spoon" in your mouth, a few thousand dollars, it was absolutely nothing. But for me, it was an exorbitant burden, and yet I wanted to handle it myself.

As dubious as it sounds, I didn't want to say no.

"There's a confidentiality agreement in the envelope, and you need to sign it until tomorrow night. Your session is scheduled for Saturday night. We have to be at ”Crescent” by 23:00, after which Seulgi, the main administrator, will pick up a perfectly compatible client for you to donate blood. Before you meet her, I want to make sure that all the paperwork is in order. There are also two versions of the contract that you should have a look at.”

The ”Crescent” allows donors to choose whether they want to work with them for a year or for one night. Accordingly, there are two types of contracts: annual and one-off.

”I've picked out an outfit for you to wear when we go to ”Crescent”; it'll arrive on Friday with everything you need. You'll look gorgeous, and I'm sure you'll thank me afterwards. Personally, I think you could do with showing a little more of your skin and accentuating the sexy lines of your body. For my taste, you're too modest.”

I squeezed my eyes shut in annoyance. If my buttocks weren't pressed up against the skirt and my breasts weren't protruding, I'd certainly be too modest. The more skin on display, the better. Jun's preference was something I was well aware of. A nice outfit was to be forgotten, and if my underwear was even a little bit covered, I would consider myself lucky. I was sure there would be no thanks on my part.

"The club's owners give all new donors a thank-you gift. It's inside an envelope. Accept it with all sincerity, because you are giving them your life's resources, and this is the least they can do for you. It is also their request that you wear it on your arrival at the “Crescent.”

My dear Nabi, it will be a night you'll never forget. I can assure you of that.

All my love, Yeonjun. "

I was very excited about the prospect of Saturday night. There was a feeling that there was some hidden meaning in the whole situation that I was missing out on. My brain was sending me distress and danger signals, just like Yeonjun. Be careful. The storm is coming.

In any case, sometimes it is better to be at ease and just go with the flow. Like Jimin said, I should be less dramatic.

I signed the NDA contract right away. I'll definitely forget it if I don't do it now. Checking Yeonjun's words against the remaining documents in the envelope, there were two versions of the contract: a one-off and an annual one. I decided to save the gift from the owners of the 'Crescent' for the very end. My first choice was the one-off contract. There were fewer pages, and it was clearer and easier to read.

The first item on the contract was the NDA. There was a long explanation of why it was so important and necessary.

"All "Crescent" clients are people of high social status and position. Their privacy is of the utmost priority to us. Especially with regard to their "special" conditions and specific needs, we want to guarantee our clients complete privacy. Each donor undertakes to sign a confidentiality agreement prior to the first session. Otherwise, the contract between the donor and our client will not be concluded." Guests of the club, hereinafter referred to as "donors," are obliged to keep confidential all the information obtained during personal meetings as well as everything that happens during the blood transfusion, hereinafter referred to as "sessions."

Well, it sounded a bit strange, but I could understand why "Crescent" insisted on signing a contract of this kind. In today's world, it is difficult to keep things secret. And when you are dealing with powerful and wealthy people, it is even more difficult. Paparazzi lurk around every corner, and tabloids are ready to start a scandal with the slightest spark, especially in South Korea.

Who in their right mind would want to survive the criticism, the judgment, and the airing of dirty laundry?

The donor's responsibilities and the client's expectations were the next point in the contract.

In short, you become an exclusive blood donor for one or more clients of the club after signing the contract. This is what Yeonjun told me as well. This form of contract required a single "session."

They didn't give any details, just that the service was linked to a certain type of genetics in their clients and was urgently needed. They did not say how the transfusion process would take place.

"The donor agrees to give their blood and receives financial compensation from the club after a successful procedure. The whole process is strictly controlled by "Crescent" staff. They also act as intermediaries between the donor and the client. Their job is to carry out a compatibility test that will guarantee a better result in the transfusion."

Point three is called "testing for compatibility."

Each donor was tested for compatibility before the "session," and the club administrators—as I learned from Yeonjun's note, my administrator's name is Seulgi—took a blood sample and compared it with the most suitable partner or partners. It was not only the blood that was important, but the members of the club also had a long list of preferences and wishes that the donor had to match. Looks were not the least of these. Height, weight, hair colour, body type, nationality, and age—the list seemed endless. There was even a clause about the type of voice and the food preferences of the donor. Let's just say: "Crescent" customers were very spoiled and had a personal view of the blood donation process. Partner - It sounded a little too intimate to me for this kind of situation, and it clearly had a double meaning.

The most pleasant of all—financial compensation—was point number four.

"For voluntarily donating their life resources, all donors receive financial compensation from "Crescent," ranging from $1,000 to $3,000. The amount paid varies according to the amount of blood donated and the status of the client with whom the donor was matched".

It was a fabulous amount of money. It was a very quick income, but it wasn't that easy. I felt it in my gut. The work was flawless; there was just no such thing.

I've reached the last point in the contract - the completion of the agreement.

Here are the details of the beginning and end of the 'session', how the money was paid, how the donors returned home, and other details. The start of each 'session' was exactly midnight, but the donor had to be at the club two hours before for preparation. The 'session' ended at 8am the next day. In general, the whole process took up to eight hours. The transfusion took place in private rooms, the doors of which were locked from the beginning to the end of the "session." Inside the rooms, there was a "panic button" in case of unforeseen situations.

The transfusion process itself is only revealed on arrival at the "Crescent," as the paragraph indicates: "is not standard." The donors were taken home by the club staff at the end of the "session." If there was a request from the client for the donor to be taken home in person, there was no objection to this.

And that's all. The one-off contract was over. A few thousand dollars have been added to your bank account.

I won't lie, it sounded fabulous. But there was a lot that made me feel confused and want to know.

Some of the clauses in the contract left me scratching my head with their veiled meaning and ambiguous choice of words.

So I moved on to the second version of the contract - the one for the year.With lots of footnotes and sub-paragraphs, it was twice as long.

It had the same beginnings: the NDA agreement, the donation, and the compatibility test, but then everything changed dramatically.

Gone was the faceless "client." In its place came the "patron." Now it sounded as if there was a contract between the patron and the donor. In addition to this new word, there were also new points to be included in the contract.

Medical care, diet, sports with a private trainer, spa treatments, and even specific items such as painting, dancing, and music lessons. From the signing of the annual contract, which included renting accommodation, paying bills and school fees, giving gifts, traveling, and so on, the patrons were fully responsible for the welfare and comfort of their exclusive donor.

They promised to keep the donor happy and satisfied and to see to whatever needed to get done. It was now that the ambiguity of the word 'partner' began to make sense to me. In this contract, it was clearly stated that the business relationship could continue between the sheets.

"The sexual or romantic relationship between the donor and the patron is their personal affair and is welcome if both parties are interested in and attracted to each other. All intimate details, including details of the sexual act, remain strictly confidential between donor and client. A list of the sexual practices as well as the permissible kinks will be discussed in advance. The donor is entitled to determine the acceptable boundaries of sexual contact, its intensity, and the degree of emotional "subspace" involved. A stop word is chosen in advance, or the clients can always use the color system: green - yellow - red.

Donors have the right to appeal to the management of the club if, at any time, their rights have been violated and they have been subjected to emotional, physical, or sexual coercion. The owners of "Crescent" have an obligation to provide the donor with a safe place and appropriate specialists for the assessment of the donor's condition. The contract is suspended. Further details are awaited. The issue can be resolved peacefully. In the worst case, the contract will be terminated immediately, and the donor will be compensated for a period of five years." That was certainly not my expectation. I will have to ask Yeonjun if he has any knowledge of such cases, if they have happened, or if anyone has ever had an early termination of a contract.

In addition, it was stated that such a relationship was not obligatory and that if the donor did not want to have sexual relations with the patron, he could refuse, and the patron would have no insistence.

But I don't think many donors would refuse, considering that even Jimin, who is dating an absolutely perfect and insanely attractive man named Taehyung, talked about the beauty of “Crescent's“ clients. It's a very tempting offer, even though it sounds like a twisted version of sugar daddy with a bloody kink.

There have also been some changes to the point about the financial compensation. It is now a compulsory monthly allowance. Depending on the status of the patron, it could range from $30,000 to $90,000 a year. The more he or she could afford to pay, the higher the amount of the benefit. The money was divided into equal parts. It was paid over the duration of the contract. Always on the first Monday of the month.

I can't imagine that anyone would be willing to pay that kind of money for your blood. Obviously, for the members of the “Crescent“, this was an acute question, as the amount in the contract had several zeros.

One of the most important points in the contract was the exclusivity clause.

This was unacceptable for an annual contract, unlike a one-off contract, which allowed the donor to contract with different clients each time. To put it bluntly: Your blood belonged to the sponsor. In this respect, there were so many requirements and so many details written down that were important to the patron. In addition, the one-year contract was only available to donors who had knowledge of the club's clients or staff. Yeonjun was one of them. So I received two versions of the contract instead of one.

At the end, there was the same information about the terms and conditions of the 'meeting' and a few paragraphs about the expiry of the one-year contract.

Having read the contracts, I felt like we were in a strange combined version of 50 Shades of Gray and True Blood.

With a heavy sigh, I leaned back on the pillows, putting the papers to one side, and pressed my cheek against the fluffy, soft toy. It felt good against my skin, the soft purple velour. It was a weird variation on 'Princess of the Bumpy Space' from 'Adventure Time'. Minho had given it to me after another drunken debacle. How he came into possession of this toy is still a complete mystery to all of us.

I had a couple of thoughts about my options. On the one hand, I could make a one-off deal with them and then forget about what had happened the next morning. The amount they offered to compensate me would have been enough to make me feel good for a while, but certainly not enough to pay off all the debts and put some aside just in case.

On the other hand, there was a contract for one year with regular payments and various bonuses, but this also involved a mysterious and demanding patron. One year, and I can say goodbye to all the debts I owe. There was also the chance, without a boring, monotonous job in a bookshop, a tiny room in a student dormitory, or a permanent pit of debt, to see the world, enjoy art, and simply live and be happy.

All this was offered to me on a silver platter. But somehow I thought it was a deal with the devil rather than a blessing from an angel.

In that tempting sentence, there was too much 'but'.

All my thoughts had me on the verge of tears and screams at the same time.

