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written-in-flowers · 4 days

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Their Pretty Pet: Sanhwajoong x Fem!reader

Pairing: Incubus!Hongjoong, Incubus!Seonghwa, Incubus!San x Fem!Human!Reader | side pairings: SanHwaJoong

Genre: smut, loads of it MINORS DNI

Word Count: 7k

Summary: Being brought before Lords of Inferno, you expected to be killed on the spot, except the three incubi take an extreme liking to you instead. You are the pet they've been looking for, and you should could yourself lucky.

Tags: Master/Slave relationship, polyamory, mmmxf, foursome sex, triple penetration, oral sex (m. and f. giving/receiving), rough oral sex, vaginal fingering, handjobs, pet names ("pretty" "pet" "whore" "slut" "bitch" "kitten" "darling" and variations/ "master" "my lord") monster fucking, demon fucking, belly bulging, bigdick!ateez, creampies, massive creampies, degradation, slight humiliation, slight dumbification, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, rough sex, bisexual sex, breeding kink, vibrating demon dick, spanking, nipple play, breast play, cum swallowing, deep throating, anal sex.

@pirateeznet

***

The nerves rattled your bones, and weakened your knees. Your mind told your feet to keep up with Rufus, but your body did not cooperate. Only by the tug of a chain did you finally move. Even with the hot steam coming from the stone cracks, and the warm air blowing through the night, a cold sweat came over you. You had no business coming up the Black Keep. Sinners like you are meant to be an amusement for the lower demons; you committed sins in your life that earned you a spot in the third level of Hell. You spent eternity in the brothels of the inner circle, being a pleasure slave to anyone with enough coin.

You’d learned high class only pays for well bred slaves or lesser demon forms. The ones trained in the finer arts, who can speak multiple languages, can do magic, and are skilled in instruments of culture and torture. You only learned the sexual practices Your clients and owners taught you.

They won't want you, and the moment they realize what you are, you're dead.

“Stop dawdling, wretch,” Rufus, a large, muscular demon with bright red skin and tall black horns, tugged on your chain harshly. He then growled when you did not move. “Lords do not wait on bottom dwellers like you.”

You said nothing as you forced yourself to move. In your flimsy shift, you could feel every brush of hot air blow past you. It normally did not bother you, but it felt hard to breathe through your tight chest. He guided you to the tall wooden doors with their gargoyle head knockers. In three loud slams of the knocker, the door creaked open. On the other side stood a very tall man with black hair parted to the side. He wore a black and white suit and gloves. Round eyes carried a certain haughtiness that you'd grown used to seeing.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“Evening, I have come to see The Masters Hongjoong, Seonghwa and San. I have brought a prospective pet for them,” Rufus responded, tugging your chain to bring you closer.

The butler took one look at you, then stood aside. “Very well. Follow me. They are just finishing with another proprietor.”

Rufus didn't like the idea of another slave owner being in the castle. It meant competition, and he hated that. He, as always, took it out on you by roughly pulling on your leash. The butler led you through a hall of black and white marble, surrounded by landscape paintings and other ancient possessions. A candlelit chandelier hung from the high ceiling, bathing the room in a bright golden glow. The carpet liners on the floor felt soft beneath your feet, and the castle did not feel as hot inside. He took you around the staircase into an adjacent hallway, where you saw her.

A succubus and her handler left the room; the handler seething and the succubus in silent tears. From her expensive lace and satin halter dress to her gold sandals, to the golden ornaments in her hair, you knew a succubus when you saw one. She had real horns and a real tail. Rufus paid a stylist to braid and glue ram horns into your head; then he paid a leatherworker to create a realistic tail to seal on your tailbone. The braiding pained your scalp, the glue made you nauseous, and the tail swished uncomfortably. How long did Rufus think this charade will last? Long enough for him to run off with the money, no doubt. You hated thinking of what would happen when your “owners” find out you’re not a demon at all. They’ll tear you apart, and send you to the deepest pits where the worst of the worst suffer an eternity of torment.

The thought terrified you.

“Masters,” the butler said when he entered a sitting room, “Another slave owner has arrived with a prospect for you.”

The voice inside the room turned quiet. “Who?” asked a particularly high voice.

The butler turned to Rufus, “Name?”

“Rufus, from the House of Kisses.”

The butler repeated this to his masters. “Bring him in,” the voice finally said.

Rufus brought you into the room. Full of warm light, pricy decorations, and extravagant furniture, you'd never been amongst such opulence before. Three loveseats sat in the middle of the room around a square coffee table. A different man sat on each one. You knew they were incubi by the small curved horns on the crown of their heads. Demons of lust carried this trait, as well as long black tails to match. The petite man with hair the color of fresh cherries spotted you first. He casually drank from a brandy glass as he observed you. His satin black shirt and slacks gave him a trendy look that would kill in the living world.

Beside him in the center on the white couch sat a long-limbed man with black hair reaching his shoulders. Angular features gave him a deadly appearance that matched the glint in his dark eyes. The cream colored shirt he wore was kept together by a matching corset and pants. He didn’t look up at first, since he focused mainly on the book in his lap instead.

The third sat on a couch of dark blue cotton with gold pillows. His big shoulders stretched the blazer he wore, which you noticed covered nothing but his bare chest. Sculpted and tan, he was to die for.

And you just might when they learn the truth.

“Slaver,” the butler addressed Rufus, “May I present Lords Hongjoong,” he gestured to the red haired man, “Seonghwa,” he motioned to the man holding the book, “And San.”

“Well met, my lords.”

“Well, well, well,” Hongjoong said in a bored voice, knocking back the rest of his drink, “Look, Brothers, another slaver coming to waste our time.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” Rufus said, “I promise your time will not be wasted on this one.”

“Why is that?” asked Seonghwa, putting his book aside.

“This one here's a true blood succubus,” he said, already putting on his salesman voice. “Born and bred in the valley, she is a true born demon. She's nothing like the half-breeds and soulless human shells those other charlatans bring before you. See here, my lords?” He roughly pulled you to them by your horn, “These are real succubus horns! And this tail!” He yanked on your long, thin tail, “Is entirely her own. I know some slavers have been sticking on fake parts, but I assure you, my lords, this one's the real thing!”

The three men looked at one another, then back to him. “Bring her closer.”

Rufus pulled you over to them, letting you stand in the warm firelight. Three pairs of eyes stripped off your dress, and peeled back the layers of your skin to your soul. San's thin eyes fell heavy when he saw you fully. Seonghwa held you with intrigue, while Hongjoong looked ready to devour you. You gulped thickly and did not look at any of them directly.

“What can you do?” Hongjoong asked.

“Do, my lord?”

“Yes, do. Can you speak any languages besides the common tongue?”

“No.”

“Can you read and write?”

“Some.”

“Can you sing?”

“No.”

“Dance?”

“No.”

“Do you specialize in any form of magic?”

“No.”

The more he asked, the dumber you felt. You wanted to tell them to look at you. You are not a demon, let alone a succubus.

“Then what can you do?” He asked, laughing softly.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said, “Stop being so mean. It's not her fault.” He stood up and walked towards you. Lifting your head by the chin, he said, “The only thing these low born succubi are taught is how to suck cock…isn't that right, pet?”

“Yes,” you squeaked.

“And can you do that?”

“She certainly can, my lord!” Rufus said from behind, “YN is one of my best! She's made men cum in less than two minutes!”

“I was asking her,” the man snapped. “I personally have no interest in slaves who do quick, sloppy work. I like to take my time.” He touched a strand of your hair, feeling the texture and taking in the length. “You'll need good grooming,” he noted flatly. “Luckily, Wooyoung is an expert in his field. He'll make you shine, little pet.”

It happened then, or at least you think it did. A flicker of realization hit Seonghwa as he looked over your face. He gave an audible sniff, his demon senses beginning to tingle. Yet, he said nothing about it, and turned your head to examine you in the light.

“Can she fight?” San asked Rufus.

“Psh, can she fight?” He scoffed comically at the question, “Of course she can! She used to be a pit fighter in-”

“-Can you fight?” He turned to you.

“No.”

“Why would she need to learn how to fight, San?” Hongjoong asked, annoyed. The butler came around to refill his drink. “She won't be doing any of that. She could get badly damaged, and then where would we be, hm?”

“Do you like going to the arena?” San asked, ignoring Hongjoong.

“I've never been there.”

San nodded, then leaned back on his couch and held out his glass. The butler poured more brown liquid for him, and you watched him take a drink.

“Yunho,” Seonghwa left you by the fireplace and went to his couch, “What do you think of her?”

“Master?” Yunho asked, confused.

“Yes, what do you think of her? You'll be around her too. Is she pleasing to look at in your opinion?”

Yunho turned to you, and seemed to be really looking at you now. He scanned over your horns the most. They’re meant to look like his, curled and rolled back from his face. If anyone could spot fake ones, it should be him. You expected him to out you, but he instead said, “Yes. She is lovely.”

The three men appear to take this into account. “Take off your dress,” Hongjoong orders.

“Well, hold on now, my lord,” Rufus begins to say, “We haven't discussed-”

“-I am not paying for something without inspecting it myself,” Hongjoong glared at Rufus. The ghoulish demon falters at this, and you see him back away. Hongjoong turned back to you, “Your dress. Take it off.”