I looked around my little room: dim, mousy grey painted walls; scattered notes and piles of textbooks on the table; picture frames; toys; piles of crumpled blankets on the floor; and a black Balmain velvet jacket that once belonged to Minho, but which he is absolutely certain makes me look better than him. In addition to my things, there were a few of Lia's dresses and Yeonjun's leather jacket, which he left me after one of our many meetings, in my wardrobe, which was tiny by Jimin and Minho's standards. The contrast between their clothes and mine was unbelievable - brand labels, monograms, and distinctive prints - all screaming about their high cost and inaccessibility. I could never have that kind of money, but I had the desire. I really wanted to have it.

This sense of accessibility was something I was curious about.

There was a thick twilight beyond the window. A scattering of purple light poured into the room, turning the whole room a mystical shade of purple. As it danced along the walls, the colour dripped down to the floor, making it look like dark purple water. You could see the first stars begin to appear in the rapidly darkening sky, their broken light sparking off a sapphire embroidered ribbon on a small jewellery bag. I had completely forgotten all about this so-called gift. The cobalt blue sapphires mirrored each other and looked like the eyes of a big cat. That's how I'd always imagined the eyes of a predator - shining in that mystical blue. I took the pouch in my hand and shook it lightly in an attempt to determine what was inside, but the contents did not make a sound.

The silk ribbon came undone with ease. I stared at the contents of the bag with unblinking eyes. Inside was a delicate ornament made of white gold. Thin lines were woven into a star shape. It was inlaid with sapphires and diamonds. It was mesmerizing to look at. Whoever made this necklace obviously put a great deal of love into it. The shape of the ornament itself was not standard; it was more like a guide star in the center of the compass.

I was reminded of what Miss Kim had said to me today as my fingers gently traced the pattern of the necklace.

"Follow the stars, and they will show you the way. A star is a bright omen."

Could it just be a coincidence that the piece of jewelry I was holding in my hand was nothing less than a guiding star?

Either way, I'll definitely be wearing it Saturday—not just because the owners asked me to, but because it is my wish. Perhaps this star will indeed show me the way, but one thing I was sure of was that it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I'd ever seen.

I thought I'd put the jewelry back in my bag and do some paperwork for Yeonjun. I've had enough mystical prophecies and rich patrons for one day, so I've left the contract selection for Saturday. I'm going to spend the evening resting and relaxing. I'll have a long, hot bath with butter and pink salt, which Jiminy brought me from Paris. I will read a book or listen to a meditation course and call upon my inner "I" to harmonise.

Meditation and soul-searching have become very popular with Lia lately. As a result, I have a whole bookshelf in my room that is dedicated to books of this kind and various CDs with meditation and breathing exercises. Last month, she even gave me a decorative fountain, which was supposed to be calming and relaxing but in fact made me feel more nervous and annoyed than soothed. I looked at the jewelry bag containing the necklace again after gathering all the documents.

"The star will show the way..."

And it's only now that I realise that I've never said my name, Miss Kim, and I don't know how she came to know it.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

For a moment, I thought that maybe her words weren't made up or lying, but rather a warning, but it was only for a second.

I decided not to give it much thought, shaking my head as if to drive the thought away. If it were a sign of my destiny, it'd be my meeting with her on Saturday. I looked out the window again. As if mocking me, the crescent moon shone brightly through the thick midnight clouds. One thing I was absolutely sure of: a visit to 'Сrescent' would change my life forever.

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hunterbunter3000 · 2 years ago

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OMG SWEETHEART GETTING THE GUYS WORKED UP😍 GET IT GIRLFRIEND

imagine she wears on the those dresses that have HIGH ass slits on both sides showing off her thighs and a sliver of her ass. just a peak yk..a little tease for later

WHHOOOOO

I mean it looks so beautiful on her. Hair in thick, long braids, pearls interwoven in the hair by delicate hands, with gold sparkly jewelry adorning on her skin. She looks like ethereal royalty, sultry makeup and hair. Lips glossy and plump with such a pretty color and nails dipped in gold.

And that dress...

It might as well be a second skin, with how sinful it looks on her. A black Spaghetti strapped body con dress with the deepest v-line they've ever seen. And when she walks, the splits show off her shiny, thick thighs and her long "Stairway to Heaven" legs-- fuckkkkkk

The clicks of her gold gladiator heels makes all of their fantasies want to come true. "Alright, boys! How do I look?" She asks with a smile as she pivots her back towards them. Oh hell, you can see some of her ass-- who the fuck made this dress?

Gaz inhales deeply and Alex bites his fist. Soap has drool coming out of his mouth while Ghost is hiding his crotch behind a pillow. "You look absolutely gorgeous, princess." Price tells her with a low voice, his crossed arms straining against his chest. "Strahlend..." König whispers to himself. "Good." Horangi flats out. He mechanically gives her a thumbs up, not noticing the blood trickling out of his mask. "Good, good. Very good style."

Sweetheart giggles, collecting her purse. "Awww, thanks guys! I'll see you later, okay?" As she was turning around, she drops her wallet on the floor. She mumbles a curse under her breath and bends down to retrieve it.

I mean, good lord. They can only take so much.

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tastesoftamriel · 1 year ago

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Talviel's Tamrielic Anniversary Banquet

In lieu of an updated jubilee cake for the 30 year TES/10 year ESO anniversary, here's a banquet menu fit for the nobility of Tamriel! Dig in!

Summerset

Soft Indrik cheese and caramelised onion and pear chutney vol-au-vents, with sundried tomatoes

Auridon Blue Monkfish, poached in Russafeld Heights chardonnay

Shimmerene cherry blossom snowskin mooncake, with an apricot mousse and lemon crème filling

Black Marsh

Crocodile dumplings, with a spicy peanut and sweet saltrice dipping sauce

Stormhold jerk kagouti haunch, with guar fat vegetable fried rice

"Kueh cendol" chewy tapioca rice cakes, with dark palm sugar and coconut milk and jelly layers. A Black Marsh specialty!

Valenwood

Wild venison Greenshade carpaccio, with whipped bacon-honey butter

Stone-baked timber mammoth tail, slow roasted for 48 hours with a honey and mammoth butter glaze

Frozen honeyed "bingsoo" yoghurt, with sweetgnats, candied bacon, and deep fried lard bits, drizzled with sweet condensed milk

High Rock

Alcaire smoked pea soup, with bacon lardons and fresh garden herbs

Flambéed foie gras à la Shornhelm, with a blood orange and goose fat reduction

Gorapple tarte tatin, with golden butterscotch sauce and Bantha vanilla bean ice cream

Morrowind

Smoked kwama egg yolk carbonara, with scrib bacon

Spicy Ashlander-style shalk and ash yam stew, served in a shalk carapace

"Baked Vvardenfell" guar milk ice cream and kwama meringue cake, flavoured with comberries and gold kanet flowers

Elsweyr

Old Anequina jerboa and "lap cheong" sausage pie, with a saffron rice and an ale-and-moon sugar gravy

Terror bird egg "foo yong hai" omelette, with an array of Pellitine seafood and a bhut jolokia moon sugar caramel dipping sauce

Frozen samar pekoe tea custard, with hot moon sugar fudge

Cyrodiil

Bruma barley soup, with homemade herbed sourdough foccacia

Barbecued Blackwood cavy, basted with a rich Surilie Brothers port and habanero barbecue sauce

Abecean sea salt, dark chocolate, and Cyrodiilic olive oil ice cream, with wild strawberry coulis

Skyrim

Markarth goat cheese and pine nut crème tartlets, with smoked juniper salt

Lake Honrich salmon steak, hot smoked over maple wood with Goldenglow honey, served with dill remoulade

Snowberry panna cotta, with spiced Whiterun apple-akevitt compote

Wrothgar

Echatere Gruyère and rosemary mini soufflés, with smoked Vorkhiposh roe

Echalette steak, served medium-rare, in a ginger wine jus

Kurog's wild berry chocolate gateaux, with whipped echatere cream and drenched in wrathberry brandy

Hammerfell

Port Hunding roasted red pepper and harissa hummus, with spiced lentil flatbreads

Spicy Alik'r giant snake tikka, with mint yoghurt dipping sauce and pickles

Coconut and medjool date kulfi, with a slice of rosewater and pistachio baklava

#the elder scrolls #tes #food #Menu #fantasy #Fantasy menu #skyrim #cooking #Morrowind #Oblivion

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lord-amaranth-12 · 2 years ago

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(Almost) every food/drink etc. mentioned in obey me nightbringer and shall we date

Notes:

I'll update with links to the sources soon just bare with me. Also please tell if the link arent working

Update: ill stop linking stuff for now

Update: i alphabetized everything (using https://onlinetoolz.net/alphabetical-order) and removed the ingredients for potions cause i will be moving it to another list. I also edited the layout abit to make it more readable

Update: ill start linking stuff now, have to get all out of my storage and posted here before i get full storage again

• Abyss crimson bee honey

• Abyss crimson wasp honey

• Alla death cream

• Artic butterfly scales

• Ash fall chocolate brownies

• Assam

• Backstabbing sandwich

• Barely cooked black tapir steak

• Bat leaves

• Bavarian cream

• Bell peppers

• Black cloud chocolate gâteau

• Black coffee of melancholy

• Black shark flavored gummies

• Black tapir casserole

• Bloody marmalade

• Bloody rice omelets

• Bloody soda

• blood-red velvet cupcakes

• BLT devil sandwich

• Blue rose crystal pickles

• Blue rose petals candied in crystal syrup

• Bufo egg milk tea

• Bufo egg milk tea hell poison honey flavored

• Bufo toad

• Bufo toad sushi

• Bulbul bird eggs

• Butter pancakes

• Castella

• Cat cookies

• Colossal jumbo surprise parfait

• Comfort candy

• Crazy ghoul hamburger

• Crimson bonito flake

• Crimson bonito flake dressing

• Crimson dogwood

• Crimson tea

• Crispy chicken nugget LXXXIII

• Crushed millefeuille

• Dark star fruit sandwich

• Death maggot sauce

• Death mask bat chips

• Deaths door sauce

• Deep-fried devil zebra skewers

• Demi-glace sause

• Demon salmon

• Demonic Sausage

• demon silk moth-flavored gummies

• Demonkiller remora

• Demonkiller remora sauté

• Demonus-infused chocolate

• Demon-luring seaweed salt kalbi chips

• Devil cabbage

• Devil cacao bean

• Devil canelé

• Devil chocolate

• Devil chocolate canelé

• Devil duck confit

• Devil flower fruit trifle

• Devil ham

• Devil lohas milk tea

• Devil moray sushi

• Devil salmon meunière sandwiches

• Devil salmon rolled sushi

• Devil salmon terrine

• Devil zebra bacon

• Devil zebra meat sushi

• Devilbee popcorn

• Devildom gummy Horror house flavored

• Devildom-style boneless pararucu

• Devildom-style vampire bat sandwich

• Devils soft serve

• Dragons mark pie crust

• Dreamfeather cookies

• Dreamfeather meringue cookies

• Dried bufo egg

• Earl grey cookies

• Eternal night herbal tea

• Family pack sushi

• Fish meunière

• flaming hot mushrooms

• Flaming toad

• Fluffy egg pancakes

• Fluorescent rich yogurt

• fried devil chicken

• Fruit of wisdom jelly

• Galaxy burger

• Galaxy fries

• Garlic anchovy dip

• Giant shadow sea cucumber cream pasta

• Glazed Shadow chestnut

• gold demonus

• Gold hellfire newt syrup

• grilled vampire bat

• Hamburger gummies

• Hamburger stake

• Hamburger steak

• Haunted hamburgers

• Havoc devil

• Havoc devil ribs

• Hawthorn berry powder

• Hell demon salmon

• Hell pudding

• Hell velvet parfait

• Hellfire chocolate pie

• hellfire curry rice

• Hellfire mushroom rooled cigar

• Hellfire mushrooms

• Hellfire rose

• Hells kitchen hamburger combo

• Heros herbal tea

• Horror's horror cheesecake

• Hunter sandwich

• Instant noodles (hell-sauce flavor)

• Juicy shadow hog rice bowl

• King-sized fried devil chicken

• King-sized hellfire curry rice

• King-sized poison bleu cheese hamburger

• King-sized shadow hog ramen

• Laughingshroom powder

• Little devils white sauce

• Madam scream's super sweet scones

• Magma butter

• Magma butter pasta

• Magma butter scone

• Mandragora powder

• Marinated bufo toad

• Melted cheese

• Mimic latte

• Mint chocolate chip

• Mont blanc

• Nightshade cream

• Ocean of cloud cake-parfait

• Ocean of Clouds cake

• Ordeal orange fondae

• paradise blue

• Pasta alla death cream

• Pickled vampire bat

• poison bleu cheese hamburger

• Poison strawberry

• Poison veggie juice box

• Poison viper worm al ajiilo

• Poison worm sauce

• Poisonous cheese burgers

• Poisonous cheesecake

• Poisonous marsh pudding

• Princess poison apple

• Promised glory donut (?)

• Purgatory mustard

• Quattro Hungry Pizza

• Quetzalcoatl brains

• Quetzalcoatl brains soup

• Rainbow paw print chocolate

• Red riding hood sandwich

• RedxRed apple pie

• Region exclusive Devildom gummy

• RIP burger

• Ruby chocolate éclair

• Sabbat salad

• Salted hell rose petals

• Salt-grilled black goat bat

• Scorpion syrup

• Shadow caramel

• Shadow chestnut

• Shadow chestnut paste

• Shadow chocolate

• Shadow chocolate brownies

• Shadow hof stir fry in demi-glance sauce

• Shadow hog

• Shadow hog buns

• Shadow hog dumplings

• shadow hog ramen

• Shadow hog soup

• Shadow hog steamed bun

• Shadow hog stir fry

• Shadow pork ragu pasta

• Shadow tuna sashimi

• Silver birch sap

• Simeons special BLT devil sandwiches

• Siren bench caviar

• Smoked cocktraice glizzard

• Smoky black loco moco

• Spicy rainbow pizza

• spiderweb powder

• Sponge cake

• Stardust soda

• Starry-sky waffle

• Stonefish Meunière

• Strawberry shortcake

• Super-sized limited-edition beef

• Sweet and salty canned kraken assortment

• Sweet milk tea

• Sweet tears donut

• thick-cut giant devildom slug sauté

• Thunder sparkle flavored gummies

• Toe bean stamp salad

• Troll coffee

• Ultra D

• Unhappy Mega Combo

• Vampire bat

• Venti brashberry frappuccino with double whipped cream and extra berry powder

• Whole roast shadow hog

• Wicked cupcake

Not in devildom

• Camping meal (Witch camp)

• Cursed goat cheese tartar sandwich (TSL)

• Ema datshi (human world)

• Ginger ale (human world)

• Hamburger (mama's cooking) (levis animes)

• Herbal tea (celestial realm)

• Huckleberry (human world)

• Hyper chili dog (human world)

• Japanese giant salamander (human world)

• Mapo tofu (human world)

• Tornado tomato (human world)

• White mochi balls in syrup (march comes in like a Panda)

Unnamed

• Barbatos's homemade cake

• Barbatos's homemade pudding

• Celestial tea

• Demon lords castle edition premium demonus

• Demonus with scorpion syrup and spiderweb powder

• Devilcats favorite food

• Leviathans homemade granola

• Lobster

• marshmallow

• Moryo Town's special demonus

• multi colored Jelly

• Popcorn Deaths door flavored

• Popcorn lava salt flavored

• Popcorn magma butter flavored

• Popcorn Tree sap caramel flavored

• Pudding from devilmart

• Ramen infernal bahamit flavor

• Rare flower used in baking as a sweetener

• Really big chocolate bar

• Really big chocolate coin

• Salad from Sound Off, Symphony! Summer band camp storyline

• Sheep cake

• Star-shaped chocolate

• Sun and moon cookies by simeon

Characters

• "Little cake thingies"

???

• Chocolate mold

• Devildom miso

• Egg berry whole mil

• Marinated bufo toad

• Marzipan

• Meunièr

• Newt

• Surströmming

#when your so bored at school to the point you ho through your obey screenshots and list down every food mentioned in them #obey me #obey me shall we date?#obey me nightbringer #omswd #obey me food

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lady-iskra · 4 months ago

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My ZK fic passage for Valentine's Day (dream sequence)

(Thanks to skywalkerbc for making your amazing art freely available as a GIF)

Bent on Blood (9957 words) by LadyIskra Chapters: 4/? Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender (Cartoon 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Katara was wrapped in a dress sewn from moonlight and shimmering stars, the top half of her dark locks styled in an updo while the bottom half fell across her bare back.

Her whole environment was dipped in the red moon’s light—just as it had been right after Zhao killed the moon spirit—and the pond Katara was led to looked just like the one of the Spirit Oasis in Agna Qel’a… Someone waited beyond it in front of the spirit gate—a blurry silhouette staring in her direction.

With slow, even steps Katara reached the pond, stepping deeper and deeper inside and stopping in the center, where the water enclosed her up to the hips.

“Well, look who’s here…,” the silhouette buzzed slowly.

Katara knew this voice, rough from age. Never would she forget it. “Hama,” she whispered at the same moment as the silhouette turned into a clear shape, strands of white hair hung over the face marked by wrinkles.

Hama let out a loud and short laugh, the sound running through Katara’s bones.

“So, you made use of what I’ve taught you—and yet you learned nothing. Too bad… you had the potential to become a true master.”

Before Katara could retort she felt the water thicken, and the red of the moon mixed with the deeper red of the blood pond she was now standing in.

Hama rose in the air, throwing her arms wide open while they were surrounded by screams of agony and the cracking of a hundred bones. Mutilated bodies suddenly spread over the whole oasis.

Katara repressed the panic building up in her, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and aimed her hands at Hama with thick blood dripping from her fingertips.

The screaming stopped as suddenly as it had come, and the pond’s consistency thinned again. As Katara opened her eyes she noticed that the red moon was also gone, along with Hama and the corpses. She stood in clear spirit water on a lush island, the koi embodiments of Tui and La circled each other around her. The oasis was a peaceful place again.

As she turned to leave the pond, a hand reached out to her. Katara looked up, and her gaze met the piercing gold of Zuko’s, thin strands of loose hair hanging in his face. She let him lead her out of the pond, her cold palm pressed against his pleasantly warm one.

Zuko wore an open pitch-black silk robe stitched with golden sun patterns along the hems. His light-beige skin was interrupted by the star-shaped scar in the center of his bare, muscular chest. The one he received by saving Katara’s life, ready to sacrifice his own when he jumped in front of Azula’s lightning bolt without hesitation.

Katara drew closer to him, her hand, which she laid on the shiny smooth spot now barely fitting in between them. She shivered, a tingling sensation running through her body, as Zuko’s rough fingers traced down her spine, and their eyes fixed on each other. The tip of her nose touched his chin when Zuko sank his head while Katara lifted hers—and then their lips finally met. Katara let out a muffled moan as Zuko pressed her body against his, her fingers buried in his hair.

And so the moon and the sun, circling one another from afar in a millennia-long dance, finally found each other where the spirit- and the mortal worlds collided.

Summary: Was it bloodbending that killed the guards when Azula fled from the Fire Nation with a waterbender? As Aang and the others set out to find the princess, Katara offers to help Fire Lord Zuko with the investigation. The extinguished friendship between Katara and Zuko rekindles—and with it deeper, long-repressed feelings resurface. Feelings that Katara won’t allow herself to give in to while she’s still trying to save her relationship with the Avatar in which she has lost herself. Preventing Azula from rallying her followers is more important now anyway—before war threatens to break out again.

Chapter 5 and 6 coming soon

#zutara #zutara fanfic #zutara fanfiction #zkvday #zuko x katara #valentine's day #happy valentine's day

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atinylittlepain · 2 years ago

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Only Lovers Left Alive

cowboy!vampire!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

warnings 18+ smut, blood, murder, studio 54, this bad boy has gawt it allllll honey

a/n | this one is from the VAULT lol. i wrote this back in june and never posted it, and now it's spooky season, so here you go, my beloved vamps. it's camp okay? we're going for camp here. ALSO, bonus points if you can guess what song vampaw (joel) is talking about hehehe

...........................................

“Wake up, baby.”

“Mmph.”