You immediately unclip the back of your dress and let the top half fall over your belt. The sight of your breasts stunned the three men. Their eyes focused on them before you loosened your belt and let the rest of your clothes fall. Seonghwa bit the corner of his lip, trying to control his breathing as his eyes fell between your thighs. This is not the first time customers examine you. You’d grown used to it over the years of being in Hell. You are a toy to be played with. You are not your own anymore. You lost that when you began your life of lust, greed and overindulgence. When presented with the option to continue punishment or serve demons instead, you took servitude over the painful torture. In a way, enslavement was its own breed of torture.

Hongjoong turned in his seat, leaning against the arm rest as he continued gazing at you. San coughed and covered his own interest with a drink, but he still kept his eyes on you.

“Beautiful,” Seonghwa breathed. “Absolutely stunning.”

“You keep her groomed between her thighs but not the rest?” Hongjoong asked Rufus, though he kept his eyes on you.

“That's what they care about the most. My patrons do not have your refined tastes, my lord.”

“Clearly. Come here.”

You walk to him, which brings a smile to Hongjoong's face. “You obey instructions well,” he said, looking back down to your sex. “I like that.”

He gently touched the outside of your thigh, feeling the smooth skin and groping the supple flesh. You took in how his fingers felt on your thigh, the sensation sending shivers throughout your body. Hongjoong ran his hand up and down your thigh before reaching around to your backside. He gave one cheek a tender squeeze, humming his approval.

“Very nice,” he commented, moving his hand between your thighs. You gasped when his fingers brushed your exposed center. “Very, very nice,” he said, rubbing his knuckle lightly along your slit. He chuckled when he heard your whimper. “Do you like that?”

“Yes.”

He licked his thumb while maintaining eye contact, then he dragged it across your lips. A soft whimper escaped your throat as he traced the outer folds one by one; right when you thought he'd finally touch more, he dipped away. Finally, Hongjoong rolled his thumb around your clit, running over it languidly. Once a bit of wetness covered his thumb, Hongjoong tasted it while he gazed up at you.

“Delicious,” he said, going back to rubbing your sex torturously slow. “I could get used to this.”

“Stop hogging,” griped Seonghwa. He took your hand to lead you from Hongjoong's black leather sofa to his pure white one. He took over, and you gasped when two thumbs pushed your lips apart. “The best way to know is to taste it right from the source,” he said, leaning forward.

A single swipe of his tongue made you quiver. You weren’t sure if they enjoyed reactions, so you kept silent and stiff. Seonghwa took both sides and dove right to your center. You felt his tongue gingerly swiping at your damp lips, sliding between to tease your clit as much as possible. Your teeth dug into your bottom in an attempt to restrain your whimpering. However, your shaking knees started giving you away.

“Moan for us, pretty,” Seonghwa ordered, pecking kisses across your thighs. “We want to hear how sweet you sound.”

“Don’t be shy,” San said, palming himself through his pants. “Let it out.”

So you did. The sounds you tried stifling came out as Seonghwa’s tongue rapidly flicked at your clit. You’d been shaking by the time San came up behind you, and pressed your back to his chest. Without a word, he lifted one of your legs to rest it on the edge of the couch, and became a support to keep you upright. With more access to you, Seonghwa angled himself to have your sex completely on his mouth. San’s warm hands cupped both your breasts, and grazed your hard nipples with his thumbs. The light brushes added to the tightening sensation going on in your gut.

“I’ve never seen a shy succubus before,” San said, voice low and deep in your ear. “I thought you all liked being fucked from sun up to sun down. Unless…you’re not really a demon at all?”

“Wha-what?” Rufus exclaimed. “I told you she was, didn’t I?! I assure you, my lord-”

Rufus stopped when San reached to the “tail” you wore and tore it from you in a hard snap. The glue Rufus used ripped at your skin, the pain only distracting you from your pleasure for a brief moment. Seonghwa ceased when San tossed the fake tail onto the couch. Seeing the rubber extension beside him, he looked up to the horns braided into your scalp. It’d taken the stylist hours to fix them on your head, using loads of glue and tight lacing to keep them upright. Seonghwa stood up and tugged on one. You let out a cry, killing any arousal inside you as he lifted it enough to see your hair braided into the holes.

“How dare you,” San scowled from behind you, “Try and fool us, you pathetic little worm.”

“I-I-I…” Rufus struggled for a defense, and went for the only one he could think of, “She’s a human? I-I can’t believe it! The slaver I bought her from said she was a pureblood! I had no idea! I promise you, my lord, if I’d known that she was a human, I would never have dared bring her here!”

“How stupid do you think we are?” San asked, leaving you to face Rufus. “You really thought you could bring a human up here and try passing her off as a trueborn demon? Did you forget that the three of us are demons too?”

“I swear, my lord, I did not know! I am just as surprised as you are!”

A quick slash of silver and a spray of black blood went through the air. Rufus’s large hands clutched at his neck as blood started pouring from the open wound. He collapsed to the ground, gasping and gurgling pathetically as he clung to life. You didn’t know where demons went if they died, and you never asked. When Rufus finally laid dead on the floor, San held out his hand and Yunho produced a white handkerchief. San used it to wipe off the blade before handing both to Yunho.

“Get rid of this filth,” San commanded, “Have Mingi help you.”

“At once, Master.”

San turned around to you, and all the blood drained from your body. Alone with three incubi who were nearly swindled by your idiot slaver, you knew where they’d turn their anger next. You squeezed your eyes shut, expecting a harsh blow any second. The second a pair of hands touched your hips, you jolted and gave a small squeal of fear. Yet, instead of harsh bruises or angry words, you felt warm lips dotting kisses on your thighs. San unbuttoned and removed his jacket, his tanned torso glowing in the fire light, and his dark eyes gleaming with lust. Hongjoong did the same, untucking and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Pl-Plea-se,” you begged, eyes starting to sting, “I-I had nothing to do with it. I was only doing what I was told. I swear, I didn’t want to do it. He made me. I can only do what my owners tell me to do. I promise I’d never-”

“-Relax, pet,” Seonghwa soothed you with more kisses, doing so as he unclipped his corset and tossed it aside. “We’re not angry with you at all.”

“You’re not?”

“Why would we be?” Hongjoong asked, taking San’s place behind you. His warm naked chest slowly rekindled the arousal inside you. Hands sailing up your body to your tits, he grabbed them gently as he spoke in your ear. “We just got a new pet for free. I don’t see that as a reason to be angry, do you?”

“But…But, I’m useless. I’m not a succubus or any other kind of demon. I’m…”

“Fresh,” he said, kissing your neck, “Brand new. You’re like fresh clay, ready to be molded however we want. Why would I want a regular demon who already knows everything over a human that I can shape to my tastes instead?”

“Succubi are boring, in my opinion,” said San, unbuckling his pants as he watched the other two kiss and fondle you. “They all like the same things, cast the same spells, and bore me to tears with their seductive talk. I told my brothers I wanted something new; something I’ve never tried before. We’re incubi, so banging other succubi or incubi can get boring. It’s fine if we’re feeding, but for pleasure…I prefer something a little more interesting.”

“And you’re such a pretty thing too,” Seonghwa added, kissing up your stomach as he stood up. “So soft and warm,” he slashed one of your nipples with his tongue, “And you taste so good.”

“Your pussy tastes like honey,” said Hongjoong, who held your breasts for Seonghwa to suck on. “I fear I might grow addicted to it after tonight.”

“I haven’t gotten a taste yet,” San protested, who walked over to the three of you fully nude.

He turned you to face him, the other two falling to your sides instead, as he slipped his hand against your wet center. Two fingers teased around the edges of your clit, occasionally brushing up on it before pulling away. The repeated motions made you dizzy, and you knew you’d cum sooner or later. The three of them created this intense arousal inside you that burned like fire. They’d made a knot in your pussy, and only with their fingers and tongue could it be undone. San licked Your essence off his fingers, approving of your supposed sweet taste. Hongjoong and Seonghwa continued teasing your nipples; each man took one side to grab and lick while San touched your pussy.

“She is yummy,” he smirked, going back for a second taste with wet fingers. “But, I’d love to see what she can do with these pretty lips.”

He coated both his fingers in you again before lifting them to your mouth. Instinctively, you opened for him to slide them over your tongue. The three of them groaned when you sucked your juices off his fingers; the act alone made you throb.

“Let’s take our pet somewhere more comfortable,” Seonghwa suggested, reaching between your thighs to rub you. “It’s our first time. We should enjoy her properly.”

“I agree,” said Hongjoong, licking up your neck while his hand joined Seonghwa on your pussy. Each demon took turns rubbing circles around your sensitive clit while San slid his thumb into your mouth next, “Besides, it’s too dark in here. I want to see all of her while I fuck her senselessly.”

They spoke about you as if you weren’t standing there, and you liked it. You’d learned long ago that you’re meant for pleasure. It was so rare a demon gave it back to you that you’d do nothing to ruin your chances. With a click of their fingers, you found yourself standing in a dimly lit room. Not bothered by your surroundings at the moment, you let the three men take you over to a large canopy bed in a corner of the bedroom. It was wide enough to comfortably fit all four of you, with white and pale blue sheets matching the drapes tied to the bedposts. They sat you on the edge of the bed, circling you with their cocks in their hands. They were perfect. Longer and thicker than you’re used to, you knew they’d split you open in the best possible way. You swallowed the saliva building in your mouth seeing them up close now.