“The sun is almost down and I’m thirsty. Come on, Joel.” When he still doesn’t stir, only letting out another petulant huff, the kisses she had been leaving along his bare shoulder blades halt, teeth sinking into skin, her jaw closing just enough to make him grumble.

“Not very nice, darlin. Was having a good dream. We were back in California. You were wearing one of those sweet dresses you always had on.” He cranes his head over his shoulder, cheek still smushed into his silk pillowcase, one eye crinkling open, seeking out a kiss that she is happy to provide.

“Those sweet dresses are about sixty years out of style, my love. Are you saying you don’t like the way I dress now?” With another grumble, he finally twists around to sit up in bed, squinting in the dim light as his eyes roam over her body, sequined and slinking.

“I like you all the time. You know that, huh?” Even after all this time, his palm slipping along her cheek can still set her stomach flipping, the only one he softens his snarl for.

“I know. So get dressed for me. While the night is still young and the people haven’t flooded themselves with too much liquor yet.”

If ever there was a decade for her man, she’d think it’d be the seventies with how good he wears it. Cream-colored suit and a black silk shirt that could hardly be called a button-up with the way he wears it, dripping gold chains laid pretty and perfect over the tan plains of his chest. Faded orange aviators to dull the sting of all the Manhattan neon when they step out into the night, his arm slung heavy around her waist as they throng through the sweltering summer crowds.

That’s the other thing, as the years have passed by it seems that people have started showing more and more skin. Bare shoulders and sternums, shimmering with sweat in the close, hot night. It’s enough to make a girl’s mouth water. But they aren’t the kind to dine out, at least not these days, not when it’s so much more fun to do it like this.

She can feel the bass in her hips all the way down the block, eyes drooping in pure pleasure when she catches sight of the familiar flickering sign of Studio 54. A dance they have down by now, slinking right past the line of people waiting to get in, a quick bat of her lashes loosening that velvet rope for both of them to step inside the pulsing rhythm and light of the club.

Already a little bounce in her heels, bobbing her head side to side, her lips pulling back in a sharp grin, she presses her palm in the middle of Joel’s chest, though he’s unmoving, unimpressed in the close crowd, sunglasses sliding down his nose to look at her.

“Please, Joel.”

“You go on. Gonna get a drink first.” Whiskey neat. Beneath it all, still her cowboy.

“Oh fine, you’re no fun though. What’re you in the mood for tonight, baby?”

“Something lean. Swear I could taste the heart attack on that one last night.” Teeth, all teeth, technicolor in the flashing lights. A quick slip, his tongue licking into her mouth just once before he’s shouldering off toward the bar, leaving her to it.

She wastes no time, slipping through the crowd to the middle of the dancefloor, the pumping beat rolling her shoulders back, swaying her hips in an easy spin as she stretches out. She knows all the beats to hit by now. Arching her neck just so, one arm extending out before slipping her palm from her sternum down to her pelvis, her hips dipping back in time with the thrumming music. Side to side, eyes fluttered shut, she can already feel the pull of someone coming closer. Brunette, tall, all sharp lines and glittery eye makeup.

Early in their time here, they had to set some ground rules. Never anyone famous, not after she nearly drained Elton John before Joel stopped her when he realized who the man was. Low profile. The nobodies, the hanger-ons, the ones they could slip out with and not a soul would notice. And this girl sliding up behind her fits the bill perfectly.

Cherry red nails splay along her hips and she leans into it, tossing her head back on the girl’s shoulder, smiling big and bright. She doesn’t ask for her name because she doesn’t care, simply slipping her hand through the girl’s hair to guide her lips to hers. A quick flicker of her tongue, just a taste to see what she’s working with. Sweet, sweet, sweet.

No words, not over the rolling bass and dizzying lights, just her hips molding and moving with this girl’s, spinning around to slip her arms over her bare shoulders. She catches his eyes through the crowd over the rims of those damn sunglasses of his, shooting him a slanted grin and a small nod, an invitation that she knows he won’t take just yet. Joel likes to watch, something else she’s learned over the years. Nursing a glittering glass of something dark and strong as she continues to sway and dip against the girl. But the moment the dizzying synth of I Feel Love starts flooding through the club, she knows it’ll be time for dinner real soon. Because for as much as he rails against disco music and its sugary-sweetness, Joel Miller has to admit that Donna Summer makes a mean record.

She feels him before she sees him, a wide palm slinking around her waist to splay over her stomach, pressing up behind her even as she keeps her arms slung behind the girl’s neck.

“Is he with you?” Barely heard over the driving music, she just smiles and nods, leaning in to let her lips graze her ear.

“Do you wanna come have some more fun with us? Somewhere a little more private?” It’s almost too easy. She’d be bored with it if she wasn’t so thirsty, smacking her lips as they trail out of the club, her arm slung around the girl’s waist, her other hand held in Joel’s as they traipse through the swirling, blinking city streets.

“He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

“Don’t worry about him, baby. I promise he’s lots of fun, you’ll see.”

Their other ground rule. No alleys, no backs of bars or cars, never in public, always at home, wherever that might be. Easier, simpler, cleaner. The world has gotten more complicated, and they’ve had to change with it.

She lets Joel lead them up the two flights to their apartment, all the while stumbling in between stolen kisses and squeezes with the girl whose name she still doesn’t know, and probably won’t ever know. Another lesson learned, while fear tastes good, whatever this is, this want, this lust, goes down even sweeter.

Joel doesn’t like to touch though, instead sitting down in the leather armchair facing the bed, legs splayed wide and a palm rubbing at his scruff as she and the girl crawl onto the mattress, the slip of silk against skin, swallowing down her sighs. She kneels behind her, her hand skating up her front to curl around her throat, holding her spine in a perfect arch, on display for her lover.

“What do you think?” The tilt of his head, elbows coming to rest on his thighs, gold chains dangling and dazzling on his neck. And teeth, all teeth.

“This’ll do just fine, darlin.”

“Are you guys tripping out or something?” A little tug, just a touch unkind to the girl’s hair, lips to her ear, shushing her.

“Shh, baby. You wanna feel good, don’t you?” A kiss to her temple, just behind her ear, down over that dizzying pump just below her jaw, so much of it rushing all at once she feels herself get a little lightheaded when her tongue flickers out over that pulse. Her one hand still tangled up in her hair, holding her neck long and taut, her other palm gripping the swell of one of the girl’s breasts, feeling the rise and fall of her ribs between her fingers. That fluttering thing, that thing she can break and burst between her teeth.

Her eyes don’t leave his, steady and still as she mouths along the girl’s neck, finding that soft, trembling spot that makes her jaw ache. A broken gasp, the only sound the girl makes when her teeth finally sink in before that fluttering fizzles out.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Thank you, darlin. Always do so good for me.” Finally sliding his sunglasses off, he kneels down on the end of the bed, the body held between them as they both start to drink. Every last drop. Her mind swims in the sate, warmth rushing beneath her skin as she lets out a long sigh, already slumping back into the sheets while Joel hoists the body over his shoulder. She doesn’t know what he does with them, just that by the time he gets back with a soft click of their front door, a different need has settled in her bones.

“All good?” His hand slips along her ankle, kneading at the curve of her calf as he kneels at the end of the bed, eyes dragging along her body.

“Taken care of. Don’t worry yourself about it. You already handle the hard part.” The beaded material of her dress slips back, bunching around her hips as she spreads her legs for him to settle between her thighs, his slow crawl onto the bed ending with a kiss dropped to her lips.

“Hmm, I’m not worried. But I do need something else from you, baby.”

“Think I might know what you need.” He’s already slipping back down her body, tugging the straps of her dress off to let his teeth graze over her nipples. But before he can set her mind into a perfect haze, she reaches over to the nightstand to flick the needle of the record player into place. A chuckle thrums against her stomach where his mouth is resting when that familiar snare riff starts to crackle and pop.

“Don’t deny it. I know you like this song.” He hums low in his throat, his chin resting over her pelvis as his eyes glint up at her.

“Best invention in a while has to be the twelve inch. Can just let it play, don’t have to worry about catching the needle for a little while longer, and this song was made for it.” When she rolls her eyes at him, his teeth bite down over the jut of her hip, a quick pinch of pain that makes her huff.

“If you like it so much how come you never dance with me?”

“I like watching you too much. Watching everyone else watching you, knowing you’re all mine, even when you get all fresh with them.”

“Fresh, huh? Someone learned a new slang word it seems.” Another bite to the soft curve of her stomach, hard enough to make her yelp, though he’s quick to soothe the skin with his tongue.

“Just keeping up with the times, darlin. But if you really want a dance with me so bad, I suppose I could indulge you one of these nights.” That crooked grin of his makes her huff. He’s promised her a dance a few times now, and has yet to fulfill that wish. But before she can tell him off he’s already settling the heat of his mouth over her cunt, his tongue dragging a salacious stripe up before settling over her clit in a lazily circle.

He knows her body like his own at this point, coaxing pleasure out of her the way he knows she likes, a low hum in his throat as he dips his tongue down to fuck up into her, fingers digging into the swell of her ass to press her hips up closer to his mouth.

They don’t even have to speak, not anymore, just long mewling sighs rolling through her chest, her heel digging between his shoulder blades while he continues to lap at her cunt. But it never gets old, the way she furls up around him, that pleasure contracting and contracting until it all blows out and bursts, white hot and heaving. Only her fingers hooking in the chains around his neck finally drag his face away from her cunt, up and up until she can taste herself on his tongue.

“Always so sweet for me, huh? My angel gets sweeter every day.” She runs her fingers through his hair, taking a beat just to look at each other, the same man she fell for all those decades ago, that same sweetness in his eyes.

“You and me, Joel. Forever.”

“That’s right, darlin. Forever.” Another kiss, slower and more desperate as she shrugs his suit jacket off, fingers running quick through the few buttons of his shirt that are actually done up before she gets to work on his belt. But she doesn’t get far in her efforts when the catch of the needle startles both of them, Joel grabbing her wrist before she can reach to set it back to spin.

“We don’t need it, huh? Give that Summer woman a run for her money with the moans coming out of you.” He swallows up her laugh, his tongue twining with hers as he finally shrugs his pants down his legs. She’s only a little surprised to see he isn’t wearing underwear, a habit he picked up somewhere in Italy in the 30s.

“How does this damn dress come off?” He grumbles it out, hands grasping at her waist where the fabric has all bunched up and she has to laugh at the furrowed frustration in his face.

“There’s a zipper, here.” Joel huffs as she deftly undoes the zipper running up the side of her dress, pressing his face between her breasts and sighing.

“Fucking zippers. You know what I liked? Those corsets you used to wear with all the laces. That was easy to figure out.” She tugs at his hair, coaxing his face up so she can quirk her brow at him.

“Spoken like someone who never had to wear one.” He just grins, shimmying her dress down until she can toe it off and lay tangled up in each other’s bareness. His cock rests against her thigh, flushed and heavy, the weight of it sending a pang of want up her spine.

“Do you want me, darlin? You still all mine?” It startles her sometimes, how sweet he can be, those dark brown eyes of his looking up at her through his lashes, glinting in the dim lamplight. Her man, the beast that lays down at her feet. She brings her palm to his cheek, lightly scratching at his stubble, his eyes fluttering shut with the sensation.

“You know I am. I always want you.” That sweetness snaps into a snarl when she coaxes him down for a kiss, her tongue slipping into his mouth and lapping up the last taste of their dinner, just a tinge left on his bottom lip.

Languid and smooth, he guides the tip of his cock through her aching cunt, both of them sighing when he starts to spread her open around him. Perfect pain simmering just beneath that shake of pleasure, his hips settling against hers, stuttering into stillness as they both settle into the stretch. His palm slides down the outside of her thigh, hooking behind her knee to draw her open for him, her calf resting in the crook of his elbow as he finally pulls back before rolling his hips forward in a languorous stroke that sends them rucking up the sheets. Push and pull, he moves them into a slow, strong rhythm, each thrust making her gasp as she drags her nails down his back.

“Always so perfect like this, ain’t you? Mine from the moment I met you.”

“Fuck yes. Make me feel so good. Yours, all yours.” It all slurs together, praise and pleas mingling with the slick sound of flesh meeting over and over again. Their mouths rest over each other’s, just close graze, open and receiving what the other provides, swallowing up sighs and moans and preening cries of each other’s names. Just like this, her favorite way to have him, blanketed by the broadness of his shoulders and those blown-out eyes of his, unwavering, a heady weight on her even when she scrunches her eyes shut. Though Joel doesn’t let that last long, a snarl with the sweet when his hand comes to her jaw, fingers pressing into her cheeks to get her to refocus.

“Eyes on me, darlin. That’s it. Fuck, you’re good, huh? So good for me.” His words come out a bit breathless, though his eyes stay steady on her, even as he sits back on his haunches, palms slipping under her ass to pull her hips up into his lap, fucking into her deeper, more desperate. It’s just over the edge of too much, her spine arching off the bed until only the wings of her shoulder blades are pressed into the mattress. Every muscle in her body snares taut and tight, her cunt spasming around him as she unravels, going sick with the pleasure as he settles his hips into a close grind. He’s never far behind, ready and willing to freefall alongside her, muscle curling until he’s hunched over her, his forehead pressed to her sternum as he snaps with a groan of her name.

He goes slack, slumping down against her, the solid weight of him making her sigh as she runs her nails up and down his back, both of them still coming down.

“You know, baby, we’ve still got a few hours before the sun comes up.”

“Mmph, not thirsty.”

“Not what I meant.” He lifts his head from where his cheek had been smushed against her sternum at that, brow furrowing at her.

“You owe me a dance. And I intend to get it before we have to leave this city.”

While she’s certainly all his, she knows that he’s all hers just the same, and that he couldn’t possibly say no to her, ever. And though it’s not without a few grumbles on his part, he’s back in his suit and sunglasses in no time, palms grabbing at the barely-there fabric of her dress as they slip back into the club. Except this time, she keeps her fingers circled around his wrist, tugging him out into the center of the pulsing dancefloor.

“Move pretty good for your age, baby.” He rolls his eyes, biting back a smile she can see twitching at the corners of his lips. But he’s quick to hide it, throwing her into a tight spin that makes her laugh, his arm snaking around her waist to pull her back against his chest, his lips pressed to the curve of her ear.

“Guess I better remind you just how good I can move, huh?”

He does, until they absolutely have to leave before the sun starts to creep out from behind the skyscrapers, slinking home in the haze of dawn and collapsing in a heap of tired limbs on their mattress.

Meanwhile, across town, a young woman is taking the subway with a sinking, sickening feeling in her stomach. She’s on her way to the police station. Her roommate said she was going to Studio 54 last night, and never came home, even though she knows she had an early morning shift at Macy’s. Maybe she’s overreacting, she thinks to herself. But the string of disappearances tied back to the club are hard to ignore, and something cold snickers up her spine when she thinks about her roommate stepping behind that velvet rope.

The officer she talks to is kind, taking the time to listen to her story, though he regretfully informs her that they don’t have a single lead on the disappearances, taking the picture of her roommate from her hands and tacking it onto a cork board alongside at least a dozen other faces.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, we’ll do our best to get to the bottom of it. Though I’ll admit this one has us scratching our heads. But in the meantime, my advice to you is to stay far away from that club. Whoever, or whatever is doing this, it seems like pure evil to me.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller story #joel miller series #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine

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elpida · 1 year ago

Note

Happy birthday Eden.

Wear this on a long dress with a very low cutout down to your navel. It will fit your eternal beauty and elegance.

[we all know Tommy is good with gifting jewelry especially when it’s about classic rubies.]

Edens fingers gently ran over the necklace, a ruby.. a vibrant, blood red ruby in the shape of a heart. It was beautiful, bright and get somehow it was still dainty. The gold was beautiful against the warmth of her skin. She read the note, her beauty... her elegance. Heavens she didn't even know that Tommy found her either of those things and elegant? Well nobody had ever called her elegant before.

She dug out what she considered her prettiest and well fitting to his description dress. It was black, silk, it wrapped around her body like flowing water, the sheen of it like the night sky and there, bright on It had a 'v' style necklace, but that dress hugged her beautifully, highlighted the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips. "Tommy?" she spoke softly, leaning her arm in his doorway, a hand on her hip. She wasn't the best flirt or even the best with confidence but either way, she looked beautiful in that moment.

"I just wanted to say thank you.." especially since, well... she'd been in captivity, owned.. you didn't get birthday presents or people even remembering your birthday in that situation. "I love it."

#eden interactions #PLEASE SHE'LL WEAR IT ALWAYS #eden&tommy

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shelbgrey · 2 years ago

Text

Eleazar denali(Glory of love)

Chapter 10: sweet dreams and sunny days

Table of contents

A/n: there's a slight smut warning at the beginning of this chapter. And the povs change a couple of times in this chapter.

“get on the desk.” Eleazar huffed as lifted her up on the desk he uses to grade homework. Their lips locked in a feverish kiss as her butt collided with the wood, the couple ignored the papers and books falling to the floor.

“God, your so beautiful” he said as he stood in between her thighs, she grabed the collar of his shirt pulling him in for a heated kiss.

All he could hear was her racing heart as her slim fingers quickly fell to his belt as he unbuttoned his shirt. He huffed in frustration and his shirt fell to the ground in shreds.

“Eli, I need you” she moaned as his cold hands hiked her skirt up to her waist. He teased her clit with his cock, brushing his tip through her slit. “are you sure Love?” he whispered.

She pulled him closer, desperate for his touch. “please”

He gave her one last kiss before burying himself deep inside of her with a hard thrust, making her cry out his name. Eleazar stared down at her like she was the only woman in the world, and in his eyes she was. He admired every part of her perfect body, the body he was now claiming as his own.

“Eli...” she cried out, the pleasure becoming overwhelming in the best way possible. He didn't still his hips as she grabed a fist full of his hair, pulling it in a way that made him groan against her lips.

“your mine” He whispers to her, licking a slow stripe from the bottom of her neck to the shell of her ear. She huffed and gripped his dark locks as his fangs gently scraped her neck.

“bite me” she moaned. With all logic gone, his teeth sunk into her neck making her moan out from pain a pleasure. Before the blood trickled down her breasts Eleazar licked the bite mark he left. She moaned pulling him for another kiss, his tongue tangled wirh hers making her tast her blood on his tongue.

He rested his forehead on hers, meeting her eyes -Her now gold eyes. He continued to trusted at unhman pace making the wood of his desk crack and split under pressure. She pulled at the roots of his hair making him groan. “y/n...”

“y/n, wake up darling” a soft voice said. I groaned and sunk lower into Eleazar's fluffy blanket, sheilding my eyes from the sunlight. The sun was unusually bright today dispite the blinds in the room being shut.

“five more minutes” I grumbled as reality hit that three minutes ago was only a dream.

I felt the bed dip from behind then soft kisses trailing down from the side of my forehead all the way down from a neck. They were soft an loving, nothing like the ones I received in the dream that left me blushing like crazy. His lips fell to the same spot on my neck from before and I let out a small whimper.

I rolled over to my back and stared up at Eleazar with tired eyes. “What time is it?” I asked taking his right arm where his watch was, 5:30. I gave him a dirty look and rolled over on my stomach.

“I never get up that early on a work day” I mumbled into his pillow. I felt my hair being moved to one side and he kissed my cheep softly. “in my defense you have a longer drive to work today”

“I can't go into work today, so get ready so I can drop you off” he said getting out of bed. I rolled over and watched him walked over to his desk and turn on the lamp. “why aren't you going into work?”

“it's sunny out” he said pointing towards the window. “when it's this bright out we can't go into town” he said.

I sat Indian style in the middle of his bed, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “I need some clothes though”

“Tayna is a step ahead of you” Eleazar said pointing to the pile of clothes on his trunk. I rolled out of his bed and headed towrds the bathroom with my change of clothes.

It was simple, a pale blue sun dress and a black Jean jacket. It's something I don't usually wear, but I knew it would be worse if Alice picked it out. It was actually cute so I wasn't too mad I was going to school in a dress against my will.

I quickly put my hair up and washed my face before exiting Eleazar's small bathroom. Eleazar was setting at his desk grading papers when I came out. He perked up at the sound of the creaking door.

“you look beautiful” he said as he grabed his car keys off his desk. We walked down stairs and into the living room. The girls and Edward where down there watching Tv. As we entered the room Edward's eyes widened as he looked at me. I immediately turned red and looked away from him when I remember he can read minds.