“Stick out your tongue for me.”

Hongjoong held himself by the shaft as he rubbed his tip on your tongue. The high moans he let out only fueled the flames. You licked up and down his length, tracing the veins pumping blood through it before taking him in your mouth. Humming around the sensitive head, you tasted the thin, salty precum already. Hongjoomg let out soft sighs as he watched you work him into your mouth inch by inch. Dark eyes full of lust, you suddenly became his entire world. While you gingerly sucked his cock, you started slowly stroking Seonghwa and San’s in time with it. You enjoyed the feeling of them pulsating in your hands; the muscles twitched whenever your thumb touched the underside, tracing the wrinkles just underneath the head. It reminded you of home for a moment: the big New Year’s office party where you fucked those three interns in the mailroom. They’d been so hot and you’d been so horny, the consequences at the time didn’t bother you. They never did, quite frankly. You were a big shot CEO. You had expensive tastes and an insatiable appetite. You still had that even in Hell where you’re nobody.

“Take it all the way,” Hongjoong groaned, holding your head to push further into your mouth. “I know you can. Sluts like you are experts at taking dicks in your throat. You can do it.”

You coughed and sputtered around him as he sunk towards your throat. His tip brushing against your uvula created a gagging sound that made all three men moan. Your pussy throbbed as you took him in your throat, loving how it blocked your airway entirely and nearly suffocated you. Hongjoong enjoyed this for a few strokes before pulling you off him, strings of spit connecting you both until he fully moved away. Seonghwa turned your head to face him, and laughed when you opened your mouth for him.

“She certainly understands her place already,” he said, holding your hair as he started fucking your mouth. “We don’t need to go through the trouble of breaking her.”

“She’s been broken for quite a while,” groaned San, who guided your hand to spread his precum over his thick cock. “I can tell. She gives into it so easily.”

“She knows what she’s made for,” Hongjoong grinned, keeping your hand still as he pushed into it instead. “Don’t you, slut?” They laughed when you nodded in agreement. “You see, you don’t have to be a demon to be well bred.”

“She’ll certainly be bred after tonight.”

“If only,” San mused somewhat sadly.

So rarely did you get to enjoy good looking demons. The ones who came to the “House of Kisses” were foul-smelling, long-clawed, black-eyed creatures who squealed and grunted through it. They acted more like animals humping their favorite stuffed toy. You hardly ever enjoyed a lover who took their time with you, who tasted delightful and gave you pleasure in return. It was something you'd do anything to keep.

When Seonghwa pulled out, San turned your head to keep your mouth full. You’d initially sucked him firmly, moaning around his cock while sinking down to the base every time. Drool dropped onto your chest as you did so, not daring to break away unless he said so. But then, San held you by the hair as his brothers had done and made his own pace.

“Suck a little softer, pet. I like it more-Oh, yes,” he sighed dreamily, melting in your mouth as you followed his instructions exactly. “Someone really is trying to avoid going back down there, hm?” he joked, head tilting back once you started slowly deep-throating him. “Don't worry, pet,” he soothed you with gentle head pats, “You're not going anywhere.”

This went on for a while: they all took various turns in your mouth, and you sucked according to how they enjoyed it. Hongjoong went rougher, shoving himself in your mouth and guiding you by the neck. Seonghwa kept it steady and breathily gave orders as if you’d never given a blowjob before. San, as you expected, liked it light and soft. You’d learned how to play to a client’s appetites in order to avoid upsetting your owners. If a customer complained enough or you’d disobeyed them somehow, you’d end up back in the winds of lust. You didn’t want to be flung around the air in dizzying circles; the harsh, cold winds freezing your skin while bits of debris or other prisoners crashed into you. It had been madness. They tortured you by making you feel relentless sensations of all kinds. You'd taken part so much in life, your death only made sense.

You shouldn't have snorted all that blow.

“On the bed,” Hongjoong ordered, “It’s our turn now.”

You slid further up the bed until your lower half hung off the edge. San and Seonghwa each propped a leg onto their shoulder, and kept you fully exposed to the three of them. The hunger in their eyes created a whole new arousal for you; your breath hitched when Hongjoong laid a flat, wide lick up your wet lips, ending with a hard suck to your clit. Your needy whine pleased them, and brought on more attention. San laid soft kisses and gentle nips of his teeth down your inner thighs. Your pussy throbbed in Hongjoon’s expert mouth, which caused him to chuckle against it. Seonghwa did the same, licking from knee to the apex of your thighs where he flicked your pussy tenderly.

The pleasure boiled inside you when two fingers slipped between your folds. San rolled his thumb around your clit while Hongjoong and Seonghwa joined together to finger you. Their groans joined yours as you lost yourself in the feeling building in every stroke.

“She has such a pretty pussy,” Seonghwa moaned, pushing his finger into the last knuckle. He and Hongjoong fingered you at different speeds, so neither one left your pussy empty and wanting. “It’s so wet and squeezing my finger nicely. I can’t imagine what it’ll feel when I’m fucking her.”

“I’ll have to be careful,” Hongjoong said, “Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll finish too quickly. It’s been way too long since I had anything good in my bed.”

“I want to feel it too,” pouted San, who took a few licks to your clit before sucking up the juices flooding it. When one of them removed his finger, San replaced it immediately. He hummed his delight at the walls squeezing both his and his brother’s fingers. “How can human pussy be better than demon pussy?” he giggled, “I don’t get it.”

“Have no idea,” Hongjoong shrugged, content watching his brothers finger you together. “I don’t really care either. We have a dumb little toy that we can build however we like.” His brothers broke away as he began kissing from the middle up to your breasts. Cupping them, he gave hard squeezes that made you wriggle in his grasp. “I can make her into whatever I want her to be.” He kissed up your neck to your ear, biting it tenderly. “You’re going to be the obedient, compliant submissive I’ve always wanted.” You moaned when his cock slid up between your folds, rubbing directly on your clit. He giggled at your hips bucking against him, and held them down. You tried moving into him, but his firm grip kept you against the bed. “The pretty bitch that fucks like she’s in constant heat,” he traced your jaw with his fingers, letting his dick settle right over your pussy but not moving. “The perfect slave. My slave.”

“How crass,” scoffed Seonghwa, who shoved his brother off you and took his place. Unlike Hongjoong, Seonghwa gradually grinded into you. Pushing stray hairs from your face, he said, “I prefer a pretty toy over a slave,” he said, cupping your jaw and kissing you deeply. The mixture of your fluids filled your mouth when his tongue rolled around yours. His full lips worked yours open slowly, his tongue sliding over yours before beginning to roll around. “When I’m done with you, you’ll be a lovely doll that sings and plays music and reads to me. You’ll be the picture of innocence in front of others,” he pecked your lips as he kept grinding, “A virginal angel who is deflowered by me every night.”

When he lifted you further up on the bed, as expected, San slid right between you and Seonghwa. “That’s dumb,” he said, feeling up your body to your chest. Sucking on one nipple, he allowed you to grind into him. “Everyone knows what you are,” he changed sides, and rolled his tongue around it. “I can’t marry you, but I can certainly enjoy the benefits of pretending.” He sealed his lips over yours, and you easily opened your mouth to let him explore. “A lovely wife who cooks and cleans for me…Who does whatever she can to please me…make sure I’m content and comfortable. Isn’t that what every man wants? Why can’t I want it?”

“Because you have servants who do all that already,” snorted Seonghwa from beside you.

You turned over to see him and Hongjoong locked in a passionate embrace. Seonghwa watched both you and San through heavy lidded eyes. Hongjoong turned his head from you to kiss him passionately, both of them moaning in each other’s mouths. Something about the sight aroused you more. You gazed down to where they met to see their hands wrapped around one another. Clear droplets fell from the slits to their shafts, where each brother used it to slicken their movements. You kept watching them kiss and touch before something thick pushed inside you slowly.

“Oh fuck…” San breathed, eyes falling shut and head going forward as he carefully filled you.

Being stretched around him distracted you from anything else in the room. You grabbed San’s biceps, nails digging into the hard muscles as the pressure intensified. Once he became fully sheathed inside you, you swore you felt his tip bulge your belly slightly. It was a feeling you could never get enough of. Even with other customers, if they could reach that far into you, you became absolutely weak. Holding you close, he kissed you as he gently fucked into you.

“Perfect,” he moaned against your lips, “Perfect. My little wife is taking my dick so well, and loving it so much. Here,” he took your hand to place on your belly, “Feel that? That’s me, pet. That’s me fucking you so deep you feel it here.” He kept your hand there as he took several long strokes. He grinned when he saw your eyes rolling back. “You’re loving this, huh?” he started going a bit faster, moaning as you tightened around him, “Loving my fat cock ripping you open, hm?”

“Ye-y-yes,” you whimpered, clutching his shoulders and trying to keep still for him.

“It must be the best thing about being a demon slave,” he groaned, “Getting to have demon dick every moment of the day. Let’s see exactly how well you can take this one.”