I quickly said my goodbyes and went to the garage so Eleazar could take me to work.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

When study hall came around Bella and her friends filed into my empty classroom to work on homework.

“what did you get on #5?” Angela asked scrubbing on her paper.

“Switzerland” Bella said looking at the window blankly.

Angela slowly looked up from her homework confused. “well that's odd since we're doing math”

I looked up from my desk and looked gave the group of teens a strange look. Bella looked away from the window. “sorry im just a little distracted today”

“yeah, discracted by Edward Cullen” Jessica said a little snapy. I raised an eyebrow at Jessica. Bella quickly shook her head trying not to hypervente.

“they're not here today Bella” I spoke up as graded last week's quize on The bride of Frankenstein.

“where are they?” Bella asked flipping through her notebook. “that's none of your business, Bella” I spoke quitely.

“what they just ditch?” Bella asked ignoring what I said just a minute ago.

“when ever the weather is nice Dr. Cullen and Mr. Denali pull them out of school for hiking and camping” Jessica said.

“I tired that on my parents, not even close” Jessica said closing her text book.

“Mr. Denali is gone too?” Bella asked looking up at me, I ignored her and continued grading. “I haven't had his class yet”

“yeah the sub sucks” Tyler said. “your saying that because your faling Spanish” Jessica added, Tyler just shrugged.

“Wait, aren't you taking Tayna Denali to prom?” Mike asked. Tyler smiled happily. Mike held out his hand for a high-five. “Score man!”

“yeah she's really sweet” Tyler smiled.

“Eric, who are you going with?” Mike asked. Eric smiled brightly and playfully nudged Angela who was hard at work.

“she asked me” he said. It made me smile at how happy he looked.

With jealousy in her eyes Jessica chimed into the conversation. “Angela, we should go shopping in Port Angeles before all the good dresses are cleaned out”

“Port Angeles?” Bella asked as the bell rung. “mind if I tag along?”

“yeah! I need your opinion” Angela smiled as they gathered up their things for lunch. The group of friends waved goodbye as they headed out.

“bye, guys” I smiled.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“can you take me to Port Angeles?” Bella asked. I looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was 3:30.

“right now?” I asked collecting all the papers I need to take home with me. Bella set her bag down and nodded.

“yeah, I said I'd go dress shopping with Angela and Jessica” she said rolling her eyes. I let out a chuckle as I filled up my backpack.

“you hate shopping” I said. Bella knew I was right, she sighed. “yeah, I need a get away driver too”

I snorted at her response, but still happy to be of service. I threw my bag over my shoulder and grabed my phone as it vibrated. “okay, but I need to find a dress too, I won't be too long beacuse I hate shopping as much as you do”

“are you and Mr. Denali chaperoning?” she asked as I closed the door behind us. I nodded but gave her a weird look.

“you can call him Eleazar outside of school, you know?” I said. Bella shrugged and started stuttering. “w-well I'm still getting u-used too the whole my Spanish teacher is dating my older sister”

I let out a laugh as we walked out of the school and into the sun. “point taken”

Bella threw me the keys to her truck and we drove off.

--------(Port Angeles)--------

The girls sorted through different dresses and threw them in different piles. As Angela and Jessica went through them like a couple of tornados, I looked at the more casual ones with darker colors. I finally found one, a plan black dress with lace

The dress fit my body nicely dispite it being a bit longer than it was supposed to be, I learned to deal with that being short and all. Anyway, I stood in the mirror of the dressing room for a bit to make sure it was appropriate to chaperone in, it was and felt good in it. It's been awhile since I really dressed up so it was nice.

I remembered the conversation I had with Eleazar, I told him I had to take Bella dress shopping and I had to fined one too. I quickly took a picture of me in it and sent the picture before going out of the dressing room to show Bella.

“what do you think of this one?” I asked posing in the dress. Bella looked up from her seat next to the window and nodded. “that's nice” she mumbled.

“so since you found a dress can we make up an excuse to leave?” Bella asked as she looked at the dressing room her two friends were in.

I sighed wanting to leave too. Her two friends then came out too, Angela in a purple one and Jessica in a pink one.

“that looks nice” Angela smiled at me. I thanked her and threw her a compliment as well. Jessica rolled her eyes as she adjusted the straps of the dress.

“what do you think?” she asked Bella. She slowly looked up and smiled at Jessica. “that looks good”

Jessica sighed. “your really not into this are you?” my sister shrugged, I knew she wasn't and really wasn't either. I knew it was time to get out of there.

Angela, still in her purple one, spung around checking out how the dress compliment her figure. Her movement came to hult when a group of guys knocked on the window and cat called them.

I frowned as Bella scooted away from the window. “Jack asses” I mumbled.

“creeps” Bella said moving next to me. I shook my head trying to forget it, I turned to Bella. “I'm gonna pay for this, you sure you don't want to get one?”

She nodded. “umm, I wanna go to this book store actually” it wasn't a lie, but it definitely gave us an excuse to leave.

I nodded as Bella turned to her friends. “We're gonna head to a book store down the street, we'll meet up at the restaurant”

They both nodded before going back into the Changing room. We payed for my dress and head towrds the book store. “there's a couple books I want to find too” I said as we walked down the dim street, it was starting to get dark now.

-------(Cullen residents, Eleazar's pov)-------

I loved sunny days. It wasn't by all means quite, but it was nice just to set around with everyone. Even if we were all doing different things it was nice to spend the day with no fights or pretending to be Humans.

I sat on the couch watching Grey's Anatomy with Tayna and Alice, it was their current obsession and it was better than watching Emmett get mad at Grand Theft Auto.

I didn't really understand the fascination the girls had with the show, being around Carlisle for centuries you find out the show was not accurate with somethings and honestly I don't find doctors having sex every five minutes entertainment.

The girls were having a conversation about two characters I knew nothing about, I just knew their names were Derek and Mark. My phone dinged and I started to tune them out when y/n's name popped up.

“had to find a dress, what do you think?” - y/n

Along with the text was picture of her with a black lace dress that fit her perfectly. I smiled to myself not relizing the girls stopped talking to stare at me.

“you look beautiful in it” - Eleazar

I looked up after I sent the text and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing” they said at the same time with smiles on their faces. “was that your girlfriend?” Alice teased.

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Yes... It was she had to find a dress to chaperone on for prom”

“can I see” Alice said excitedly she leaned over Tayna, who was setting in between us. The small girl practically lyed on top of Tayna. She laughed as held my phone out away from Alice. “if I show you do you promise not to be the fashion police?” I said in a joking tone.

Alice gasped. “I am not the fashion police” Tayna and I rolled out eyes as I showed Alice the picture.

“that's cute” she said taking my phone. As she grabed it she gasped having a vision. Me and Tayna shared confused looks.

“what did you see?” i asked gently. Alice handed me my phone quickly. “it's Bella and Y/n...their in trouble.”

I sat up quickly and Edward was in the living room in a flash. My chest tightened as I feared the worst. How could this happen, she was only texting me molments ago.

“a couple of drunks are following them... They're on Elm Street in Port Angeles, jest past that old book store you go to all the time” Alice said. Before she could finish and raced to my car and Edward was quick to follow. I almost crashed into the garage door by how fast I wanted to get to Port Angeles.

-------(1st pov)-------

It was about night time when Bella and I left to met up with her friends at the restaurant. It was dark and uneasy and we could feel it. I linked my arm with bella so we could stay close together.

“stay close” I said, looking over and noticing the same guys walking close to us.

“Hey, saw you girls in the dress store” one guy chuckled. I quickly blocked their veiw of Bella. Fear ringed in my head as they cackled and jogged towrds us. Bella gasped as one aporched her, she quickly moved away nodging me towrds them, not relizing what she was doing I just pushed the guy away.

“pretty thing” one said as he touched Bella's hair. I immediately pushed him off of her. “don't touch her”

“Iike the little one... She's got fire in her” another one said. I then swung her fist making the guy fall to the ground. As he did tires screached in the distance and Eleazar's Coupe Deville came flying in.

“get in the car” Edward said as he came flying out of his uncle's car. Eleazar jumped out of the car and sped over to the guy that touched me. He blocked his vew of me and grabed the drunk by the callor of his shirt.

“get in the car y/n” Eleazar growled as he slammed the guy against a brick wall. I grabbed Bella's arm and pulled her to Eleazar's car as Edward scared off the overs.

“if you ever come near her again I will kill you” Eleazar said and slammed the guy to the ground. Edward was about the lung at the others, but Eleazar pushed him the back of his car where bella was. Eleazar drove off in a flash.

“we should go back a rip those guys heads off” Edward grolwed. I looked behind my shoulder and saw Edward gripping the back of Eleazar's seat, Bella sat far away from him looking terrified.

“as mush as I agree we don't need blood shed” Eleazar said angry. He looked just - if not more pissed. He gripped the steering wheel and his jaw was clinched.

“well you don't know the vile and repulsive things those guys were thinking” Edward snapped. Eleazar gave him waring look through the review mirror.

“and you do?” Bella asked confused. Edward hesitated. “don't you tell me what do or don't know kid!” Eleazar butted in, only getting angryer.

“Ese bastardo le puso las manos encima a mi chica! (that bastard put his hands on my girl)” my knowledge in Spanish couldn't translate what he was saying. I just knew he was seething. I placed my hand on his knee and squeezed it to show him some comfort. “We're alright now” I whispered.

Eleazar took a deep breath and took one of his hands off the wheel to hold my hand. Eleazar started to calm down and so did his driving. After a couple of minutes he pulled up to the restaurant we were supposed to be at.

Bella hopped out of the car as soon as it stopped and she walked towrds the restaurant with Edward on her tail. Eleazar helped me out of the car then pulled me into a tight hug. “are you sure your okay?”

“I am now” I mumbled into his chest. He smiled softly and took me where bella and Edward were. They were talking to Jessica and Angela as we walked up. The two girls stared at our linked hands in shock.

Before the could make any accusation Edward chimed in. “we should make sure the girls get something to eat then we'll take them home”

The girls smiled at him and Eleazar. “that's so sweet” Angela said. The girls giggled as the walked away.

“I told you they were together”

“can teachers even date?”

I heared them whispering as they walked off. Eleazar just shook his head as the four of us went into the restaurant. We sat down at a table that was towrds the middle, the place was nice dim room with fairy lights. Me and Bella ordered our food and the boys just got water so they didn't look too suspicious.