Kneeling up, he pinned you by the waist, pulling your legs over his thighs as he quickened his pace. Balls slapping against your ass joined your combined moans. He made stars form in front of your eyes; every stroke pushed against your g-spot over and over again, turning you into a moaning mess on the bed. At some point, San began pulling you onto him and he laughed when you began doing it for him.

“You really love it,” he teased, “Look at her.”

“She’s beautiful like this,” said Seonghwa, lazily starting to rub your clit. You noticed his open mouth letting out soft panting, and spotted Hongjoong’s head between his thighs. The red head teasingly swatted his tongue over the slit and underside of the tip, giving it a suck every few licks. “I have a suspicion our pet is a lot naughtier than we first thought. She must have been.”

“Only the filthiest humans are made sex slaves,” San noted, propping himself on his fists and curling you upwards in the process. “You must’ve…must’ve been a whore…a filthy, naughty, slutty whore…”

The degradation. The lack of acknowledgement as they fucked you added to your need for release. You’d always loved being used by your lovers; you loved giving yourself over and letting them do what they wanted. Having these three demons using you and each other was a dream come true. San’s thrusts knocked the headboard into the wall, his groans turning into feral grunts and his strokes becoming feverish. His orgasm came hard, and the hot sensation of his cum painting your walls made you join him. Your body became sensitive to Seonghwa’s hand teasing your clit even as you came; each brush and swirl had you bucking against the sensitivity. When you usually come down from the high quickly, your body starts wearing down, yet that didn’t happen this time. Not with real incubi, and not an average demon. Your orgasm ending, you only wanted more of them.

“My turn,” said Seonghwa.

Hongjoong left his thighs to join San’s side of the bed, the pair sharing soft kisses. He rested himself against the broad man, legs spread for you to see him completely. His cock fully erect, throbbing against his stomach, Hongjoong whimpered when San began stroking him. Both of them looked at you and Seonghwa now, an audience for what you were about to do.

“Get on top, pretty,” Seonghwa said, bringing you on top of him. He didn’t hesitate to impale you on his dick, having the same burning effect as San. “Oh yes,” he panted, head tilting into the soft pillow. “San wasn’t lying.”

You didn’t care when they laughed at you pathetically bouncing on him. Hands on his chest, you raised and lowered your ass onto him in an inconsistent flow. He felt just as good as San, his cock reaching up to your core far too easily. You whined when a hand sharply swatted your ass. You didn’t care whose hand it was; you only cared that the sting added to your pleasure. When he heard you squeal particularly loud, Seonghwa smacked your ass again.

“Desperate cock-whore,” Seonghwa moaned, bringing you forward to keep spanking you. “We’re going to fuck you dumb,” he growled in your ear, “You won’t even remember your own name when we’re done with you.”

The idea of that alone had you rutting against him pathetically. Seonghwa eventually let you kneel back up, and slightly away from him. Hands holding you up behind your back, this position gave all three demons a view of him inside you. Their eyes locked right on where you and Seonghwa met, and when he began pushing up into you, the other two jeered.

“Ride him, slut. Ride him the right way.”

“Don’t be shy. Take him all the way.”

“You’re really a cock-loving whore, aren’t you?” Hongjoong asked in a breath, being teased by San in gradual strokes. “Answer me, slut. Are you a cock-loving whore?”

“Ye-Ye-Yess,” you cried, feeling a second orgasm building in your lower belly.

“Say it. Say ‘Yes, Master. I’m a cock-loving whore’.”

“Yes, Ma-M-Master,” you sobbed, “I’m a cock-cock-lov-loving whore!”

“Keep saying it,” Seonghwa said, pushing his hips upwards, “Say it.”

You did as told, saying the humiliating words as Seonghwa brought you to your second orgasm. It hit you much harder, stiffening your muscles and arching your spine backwards. His deep strokes emphasized each pathetic cry; your tits and ass bounced from the force of his thrusts which delighted the three demons. Having them sitting there, laughing and calling you names sunk you deeper into your arousal. You came even harder when you felt Seonghwa’s hot cum filling you soon enough. Seonghwa’s jaw clenched and he kept his pace steady as he pumped his seed deep inside you. You wanted more. You needed more. Whatever devious pheromone the incubi released sunk into your nostrils and filled your lungs. It smelled like hard candy, roses and cinnamon, turning from scents into a cocktail drug that fueled your body. You swore you ran on their energy and various scents alone.

“Take it all,” he grunted, grabbing your wrists and holding them in front of you, “Take all my cum.”

You would have stopped for a small break at the brothel. By a second orgasm, your body usually gives up. Yet, the brothers did not let you have a break. The power of an incubus must be stronger than you first assumed. Hongjoong grabbed you by the waist, and bent you over in front of him. Pushing your head down into the bed, he wasted no time in forcing himself inside you. Fingers scratching the smooth covers, face buried in their softness, you nearly screamed at the newest cock. Hongjoong did not reach as far as San, but he made sure you felt every hit each time. The only time he slowed down was when San came up behind him. Buried deep in you, you heard Hongjoong let out a long moan that ended in soft panting. Soon, you realized Hongjoong was sandwiched between your pussy and San’s cock. You matched San’s speed so Hongjoong felt pleasure from both ends. The strong pheromones drove you nearly wild now. You wanted him to cum in you too. Even if they couldn’t breed you, you wished they could.

Seonghwa moved around the bed to the front of you, lifted your head and filled your mouth. You greedily sucked up the leftover cum from his dick. His soft rose scent drew you closer to him. You loved the mix of salty and sweetness on your tongue, the remnants flowing from his tip to your throat as you swallowed. Hongjoong twitched inside you, almost creating a vibrating feeling that you’d heard incubi and succubi could do. It had you crying around Seonghwa’s dick; tears streamed from the corners of your eyes as he choked you on it. The combination of fingers rapidly rubbing your pussy, a demon cock shuddering inside you like a vibrator, and knowing San was pounding his demon brother had you trembling in their grasp. When Seonghwa gave you a moment to breathe, drool and cum fell from your lips onto the bed and your eyes remained shut in each euphoric feeling. You focused on nothing but them.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes,” Hongjoong whined, “Fuck me like that. Both of you. Fuck me just like that.”

He hunched over on top of you as he came hard. You and San did as he wished, milking his orgasm from him so he spilled inside you. You soon joined him with a body-shattering third orgasm. Your arms shook, becoming numb and weak from the weakness it brought on. All three of them having had their turn, you assumed it’d be over.

You assumed wrong.

San withdrew from Hongjoong and the latter nearly threw you on top of him. Weakly, you slipped him into your dripping hole and rode him. Hongjoong stood over San’s head, and pushed his cock in your mouth. He hadn’t even gotten soft. You heard from other slaves that incubi could go for hours if they wished. In all realness, that should concern you. Even if you’re technically dead, you could never handle such a lengthy session. Yet, surrounded by these horny incubi, you felt compelled to serve them as they wished. Your jaw burned, and your cheeks felt stiff from the abuse. You knew your throat will be hoarse and painful after tonight. This did not seem to concern any of the demons.

“Stay still for a moment,” Seonghwa said from behind you. “This will only hurt for a little bit.”

San arched your back and spread your ass cheeks apart. A cold, slippery substance fell between them to your hole, which clenched and unclenched to the thick head spreading the lube around.

“Oh-ho,” Hongjoong laughed, “She’s going to love that.”

“What’s the point in three holes if we don’t fill each one?” he asked, pushing the tip inside you.

Your high-pitched moan remained muffled by Hongjoong, though the reaction pleased all three of them. You felt entirely full. Plugged up by each of them, having them move in near unison to keep you still in their grasp, you surrendered over to them completely. Your masters would take you however they wished, and you would not complain. Their cocks felt far too good to refuse. The best ones you’ve ever had in your previous life and in this new hellish one, you drowned yourself in it. Seonghwa grabbed both your tits to keep you in place; San rubbed your clit with his thumb while holding you by your hip; Hongjoong held you by the hair as he pumped in and out of your mouth. You stayed frozen in place as your new owners used you for their pleasure, giving you a bit of it in return.

They all laughed and jeered when you came again. Seonghwa tweaked your nipples when he heard you crying on Hongjoong’s dick; Hongjoong kept himself fully planted in your throat so your moans vibrated around his head. This orgasm made your toes curl, your nails from crescent shapes in your palms, and your muscles shake and burn from constant movement. They didn’t stop. Not for a single second. You became putty by the time they laid you back down. Seonghwa pushed himself inside your ass once more, legs on his chest as he ruthlessly pounded you. San brought your head to the edge of the bed, instantly filling your mouth while Hongjoong lapped and fingered your gushing pussy. You didn’t have much time to enjoy it before San began shuddering, and his cum filled your throat. You struggled to swallow at first, though caught onto it easily until you sucked every thick drop from him.

By the time you laid on your side between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, you lost all sense of time and place. You felt nothing but the constant flow of bliss coursing through your veins.

“What’s your name, pretty?” Seonghwa asked, the taunt in his tone.

You gave an incoherent mumble, eyes shut and body made of jelly by now.

“What was that?” Hongjoong joined in, “We can’t hear you.”

You mumbled again, head lolling as you felt San hover over you. “Come on now,” he said, teasing your clit in slow circles, “You must have a name.”

“If you don’t tell us, we’ll give you one instead,” Seonghwa panted, moving away enough to let San’s hand tease you. “Use your words, kitten.”

“”My Pet’ is a nice name in my opinion,” Hongjoong said, gripping your hip as he bottomed up into you.

“Darling is prettiest,” San said, “Much more endearing.”

“Kitten,” Seonghwa proclaimed, “Kitten is much sweeter. It suits her.”

There they named you. You are their property now, and you had no say. Eventually, the three of them finished and collapsed onto the bed together with you in the middle. The softness of the bed became particularly noticeable once you melted into it. The scent of sweat and sex filled your nose, and a distinct chill fell over your naked body. Your eyes falling shut, you relished in the gentle hands and lips on various parts of you. Their comforting touches lulled you to sleep, you barely listening to their sweet whispers. Whether they spoke to one another or to you, you weren't sure.

You only enjoyed the sweet peace sleep gave you.

***

A/N: just a short horny fic for all of you! I might make it a series, I might not. I have a habit of making these things lol please like and reblog <3

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #choi san #hongjoong ateez #seonghwa ateez #san ateez #demon line ateez #demon line x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #san x reader #hongjoong x seonghwa x san #ateez smut

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 1 month

Text

hungry eyes | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick is a great cook, and a chef must taste-test all his meals, mustn’t he? including you.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), finnick is a munch and a thigh man, praise, swearing, cum swallowing, fingering

notes: i’m so sorry about the long-writing-time-to-short-word-count ratio. i don’t know if i like this ahhh. lmk what y’all think <3

word count: 3.5k

You were passing through the entry room of your house when the front door opened with a slight creak. Stepping through the doorway was Finnick, dressed in a white billowy Henley shirt (he had a few buttons purposely left open and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows) and a pair of dark grey pants.

His hair was a windswept mess of bronze waves with different strands poking out in various directions, but he somehow made it work. He looked…

Wow.

You, on the other hand, were still in your pyjamas, wearing a pair of thin cotton shorts and cosy thigh-high socks.

As soon as he entered the house, you could tell what kind of mood he was in. Drained. That tended to happen whenever he had to spend the day with his prep team and prepare for an upcoming event in the Capitol.

His cheerless eyes found yours and you swore a spark of life flickered in them.

“Hey, Finn,” you said. “Are y—oh!”

Before you could finish, he had wordlessly stepped towards you and collected you in his arms. Your feet left the ground as he picked you up and continued walking further into the house.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

Your legs curled around his back, your body leaning into his chest so as not to fall backwards. He smelled really nice, like how you imagined sunlight hitting the sea on a warm summer’s day would smell.

“Making something to eat,” he finally spoke. His eyes briefly flickered to yours. “I’m hungry.”

Well, you did send him off that morning with some of last night’s leftover crab cakes, so he couldn’t have been that hungry. Plus, he was with his prep team. They would’ve had plenty of fancy Capitol-esque food on hand to satiate him.

Weird.

“So that means I don’t get a hello?” you teased.

Finally, a small smile worked its way onto his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly and softly to your own, his hands not-so-sweetly squeezing the plush of your ass as he did.

He pulled back and gave you a mischievous look. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You smiled bashfully in response. “Hi.”

You had passed through the archway into the kitchen, the entire room now being bathed in sunlight from the four o’clock sun. It was the picture of a perfect beach house—driftwood and seashell ornaments, sand-coloured benchtops, and large wooden-framed bay windows.

Finnick set you down on the counter facing the stove, your legs now dangling over the edge.

“You just had to bring me into the kitchen with you?” you asked.

He was already out of your arms, scouring the cupboards for various ingredients for whatever it was he was planning to cook up.

“Gotta have something pretty to look at,” he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

Warmth crept into your cheeks. “Right. Obviously.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, apart from the clatter of a metal pot being set on the stove and the splashing of various vegetables and chicken stock being thrown into boiling water. Your legs swung lightly as you watched Finnick in quiet admiration.

Steam wafted into the air, bringing with it a sweet herbaceous smell. You hated to admit it, but Finnick was an unbelievable cook; much better than you were. He was constantly offering to teach you his culinary skills which often led to the two of you spending hours together in the kitchen. Burnt and over-salted meals were a common result. Regardless, you enjoyed the time together.

Sometimes it even led to other things as well… things very unrelated to cooking.

Finnick seemed to hyper-focused on the soup he was stirring; he was being unusually quiet, making you wonder what was going on inside his head. Had something happened during the time he was away?

“How’d you go today?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, humming a vague response.

“Mm,” you copied, wearing a teasing smile.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. Then he did something weird.

His head turned again, and he gave you a double-take, eyes falling from your face and to your legs. Your pyjama shorts had ridden up to the crease where your legs and hips connected, and your thighs were squished together on the counter, the cuff of your thigh-high socks digging into the soft flesh. His eyes flickered to yours once more before he turned back around.

Very weird.

An unexpected wave of goosebumps travelled down your entire body. You swallowed nervously and averted your eyes to your lap. It was absurd how a single look from him could cause you to react so strongly. He had so much power over you.

You crossed your legs, palms flat against the bench top on either side of you for support. The entire room was filled with the sweet aroma of the broth Finnick had made, causing your mouth to water from the mere thought of the warm liquid soaking into your tongue.

He lifted the pot from the stove and turned it off, scooping the contents into two bowls. However, when he turned around and walked over to you, he was only holding one.

“Just glad to be home with you,” he said and offered you the bowl.

“Oh, thank you,” you said, taking it into your hands.

The bowl was hot against your palms and fingertips, almost burning right down into your bloodstream as the golden liquid wafted steam into your face. Finnick’s gaze followed your movements as you lifted the spoon to your lips and finally felt the delicious heat seep into your tastebuds.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed a noise of pleasure, already craving another spoonful. “Tastes really good.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head.

Finnick was gently lifting one of your legs into his hands, massaging your calf through the cotton of your socks. His hand wandered down to your ankle, stroking over it with an affectionate touch before gliding back up to the underside of your knee. You had hardly noticed his affectionate behaviour, too distracted by the vibrant tastes filling your mouth.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked half-heartedly, focused on getting another mouthful in.

“Sure am,” he murmured.

Selfishly, you paid his words no mind even though you really should have. You had just lowered the spoon back into the bowl, watching the soup cover the metal when suddenly, your leg was being lifted over the other.

Now this got your attention.

You swallowed the warm liquid, eyes looking up at him in confusion. He uncrossed your legs, nudging them open with his hands on your inner thighs before he positioned himself between them. Your thighs were now hugging either side of his hips, your grip on the bowl frozen with uncertainty.

“What are you…?” you began, but then he was gently taking the bowl and spoon out of your hands and placing them on the bench beside you.

“Told you I’m hungry, sweetheart,” he said. He placed his hands on either side of you, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “Been waiting all day to see you. And these socks…” he trailed off with a sigh, sliding his fingers just beneath the band digging softly into your thigh before letting it snap back in place. “Well, now I’m practically starving.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. God, you were already breathless.

“Oh,” you whispered.

He bit his bottom lip and kept lowering his gaze to your mouth, looking at you as if you were a grand three-course meal and he was on death row.

“I just need a taste,” he spoke almost pleadingly. “Will you let me?”

Not a single neuron in your brain was firing at that moment. With the way he was staring at you, how gorgeous helooked, and the fact that he was practically begging to be between your thighs, it was almost impossible to say no. It was also impossible for you to verbalise it as well.

“Please, baby. You’ll let me, won’t you?” he pleaded.

The growing desperation in his voice had you sinking your hips into the counter, feeling yourself begin to ache for him. Of course, as you did this your thighs grew expanded even wider from the pressure and Finnick seemed to like that very much. You could tell from the way his cock left a large print across the front of his pants.

You nodded, speechless.

“You will?” His hands found the sides of your thighs. “Good.”

Within seconds, he had dragged your body to the edge and collided your pelvis with his. He felt as hard as he looked. You gasped at his eagerness but were immediately cut off by his lips crushing against your own, leading you into a kiss that mirrored the hunger he must have been feeling inside all day.

His hand moved into your hair, holding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He was leaning into you, moving his lips so assertively that your body had to lean back to get a sliver of respite. You were buzzing with anticipation like electric currents were moving through your veins. If he was kissing you like this, what would it be like when his lips were further below?

He then pulled away to observe you.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispered, gently smoothing the hair beside your face.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the brief tender moment. Your hand moved onto his and gently squeezed as you looked up at him, gaze doe-eyed and full of false naivety. You knew you were only spurring him on.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said before pressing another peck to your lips. Then he started to go lower. First, he kissed the length of your neck and then the skin above your breasts exposed by your low-cut shirt. “Perfect eyes, perfect lips, perfect thighs.”

He was crouching now, trailing kisses down your stomach which had your fingers weaving into his hair. The descension halted at your upper thighs. His lips left a warm tingling sensation that spread across your skin with each tender touch. You watched him begin moving higher, entering a dangerous region of your inner thighs with lips that were trademarked for trouble.