“all right mushroom ravioli and a chicken Alfredo” the waiter said bring our food. The waiter was young, maybe closer to Eleazar's 'age'. That didn't mater, what mattered was she wouldn't stop drooling over them. Eleazar nor Edward looked at her though.

“so are you sure there isn't anything I can get for you?” she flurted with Eleazar.

“no, no thank you” he said then made a point to lace his fingers with mine infront of her. She then turned to Edward. “how about you honey”

“waters good, we're fine” he nodded looking at Bella. The waiter sighed and walked off as I rolled my eyes.

“you guys aren't gonna eat?” Bella asked confused.

“no, I'm on a special diet” Edward lied, Eleazar rolled his eyes at the terrible lie.

“and I lost my appetite” Eleazar said referencing the tonights events spoiled his appitite for food, Bella got passed that lie.

“you need to give us some answers” Bella said to Edward then turned to Eleazar. “both of you maybe”

“si, no, Tal vez(yes, no, maybe)” Eleazar said sarcastically.

“to get to the other side, 1.77245” Edward add.

“we know what the square root of pi is” Bella said getting annoyed. I chuckled and twisted my fork in my pasta.

“you guys knew that?” Edward asked, Eleazar raised his eye brow at his nephew.

“I went to college for four years dummy” I said popping a piece of garlic bread in my mouth.

“how did you guys know where we were?” Bella asked, I could tell she was starting to get annoyed. I could tell Eleazar was too, annoyed with Edward and possibly afraid Edward would reveal something. Eleazar started to fidel with things on the table, he can't stay still when he's nervous.

“we didn't” Edward said simply.

Bella rolled her eyes. She stood up and looked at me “I'm leaving, see you at home”

“Wait, don't go” Edward pleaded. He then turned to Eleazar asking for help.

He sighed and looked at Bella. “I had a clue, y/n told me what you guys were doing today. She didn't awnser her phone and I got worried” Eleazar explained. “I voiced my concerns to Edward and he panicked.”

Edward growled “and then I heard what thoses low-lives were thinking” I cut Edward off by kicking his ankle under the table.

“did you kick me?” he asked Eleazar.

I took a sip of my tea then set the cup down. “no, I did”

Bella shook her head confused, she sat down staring at Edward. “Wait, you said you heard what they were thinking?”

“so you guys read minds?” she asked looking between Eleazar and Edward.

“just him” Eleazar said pointing to the younger vampire.

“I can read every mind in this room... Aprt from yours, every once and a while I can read y/n's” Edward explained. He looked around at a couple of people and read their minds. “there's money, sex, money, sex... Cat” he turned to me and concentrated for a bit. “Eleazar”

“is there's anything wrong with me?” Bella asked. Edward chuckled at her concerns.

I chuckled. “most definitely”

Bella rolled her eyes then turned to Eleazar. “do you have a super power or something” Eleazar dropped his hand under the table and placed it on my thigh. “I don't” he lied.

Then Edward let this bomb shell drop. “I don't have the strength to stay away from you anymore” I cleared my throat as I set my fork down on my empty plate.

“okay, I think we're done here” I said standing up. Eleazar nodded agreeing “let's give them some privacy” he stood up and set a few dollar bills on the table.

“here Eduardo” I said tossing him the truck keys. Eleazar lead me away from the table, I quickly turned around and shot off an inappropriate joke. “wear a cond-” Eleazar quickly covered my mouth before I could finish and we walked out of the restaurant.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

“will you stay with me tonight?” I asked getting out of the car. “my dad is working late tonight and I really don't want to be alone”

He placed his hand and cheek and smiled softly. “of course” he kissed my lips softly and we walked into the house. A smile immediately appeared on my face as Duke greeted us. I knelt down and petted his head.

“Hey, boy” he showed me his happy puppy face as Eleazar knelt down next to me. “you two haven't formly met, Eli this is Duke”

Duke sat still and held his paw out to shake. Eleazar chuckled and shook his paw. “nice to meet you”

Duke let out a soft woof then set off for my room. We followed the black dog up to my room and for some reason I got nervous. I've seen and slept in Eleazar's room so I don't know what the big deal was that the situation was now reversed.

“so here's my room” I awkwardly chuckled. He stepped in quitely and observed everything. My shelves full of books, my horror movie posters, funko pops, everything.

Why he looked around I grabed a t-shirt and some shorts. “I'm gonna change real quick, make yourself at home” I said leaving from the bathroom. I quickly got comfortable and went back to my room, Eleazar had shedded his button up leaving him in just a white t-shirt and his jeans.

“you tired?” he asked softly, I nodded running my fingers threw my curls. I crawled into bed with Eleazar following, I cuddled into his arms and Duke quickly hoped on the bed and made himself comfortable at our feet. I could lay here forever if I could.

#Eleazar denali x reader #Eleazar denali imagines #Eleazar denali story #Eleazar denali #Twilight stories #Twilight imagines #Twilight x reader #Denali x reader #Cullen x reader #Cullen family #Charlie swan #Bella swan #Tayna denali #Kate denali #Irina denali #seth clearwater #leah clearwater

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denimbex1986 · 1 year ago

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'“The light. Always, the light.” Tom Ripley is staring at a Caravaggio painting in a Roman church, his typical blank expression a touch more bewildered than usual, when a priest comes up behind him and tells him to pay attention to the light, how the artist uses the contrast of brightness and deep shadow to direct the eye. The moment is brief; Tom isn’t one for introspection, and like a shark, he never stays in place for long. But the line doubles as a clue to the audience as well, some of whom have been as bemused as Tom by “Ripley’s” quietly dazzling style.

In Steven Zaillian’s adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s “The Talented Mr. Ripley” for Netflix, shot entirely in precise, pitiless black-and-white, light is Zaillian’s most crucial storytelling tool in “Ripley.” The script is carefully paced, often wordless, but every shot shines a light on a new, revealing detail – a sharp glass ashtray, a misaligned letter on a typewritten page, a distant figure on the beach – and the accumulation of detail is ultimately what makes the story stick.

For Netflix, “Ripley” is already emerging as a serious awards player. In the Emmys’ Outstanding Limited Series category, long dominated by HBO and FX, Netflix has won two of the last three years with “The Queen’s Gambit” and “Beef.” “Ripley” currently ranks sixth in the Gold Derby combined Emmy odds for limited series, which promises to be a dogfight this year, at 16/1. It’s going to be tough to trump the likes of “Shogun” and “True Detective: Night Country” this year, not to mention “Fargo” and “Lessons in Chemistry,” But “Ripley’s impeccable craft makes it a dark, shadowy horse for the streamer.

“Ripley” is the rare modern series to fully commit to a monochrome palette. Shows like “WandaVision” and “Better Call Saul” have dipped into black-and-white to startling effect, but “Ripley” doesn’t let up. Compared to Anthony Minghella’s lauded 1999 adaptation of the same novel, which luxuriated in the golden Mediterranean glow of its Italian setting, Zaillian’s “Ripley” feels not only colorless but drained of warmth. It refuses to be comfort TV, and some Netflix subscribers have reacted harshly; an Independent piece highlighted reactions from viewers who found the choice “annoying” or said it made them “mad as hell.”

The stark cinematography is an apt choice for Zailliain’s melancholic take on the material, though. Tom Ripley (Andrew Scott, convincing as an unconvincing human) is a petty con artist from New York who stumbles into an opportunity for a big score when a wealthy businessman asks him to track down his wayward son idling away on the Amalfi Coast. In Italy, Ripley clumsily befriends the son, Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn) and his girlfriend Marge Sherwood (Dakota Fanning), moving into their enormous villa. Dickie was played by Jude Law in the 1999 film in a star-making, Oscar-nominated turn; Flynn’s Dickie isn’t a font of charisma like Law, but he’s more human, his generosity and friendship more unaffected, which makes it that much more heartbreaking when the story takes an inevitable dark turn.

Black-and-white lensing is often used to evoke nostalgia, but there’s no faux film grain or retro winking in the look Zaillian (who directed every episode) and DP Robert Elswit (a 2008 Oscar winner for “There Will Be Blood”) have devised. Paradoxically, the combination of the old-world location and the crisply detailed, high-contrast digital camerawork makes this “Ripley” more modern, a story out of time that could take place in 1954 or 2024. Notably, in an era where prestige TV is often dinged for being too dark, Elswit’s images are always legible; the look may be shadowy, but what we’re looking at and the narrative purpose of each shot is crystal clear.

“Ripley’s” visual storytelling can be witty (a long ocean-set sequence that verges on macabre slapstick) or surreal (trees that glow eerily in the dark, sudden cutaways to scenes set years or centuries earlier), but it’s never less than gorgeous. Vertiginous stairwell shots are straight out of Hitchcock, and they’re not the only thing that evokes the master of suspense. Without the distraction of color, every carelessly placed envelope or forgotten bathroom stain draws focus as the detail that could undo our protagonist. In the most frightening moments, blood splatters across the frame like paint, or spewed black bile. Wine and blood both appear inky black, making a merlot-sipping Ripley look vampiric. By the final episode, Ripley himself has become obsessed with his own lighting, playing with the way a lamp changes his face to aid his subterfuge.

The tantalizingly slow burn of “Ripley” would likely be a turnoff to some viewers no matter how it was filmed, but the black-and-white cinematography emerges as the biggest selling point of the series, proof that this style can be thrillingly contempo in the right hands. Will Emmy voters take notice? It may well prove unavoidable. Zaillian’s series “The Night Of” took home the statue for Best Cinematography in a Limited Series in 2017, and the addition of the Oscar-winning Elswit could only help its chances for a repeat, though matching “The Night Of’s” 13 total Emmy nominations seems like a long shot.

With this series, Zaillian is looking to add to his four Emmy bids to date, and his second each for writing and directing. And to be sure, “Ripley” deserves close study. Like a Caravaggio, the meaning comes through in the full tapestry.'

#Ripley #Netflix #Caravaggio #Robert Elswit #Steven Zaillian #Emmys #Andrew Scott #Dickie Greenleaf #Jude Law #Johnny Flynn #Patricia Highsmith #The Talented Mr Ripley #Dakota Fanning #Marge Sherwood

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my-dear-anonym · 5 months ago

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oooooh I love this okay okay ummmmmm

How about an excerpt from a future chapter of my current fic, Warping the Veil? Spoiler warning for those of you that follow the work! This is an excerpt where Lucanis and Zevran meet for the first time. I'm going to chop it down so it isn't too lengthy here.

There are a few different feelings that Lucanis understands. There are feelings that he doesn’t. Then there are the ones that he understands only on a fundamental level. Like the big black hole through his chest.

Lucanis is no stranger to loss. As a Crow, one has a close relationship with betrayal and death in all its dealings. To lose one’s parents. To lose Caterina. To stare into the eyes of Illario and not know who is looking back. But in each instance, Lucanis was always left with something. When it was his parents, he had Illario. When it was Illario, he had Rook.

Opposingly, a feeling Lucanis does understand is the slow creeping sensation of being stalked. Many people believe he is a paranoid man; but is it paranoia if he’s right?

‘Smells like. Antivan Leather. And. Blood.’

If Skyhold were as busy as it was a few days ago, it would be easy to assume there was someone hiding amongst the many visitors. But with the residents dwindled and Halamshiral in full swing…the fact that there are no suspicious individuals to spot makes Lucanis’ nerves slowly fray for each passing hour the prickling feeling remains. His ears twitch with every rustle of fabric or whispered conversation in the halls.

The shine of meticulously polished metal swipes right by Lucanis’ face, his honed instincts buying him just enough time to jerk out of the way. His attacker does not let that deter him, his attack effortlessly flowing into a new strike. Lucanis is forced back another step, the natural bend of his spine stops, impeded by the abnormally long dagger he has hidden along his spine.

This time, as his assassin slashes the twin blades towards his chest, metal meets metal and the clash rings through the hall. A scrape as the blades drag and push against each other. Then silence, the two assassins springing apart to decipher the next best move.

Lucanis shifts his grip on his blade, feeling Spite bolstering his reflexes and his thirst for blood as he settles into a combat ready stance.

His other attacker seems to do the opposite, idly twirling a blade in his palm and cocking his head infuriatingly. The man just screams Crow. The leathers are Antivan style, dyed in shades of blacks that fit slimly to the body, designed to offer high protection and extreme flexibility. But rather than the typical blues and purples crows tend to favor, this man has accents of gold and silver, with what Lucanis recognizes as a Grey Warden crest on one shoulder, and a seemingly Dwarven crest on the other. A dark hood is pulled over the head with a bird shaped mask—crow, it seems—covering the upper portion of the face, with a pointed beak that dips down the chin.

Why is a Crow attacking him?

Lucanis strikes a blade through the air, sharply cutting down the two daggers the other Crow tosses.

“I haven’t betrayed the family,” Lucanis calls. It’s entirely possible that Spite took off without a word to anyone, causing a misunderstanding that Lucanis had betrayed his family.

The other Crow cocks his head, balancing the tip of his dagger against his gloved fingertip. Idly, Lucanis notices the gloves aren’t of Antivan make. They look more akin to something he’s seen the Inquisitor wear. Dalish? “I have,” the other man muses. The voice is unquestionably Antivan, but the lilt of the accent isn’t of Treviso. It’s of the common districts of Antiva City. “What is such a handsome bird doing so far from home, I wonder?” they ask. “Crows haven’t been found in this part of Thedas for some ten years or so.”

“It surprises me that there is a traitor to the Crows that is not yet dead,” Lucanis responds. “Shall I remedy that for you?”

The other assassin barks a light laugh. “If you can. Many others have tried. So far, I do not like your odds. It would be best to just surrender and allow me to make it quick for you. Unless…you would like to find somewhere more private first?” The blade falls from his finger and he catches it with an easy twist of the wrist. “Our business can always be concluded after, and I have such a soft spot for handsome people.”

If there is one thing Lucanis can recognize, it’s a talent for killing. Whoever this man is, he has it. A talent that has been sharpened and honed over the course of a few decades. Just from being able to get the drop on Lucanis alone, makes him comparable to the abilities of another Talon. So, after an awkward throat clear after that…uncomfortable suggestion. Spite. Lucanis takes a step, priming, then launches himself forward. Wings spring from his back in with a blur of shadow and a purple twist of what must be the veil, propelling him forward with an unnatural speed.

Metal screeches against metal as the other assassin leaps back in surprise, meeting Lucanis’ blades with his own. Lucanis doesn’t allow the chance for a recovery, striking again and again in a flurry. The moment his toes finally touch the ground again, he uses it to push upward into a new strike in a sudden direction change.

The mask flies from the other assassin’s face and clatters to the ground. There is surprise in those gold eyes. Lucanis allows a smirk to fall across his lips as the other assassin finds room to widen the distance between them. Blond tresses spill from the fabric of the hood without the mask to tie them into place.

Lucanis flicks the small bit of blood from his blade to the floor as the other Crow wipes it from his face. The gash cuts through one side of the man’s lips, nicks through the cheek, and cuts cleanly through an eyebrow. An inch closer and Lucanis would have taken an eye. Disappointing. He will be more determined with his next attack.

The other assassin spits blood before giving Lucanis a wide grin full of red teeth stained by his bleeding lips. “I had hoped—you being so young still—that your skills would be lacking a refined edge. I should have known the Dellamortes have the skill to back up their claim to First Talon. And the wings are a nice touch. It cannot be said that the Crows lack style.”

Who is this man? Lucanis’ eyes flick over the revealed appearance—an elf with tanned skin, platinum blond hair, and a tattoo that follows the curves of his high cheekbones—trying to remember all those that have betrayed the Crows and managed to slip away. It’s a short list. Only the truly talented or lucky ever manage to do it.

“Zevran Arianai, I presume,” Lucanis says. A legend, these days.

The assassin gives a light flourish of a bow. “At your service.”

Zevran, previously of House Arianai. The reason the Crows don’t take contracts in Ferelden anymore. A bit of a rising star among the Crows ten years ago. Lucanis had only been a child of maybe ten years at the time.It was later when the assassin resurfaced again, with a new mission of killing off other Crows. And was worryingly good at it. The invasion of the Antaam seemed to be the only thing that gave Zevran pause in his crusade. He’s considered the highest of embarrassments to House Arianai, but deep down, many crows are terrified of this one particular Traitor Crow. House Arianai might be embarrassed to have raised such a traitor, but there’s also a point of pride in the knowledge that he turned out so deadly. There is no other Crow in the entirety of their history that can claim the same death count towards their own kind that Zevran “Black Shadow” Arianai currently holds. And it seems that Lucanis is the next on his list.

Zevran gestures casually toward Lucanis with a blade. “I see you went for the dark and broody route,” he notes. “It’s a classic, certainly—I much prefer a bit of wordplay in my foreplay—but you have a terrible problem. Much too awkward. Makes it difficult to charm your way into your victim’s beds, no? Confidence—” Zevran tilts his head a breadth to the right. Just enough for Lucanis’ flying dagger to miss his face, but pull down his hood in its flight path. “—is very important. Though, if you keep undressing me like this, I will rethink my opinion.”

How is one even supposed to respond to such remarks?

“Lucanis! Belongs! To Rook!” Spite snarls.

Zevran blinks. “Mierda. You’re an abomination. I knew an abomination once. A fine bird. And a marvelous bosom! Ah, those were the days. Nothing quite like serving a fine and worthy cause for absolutely nothing other than—ah who am I kidding. It was terrible. Though, there was a lot of murder. That was fun. There was also the one boy that trapped us in the fade. There were many mice involved. I do not recommend it.”

“I’m going to remove his tongue.”

“Was that you or the demon?” Zevran asks. “It was unclear.”

“You’re not going to live long enough to learn the difference.” Lucanis shifts his feet, feeling the familiar hum of Spite’s energy building in his muscles and blade. A necrotic shine emits from the blade, chasing away the soft rays of sunlight and replacing them with a haunting cast. If Lucanis had met Zevran in his twenties, Zevran might have won. But Lucanis has lived an extra decade beyond the body he has now. They are the Demon of Vyrantium.

There’s a twitch in Zevran’s face, his body language shifting to prepare for another attack.

The vicious point of Lucanis’ blade rips through the air as he propels forward with speed that no man should be able to meet. Zevran dips just slightly, twisting away from the blade. Pain erupts in Lucanis’ forearm and there’s a clatter as his weapon spins from his hand and skitters across the floor. A gritting of teeth. A shift of balance. His second blade blocks Zevran’s following strike. Again again again, the ring of blades striking echo off the stone walls of the empty hall as Zevran forces distance between Lucanis and his dropped sword and not giving him room to draw a spare hidden on his person.

Then something grabs Lucanis by the wrist and flings him back against the wall with a resounding smack. A snarl pulls from his throat, but by the time his vision clears from the unexpected impact, he sees Zevran in the exact same state on the wall across from him.

“Owww,” Zevran groans, rubbing the back of his head. “You are always so rough. Not that I mind, but I prefer such rough play for the sheets.”

Lucanis staggers to his feet, a whispering scrape as he picks up his remaining weapon from the ground. “Sit back down,” the unexpected third party tells him. The urge to walk over and slit Zevran’s throat pumps hotly through his veins. He’d follow it with a dagger in this newcomer’s throat just for spite.

He forces a breath, eyeing the man that stepped between two Crow Assassins and flung them easily into the walls. A tall man, with broad shoulders made to look broader by the spike pauldron. His skin is light, hair so darkly brown that it looks black, mirthful eyes the color of the sky, and a painted red strip suspiciously reminiscent of blood dragged over the bridge of his nose. “And who are you?” Lucanis asks.

The newcomer offers a hand to Zevran, who takes it, a large grin across his face, and pulls to his feet. “Hawke!” Zevran greets.

Helllloooooo! I know people are maybe tired/busy/unavailable today, so no pressure or anything, but I thought we could all share WIPs today?

Writing, art, whatever you want! (I’m gonna tag DA bc most people are here for that, but feel free to share no matter what you’re working on!)

I’ll post mine in a bit! Rb + add !

No pressure of course— have a great day! ☀️

#wip #dragon age #writing #dragon age fanfiction #zevran arainai #lucanis dellemorte #spite #garrett hawke #hawke #dai #datv #dragon age veilguard #dragon age inquisition #dragon age 2 #dragon age origins #Warping the Veil #warping the veil

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