The air in your lungs was in short supply now.

“Just so sweet and so…” His fingers slipped into your waistband and pulled your shorts down your legs. The fabric fell from your ankles and there you sat, your glistening cunt bare and reflecting in Finnick’s green eyes. “So wet.”

Feeling nervous due to his penetrative stare, you attempted to conceal yourself and began closing your legs. He tsked and forced them open with two sturdy hands. He continued marvelling at the slick that coated your folds, committing the image to his mind.

“So perfect,” he exhaled.

You were getting impatient now.

“Finnick,” you whined. “Please. Just… Just do some—"

You inhaled sharply. He had rushed forward and finally connected his warm mouth to your cunt.

High-pitched breathless moans were already spilling from your lips as his harsh tongue delved between your folds, lapping up the arousal that had leaked out. Your body was restless, which was evident from the way your fingers pulled at his hair, hips bucked into his mouth, and thighs clenched around his head.

Hunger and starvationwere not the right terms to describe how he was acting. Not at all.

He was insatiable.

Finnick’s shoulders slid beneath your thighs, forcing your legs to dangle over them. His arms were curled around your legs while his hands kept your legs clamped open from the top of your thighs. He suctioned his lips around your clit, the sensitive flesh growing more swollen as the pressure he applied increased.

You placed a hand on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady, keeping the other hand buried in his golden waves. Your head fell back with a loud moan. He was shaking his head side-to-side in a manner that could only be deemed as animalistic. He was eating you out like a fucking animal. Like he was a predator, and this was his kill.

“Oh, my god!” you cried out.

He moaned into your pussy, tongue dragging from your opening and back to your clit, savouring every ounce of sweetness he could pull from you. A dull pain was coming from your upper thighs and you quickly realised Finnick’s fingers were digging into your skin. Each time your thighs tried to shut, his fingers buried deeper into your flesh. And mixed with the feeling of his tongue lapping you up, it felt rapturously overwhelming.

His tongue began flicking your clit at such rapid speeds that you weren’t even sure a vibrator could replicate it. You were now pulling, no, yanking at his hair all the while your hips were moving closer to his face. The pleasure was so devastating even your body wasn’t sure what to do with itself.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice vibrated against your clit, “y’gotta strong grip.”

Your chest heaved as you looked down at him. “Finn, don’t stop.”

And of course, he pulled back an inch to look up at you. The sight of him between your legs was fucking glorious. A mix of your juices and spit was dribbling down his chin, coating his lips in a shine you wanted to taste. His hair was dishevelled in a way you could only describe as a sex-crazed mess. Oh, and the way his blown-wide pupils were looking at you… like he had a whim to devour you whole right then and there.

“Stop? Who said I was ever going to stop?” He smirked.

Then he leaned in and fell back into his previous rhythm. The heels of your feet dug into his back. He was essentially making out your cunt. His tongue was swirling around your clit and kissing it sweetly, as if doing so offered you any reprieve from the exquisite torment he was inducing. Your stomach muscles were aching in the most pleasurable way, sending signals of pure arousal to your brain that made you feel intoxicated.

“Like fucking sugar,” his voice muffled into you.

He tongued your entrance, forcing as much as he could inside you. Your walls fluttered with warmth around him and you let out a needy little whine. He flicked his tongue upwards inside you as he slid in and out, thick eyebrows scrunched together as he moaned at your taste soaking into his tastebuds.

One of his arms unravelled from your thigh and his tongue retracted from inside you. You whimpered in displeasure, only to gasp as something longer immediately replaced his tongue. Finnick’s mouth was entirely focused on suckling your clit, meanwhile, the two fingers he had slid inside you were focused on pushing your body over the edge.

“Fuck,” you breathed heavily. “Fuck. Oh, f—ah!”

The pads of his fingertips pressed into that swollen spot deep inside you, knuckles prodding your walls as he curled his fingers. He was wildly flicking his tongue over your clit with the added help of his head shaking side-to-side.

You were writhing. Your body had never known such powerful sensations before meeting Finnick. Even after all the time you had been together, you were still trying to get accustomed to how intensely he made you feel. Given that information, you could feel your orgasm rocketing from deep within and to the surface. Flames licked at the muscles in your stomach, spreading like wildfire from your clit.

Finnick looked up at you, and you looked down at him. Look how good I make you feel, his cocky eyes spoke. Your parted lips were dark, flushed with heat and arousal, letting each and every debauched sound echo around the ceramic-tiled room. He plunged his fingers inside you again and your head fell back. You knew he was laughing. You could feel it.

The noises filling the room were pure sex. The sound of Finnick’s fingers squelching inside you, of him sucking and lapping at your pussy, and your whiny half-crazed moans—they were all that could be heard. And then suddenly your body started tensing.

“I’m so close,” you panted. “Finn, I’m—I’m—Fuck!”

And there it was.

Finnick didn’t stop. Hell, he somehow even managed to pick up his pace.

Your thighs clamped harshly around his head; this would’ve worried you if your brain actually had a single thought running through it. Shockwaves of bliss crashed over your body; they consumed you. Your moans came out as choked noises and filthy gratified cries of Finnick’s name as he sucked and curled his fingers in and out.

You felt him speaking, most likely words of praise to talk you through your high, but you couldn’t hear. White noise buzzed in your ears. Part of you could feel him collecting your juices with his tongue as the built-up tension gushed from your cunt. The other part of you was gone.

At least for a brief period.

When you came back to reality, Finnick was starting to stand back up. His hands were holding both your thighs, keeping them from violently trembling. You stared at him, waiting for the spots in your vision to disappear and the buzzing in your ears to settle. There was nothing you could do about the liquid seeping onto the bench top.

He surveyed your dazed expression, mild concern etched into his features as his eyes flickered between your own. His hand gently cupped the side of your face.

“You here?” he asked, lightly dragging his thumb down your lower lip.

Sweetness coated the tip of your tongue as you licked your bottom lip. Well, no wonder he enjoyed doing that so much. You tasted really… good.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

He gave you this beautiful dimpled smile, and he dropped his hand once more. His eyes were on yours, gleaming with mischief as he dragged two fingers up your folds, glazing them in a white shine. You were so sensitive that your hips jerked forward at the light contact, causing him to chuckle softly.

You watched as he lifted his fingers to his lips and within milliseconds, you were reaching out to stop him.

His fingers were so thick and long, and with your arousal coating them, it was damn near impossible to deny yourself the pleasure of having a little taste as well. So, with two hands holding his palm, you guided his fingers towards you.

You eyed the liquid for a moment, hesitated, and then licked a long strip from the base of his forefinger and up to his fingertip. Then, closing your eyes, you wrapped your lips around the length and began sucking. It was a potent taste, both overpowering and lingering. Not bad though. You moved onto his middle finger, this time keeping your eyes on Finnick as you sucked it clean.

His expression reflected something of astonishment, letting out a perplexed chuckle as he watched. With a wet pop, his fingers were out of your mouth. You were holding his large palm and pressing a soft kiss to each of his fingertips, a tender and affectionate gesture compared to the act you just pulled.

Finnick shook his head at you, wearing a disbelieving smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“What,” he echoed your response under his breath. He grabbed your chin, leaning down until you were face-to-face. “You play a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were on yours and when his tongue slipped into your mouth, all that could be tasted was you. That previous animalistic air about him had dissipated; he was gentler now, kissing you in a way that was adoring rather than bordering primal. Not that you had been complaining.

His pelvis was pressed against yours. More accurately, his cock was pressed against your pelvis. Whoever made his pants must have used strong threading. He was so hard that you were surprised the seams hadn’t ripped apart and exposed him altogether. You were surprised but also thankful because undoing his pants was your job.

Your hands moved to his chest and pushed him backwards. His lips left yours with a displeased grunt.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Finn,” you said, your hands trickling down his torso. “I’ve worked up an appetite myself as well.”

He looked down at you, eyes oozing with seduction. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

You slid off the counter, feeling his erection glide over your body. The fragrant smell of marinated vegetables and chicken still lingered in the room. You should have felt disheartened about not finishing the mouth-watering soup Finnick had made—or perhaps even the entire pot. But as you sank to your knees and began unbuttoning his pants, you realised there was one thing that was a great deal more appetising.

Peering up at him through your lashes, you saw him looking down at you with a lazy smirk.

Your lips stretched into a sinful smile. “My turn.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x fem!reader #sam claflin #the hunger games #mockingjay #catching fire #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair drabble #finnick x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #finnick x you

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doukeshi-kun · 5 months

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imagine visiting stalker!Kolya before a show, staying with him inside his campervan. Could it be painting his nails, trying makeup on him or just playing with his hair as reader and him cuddle?

I love domestic scenarios ☹️🤍 (plus, I developed an obsession for stalker!Kolya)

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙚𝙧!𝙣𝙞𝙠𝙤𝙡𝙖𝙞 + 𝙘𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨

replies ⨳ nikolai is supposed to be obsessed with us, not the other way around ( ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ) btw thanks for pulling me out of writers block lmao enjoy this short drabble gshdjsh

notes ⨳ stalker!nikolai series

contents ⨳ fluff, obsessive thoughts, fem!reader

Nikolai is nervous.

His brain is short-circuited and he cannot stop staring at you. He has around five more hours before he has to leave for a show, though he still has some paperwork to review. And yet here he is, on the bed, with his girl lying against his body, carefully painting baby blue nail polish on his nails.

He found out—through... interesting method—about your sudden interest in nail arts. He even bought a complete set of manicures for you, intended to surprise you with the set once he visited you. But you came to visit him instead, and thus he decided to just give you straight away.

“Do you want a small flower?” your question snaps him out as he glances at his blue nails. Your hand is holding his, checking whether his thumbnail is dried or not. Nikolai swallows hard. His skin flares when he realises how close you two are, how he could smell you, how he could feel you. His finger twitches when he sees your skin is touching his.

Too much. Too much. You're too much.

Even after so many months, you're still too much for his poor heart.

“I-I do,” Nikolai says, smiling softly at you. You turn your face towards him and he almost gasps by how close your faces are—I could kiss you right now. I really want to kiss you. Please, I really want to kiss you. May I, love? I'll be good. Just a kiss, please, little dove.

“You okay? You seem to be... out of it,” you ask, reaching for a small packet of nail ornaments.

“Can I kiss you?”

You raise your eyebrow. It's rare for Nikolai to ask permission to kiss. He doesn't even ask permission to invade your house while you're sleeping and yet here he is, with puppy eyes, baby blue nails and a beige sweater, asking if he can kiss you. You nod slowly and Nikolai giggles happily before he leans forward, kissing your lips. shortly.

“Haha! I'm happy!” he exclaims before he kisses you again. You cannot help for a smile crook on your lips at his childish reaction.

“Ooh! You smile! How adorable!” Nikolai cups your face with his hands, pulling both your cheeks together so that they pucker your lips. “I'm gonna fucking eat you, I swear to God,” he whispers.

Whatever he means by 'eat' —whether literally or sexually, you do not really want to know.

“F-Funny....” you mutter before you tap his arm. “Let me go or you won't get a flower on your thumb,” and Nikolai is quick to obey you, pulling his hands away and offering his painted thumbnail. You glance at him for a second—noticing his gaze is darkened. You decide to ignore it for now. You may have an idea of what Nikolai might be thinking, but he is one unexpected guy. Everything he does seems spontaneous even when he has planned for it long beforehand.

As you're sticking the daisy charm on his nail carefully, your phone rings. You reach it and Nikolai leans forward, trying to listen to your conversation just because he can. You shoo him, pushing him by his chest to give yourself a personal space because he is invading almost every one of your spaces. Pouting, Nikolai huffs and stays on his spot as you answer the phone.

But Nikolai is not giving up. He leans just slightly, enough to see the name on the screen. A common name for men. And he finds his heart races faster when he hears a faint masculine voice talking to you on the other side. Nikolai frowns—well, this enthusiasm doesn't seem nice.

He could barely hear what's the man babbling about, so he depends on your facial expression to figure out what's happening. He could hear muffled, jumbled words like 'work', 'rejected', 'apply', 'coffee', 'out', 'free time', 'help', 'together'—

No.

“That would be wonderful. Thanks. Yeah! Okay, see you there. Thank you so much.”

You end the call, finally looking at Nikolai who is now quiet. You sigh, knowing he probably listened to chunks of your conversation with the hiring man. “Kolya...” you call softly as you scoot closer again to him. Your hands tangle themselves in his fluffy hair, caressing his soft white strands.

“You goin' on a date?” Nikolai pouts.

“It's for work, Kolya... He'd help me to secure another position I've applied for. It's not a date.” you explain carefully. It's not that your current job at the cafe is bad, but you need a more stable financial source. Though Nikolai has offered to take care of you fully, you still want to work for yourself.

"Hm~ I know." Nikolai leans closer, exhaling softly at the way your hand caresses his head. He finds himself getting more possessive and easy to get jealous when it comes to you. He needs more time to think rationally when it comes to keeping you around with him.

“I trust you. You won't—” he hugs you tighter, closer. “—leave me, right?”

Your bodies are embracing one another. You bury your face in his chest as your hands caress his hair and face and neck and shoulder and chest.

“Don't you leave me,” he warns. He makes a large step forward and grabs your arm tightly. “You do not leave me. I love you so much. I love you to the Hell and Heaven. I will not let you leave. We are meant to be together, love, we are meant to be! I need you in my life. I need you, to be my freedom. You and I, we complete each other, little dove.” his mouth is forming a deranged smile as he begins to get impatient.

A distant memory rushes past your mind. You stay still before a soft nudge of his knee against your stabbed thigh pulls you out of that lane of memory. You tug on him tighter and look up at him. You hold his face, kissing his lips slowly, once again making sure of yourself. He moans lowly and smirks against your lips. His hand holds the back of your head as he returns your kiss.

Words aren't enough to describe your declaration to him. It's enough to just—I won't leave you.

©doukeshi-kun 2023 — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, more @/cherikolya

if you like my works, consider buy me a ko-fi!

#道化師-jest❃ུ۪ #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai x reader #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #bsd nikolai gogol #nikolai imagines #bsd nikolai x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

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baeshijima · 27 days

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as if i dont have enough wips to think abt, the thought of figure skater!blade is in my head....

like,,,, just imagine him in the figure skating attire, in a form-hugging black muscle tee which flatters his physique and grey sweats during practice, in a pretty black or navy body shirt with matching slim-fit trousers — should there be any accessories other than his signature mismatch pair of earrings, it would consist of gold trimmings and crimson accents for small, intricate detailings, sometimes a few sequins or crushed jewels would be added depending on the genre of performance.

(oftentimes he will silently revel in your awe at each of his new costumes, his confidence boosting at your approval. if you're there to watch his practice in the rink, he will go the extra mile to show off in hopes of impressing you. if no one else is occupying the rink, he will skate his way over to you before taking your hand, pulling you along with him after getting you into your own pair of skates, his hand entangled with yours as he gently spins you into his arms. he doesn't let go of you; if you fall and tumble onto the ice, then he will gladly go down with you if it means he can still hold you.)

imagine him with his hair in differing styles; sometimes he will leave it loose and flowy, other times he will have it styled in a half-bun or ponytail. during competitions he will have a hair ornament more often than not, one which compliments his chosen costume and genre, with fans wondering how secure it must be to not fall out with all the jumps and spins he does.

(if you ask, he will let you play and fiddle with his hair. he finds himself relaxing at your slightest of touch, the tenseness of his muscles melting away from your warmth, scent, and laughter. sometimes he will ask for you to be the one who styles his hair before a competition, proudly wearing the hair ornament and style you yourself chose for him. if anything, he finds himself performing better when there is a remnant of you with him out on the rink.)

imagine him in a big puffer jacket, his mask-covered face tucked behind the collar with his hands stuffed into the pockets as he makes his way to the venue. it is all-white with black trimmings and stops just below his knees. there's not a moment where he isn't seen without it — as he walks to the venue, as he waits for his turn to come up, as he goes about in public, as he sits in the 'kiss and cry' awaiting his score from the judges, as he slouches against his chair in the changing room before and after his performance; the only time he is seen without his signature puffer jacket is when he is on the rink.

(blade likes the sight of you in his clothes, his puffer jacket in particular. he likes the way it swallows you in your entirety, the way your eyes shine and laughter tinkles with delight makes his heart swell when showing him how far past your hands the sleeves go, and the way both your conjoined hands easily fit inside his pocket, to name a few. but most of all, blade likes the way your scent lingers on the fabric, eventually developing a habit of burying his nose along the inside collar to bask in what remains when you can't be with him pre-competition. in those moments, he makes a mental reminder to have you wear it again so that your lingering perfume can refresh.)

yeah... figure skater!blade.....

#blade in a muscle tee never fails to do smth to me like i need that image OUT of my head but it refuses to go #i want to write a full longfic of this au.... oh no.......#someone sedate me. pls. i cant handle this anymore.#sophie talks : concepts <3 #blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines

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ddarker-dreams · 8 months

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Nexus III.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Explicit not SFW, mommy issues galore, some psychological horror elements, yandere themes, and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 15.6k.

Nexus index.

When you dream of your mother, it’s in a lotus field.

Everyone’s psyche manifests itself in a distinct way, echoes the teachings she left behind. This is yours.

The bioluminescent petals cower inward as if hiding a terrible secret. Some bloom along the hazy ground, others swing in the air, suspended by strings hung from a glass dome overhead.

In this dream, you cannot speak, though you have much to say.

Gentle as you may be, each step you take to close the gap between you and her demands a sacrifice. The flower’s vibrancy drains like color from a dying man’s face. From the stem upward, it decays. To try and save it is to kill it faster. Brittle fragments crumble into ashen piles that scratch at your bare feet.

Her back remains facing you.

You have no way of earning her attention. She is blind to the frantic waving of your arms, deaf to the eroding necropolis you leave in your wake.

You’re certain you’ll never reach her. Still, you try, only to fail all the same.

With each passing dream, a crack along your glass dome spreads. It started too small to see and is now too large to fix. Is it best to let it shatter? Could it be the silent warden that cordons you off from a universe you know yet have never experienced?

Or is it the final bastion that shields you?

A devastating attack on the Thelx’s main guide causes cataphoric damage to the quadrant’s sixth residential district. The aftershocks resulted in the collapse of multiple buildings, resulting in injuries for hundreds and a rising death toll that currently stands at 34. Local residents have filed complaints for years now, listing concerns that the most recent building inspections have not resulted in appropriate measures taking place.

“We all knew something bad was bound to happen,” said one woman who happened to be visiting family in Ade during the incident. “We knew, but where else are we supposed to go? Our choices were to stay put and take our chances or try surviving in Arc. No one wanted that. But now…. seeing this… maybe Arc would’ve been better.”

An investigation into the matter is being spearheaded by Chrysus, Ade’s Exalted Regent.

We reached out to Chrysus’ team for a statement and have yet to receive a response.

Rumors are swirling online that the attack was targeted at Thelx’s Exalted Arbiter, [First] Phaeales, the single daughter of the deceased Ania Phaeales. A spokesperson for Thelx’s fledgling matriarch has confirmed her safety, though she received minor injuries. Thelx is expected to endure further economic hardship due to the IPC’s recent travel ban. The LOTUS-EATER and similar establishments constitute up to 43% of Thelx’s total gross domestic product—

“It’s rude to read when you have a guest over,” Nona chides.

“Sorry.”

You turn your phone off and place it beside the other ornaments atop your vanity. Makeup, jewelry, hair ornaments, and one of the only gifts your mother ever gave; a lotus made of iridescent crystals. It’s sat untouched for years and you assume it will continue to do so.

Nona, who has helped herself to lying on your bed, rolls over onto her stomach. Both her cheeks squish together as she holds her head up by tiny fists, her elbows digging into your comforter for support. She draws her lips into a thin line. There’s a hollowness to her gaze that rivals the mask she wore when you first met.

“Why do you care so much?”

Her inquiry leaves you temporarily at a loss for words. “... What?”

“About people you haven’t met,” she clarifies. “Whose names you don’t even know. To them, you’re nothing but a glorified mascot to blame when things go bad and praise when things go right.”

Your mouth is too dry for you to swallow. “Each life in Thelx has been entrusted to me.”

“So? Did everyone come up to you one by one and ask for your stewardship?”

“Of course not, don’t be unreasonable.”

“I’m the one being unreasonable?” Nona barks a caustic laugh. “Have you seen what these people have been saying? ‘Let’s pack up the family and move to Arc!’, as if any of them could survive there for more than the instant their foot crosses over the divide. It’s hilarious! The funniest joke I’ve heard in some time.”

Your eyes narrow. “That’s enough. The community is understandably hurt. Frightened. When tragedies happen, we each have our ways of making sense of things.”

She pushes herself up and sits crisscross. “I’m just saying I’d like to see them try. Me… I would’ve given anything to have been born here. An organ, a limb, whatever. At least I’d be hobbling around where there’s light and warmth.”

“Nona…”

“They don’t know. They have no idea,” Nona trembles. “People make Arc out to be something it isn’t. ‘Look at how free they are, they can live as they please, answering to no one but themselves!’ Funnily enough, the IPC said the same thing when they built Perianth, didn’t they? Got the whole universe feeling warm and fuzzy. The poor, the wretched, the damned; they’re hideous up close, so let’s tuck them far away from the light. Then we don’t have to see them.”

She hangs her head. “Experiencing rejection from the rejected… that’s what they can look forward to in Arc. Anything else is a pipe dream.”

You get up from your chair and sit down next to her on the bed. Finding a blanket, you toss it over your shoulder, extra prudent to avoid any accidental contact. Glassy amber eyes blink slowly as you pat the cushioned spot. She starts leaning in, only to pause a few inches shy of her intended target. You don’t need to be in her head to guess what reel she’s flicking through. When the feature film’s end credits roll, she rests her head on your shoulder.

“Lear’s worried about you, y’know.”

“I know.”

“Loopy would be too, if it were sentient.”

“It’s possible.”

“...”

She whispers your name, hesitant, as if she were a child preparing to ask their parents for a gift they know they can’t have.

“If I could, I’d wish that all the stars in the universe would burn so bright, so hot, that each person would melt away like ice until only us three remain. The poor, wretched, and damned. Our happiness would be unrivaled if there were no one else to compare ourselves to. You don’t know misery if no one ever tells you you’re miserable.”

Or maybe you invent new miseries for yourself, you think. Then, with no one to compare yourself to… would you not be the most miserable person in the universe?

You could voice your musings but to verbalize them now feels wrong. Instead, you choose to let her live the wish that will never come true. In this pocket dimension, beyond the four walls of your room, nothing exists. No Thelx, Perianth II, Stellaron Hunter or IPC. There are only two jagged shards who have abandoned being whole again. You might not click together like puzzle pieces, perfectly falling into place to form a seamless image, but you can look at the pane you broke free from and decide for yourself if the result was worth it.

Choosing between two evils is better than being stuck with one.

“Nona,” you break the silence. If there’s anything you’ve been doing too much of lately, it’s dwelling on factors beyond your control.

“Hm?”

“That flower bouquet,” you nod toward the magenta-colored roses on your vanity, which she brought in earlier. “There was a message attached to it, wasn’t there?”

She stiffens.

“... Possibly.”

You knew a ‘gift’ from Miss 10.899 billion wouldn’t come without some poisonous flourish. The roses don’t have thorns, so the sharpness must lay elsewhere.

“What did it say?”

“You really want to know?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

She deflates like a balloon pricked by a needle, then mumbles, “The tag said ‘Get well soon.’”

Ah, you think. If I could have anyone melt away… she’d certainly be high on the list.

You haven’t spoken one word to Blade since he carried your unconscious body back to the LOTUS-EATER.

Regardless, he’s still around. He isn’t some option in your settings you can turn off with a single button press. He hasn’t initiated contact while you healed from your injuries, which consisted of a sprained ankle, two broken ribs, and minor abrasions peppered throughout. Your high position ensured you’d receive the best medical care Eris has to offer.

Fourteen total cycles have passed since the Thelx nectar guide bombing.

Fourteen dreary cycles filled with nothing but eating bland food, taking bitter medication, and dreaming the same gloomy dream.

During this festive stretch, Nona has been your primary visitor. Lear restricted himself to electronic communication, fearing the emotional reaction he’d experience from seeing you in this state might harm you. They’ve both taken to distracting you in their own fashion. Nona shows you pictures, such as the googly eyes she put on Loopy, or discusses the strangest psyches she’s seen from clients. One client’s mind manifested itself as a drumstick.

“Not even a pair, just one,” she giggled. “Hey, don’t start lecturing me about our privacy policy. I see you fighting back a smile. That absolves me from breaking my NDA.”

Then there’s Lear who laser focuses on your health. At least 80% of his texts follow the ‘Have you x’ format. Stretched, taken medicine, slept, eaten; you half expect him to start asking if you’ve breathed enough.

The timer you’ve set for your tea goes off.

You pull the teabag out, dispose of it, and then stir the ruby-colored concoction. Golden flecks swirl in a violent vortex. Content, you throw on a diaphanous, cape-like outer garment over your loungewear. The fabric is deceptively delicate to the eye yet has been synthesized to preserve heat.

The components that open your bedroom door at your behest emit a low hum. The lack of use must’ve spoiled them. This is the first time you’ve emerged from your hibernation. The light system in your office whirs to life upon your return. You wave off the visual assault. Your eyes have become so accustomed to the dark that you’ll need to build your light tolerance back up.

After inputting the proper passcode, you pass through to the balcony.

And then immediately regret it when Blade’s back is the first thing that greets you.

He’s in a meditative stance. The gales of loud emotion that normally engulf him have quieted down to a hush. From this position, you can see how his long ebony strands cascade down his back, the tips taken on a reddish hue. A pearlescent sheen shimmers along the outline of his body, the moon’s personal gift. When one thinks of a stereotypical warrior, certain biases culminate in the rough image of some brute, like a brigand from a child’s fairytale.

However, seeing him like this, exuding poise and temperance, you think he fits the role of prince.

You take a step back.

“You can stay,” his voice slashes through your entangled thoughts, “I’ll go inside.”

A beast slithers in the calm waters as soon as he stops his meditation. It isn’t voracious or on the hunt. No, you get the distinct feeling it finds pleasure in lurking just below the surface, not creating so much as a ripple to deter its prey. Waiting and waiting. By the time some poor soul enters and realizes they aren’t alone, it’s too late. Multiple rows of pointed teeth have already pierced their flesh.

You block his path with your body, an act that’s equally confounding to him as it is to you.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say. Your boldness fizzles out beneath the weight of his stare. “If… that’s alright.”

He considers you briefly. You expect him to walk away without sparing you another glance, but it must be his turn to foster confusion. He turns around and sits on the chair to the left, as he did when you first became acquainted. After what feels like a delay in your neurons providing information to your brain, you sit beside him. It occurs to you that your little balcony is in excellent shape even though you haven’t been able to maintain it.

You look at him from the corner of your eye.

Has he been keeping this area clean?

Oddly enough, it’s Blade who prompts further conversation. “How are your injuries?”

“My ankle’s fully recovered and my ribs only hurt if I move too much. I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

You take a sip of your concoction. A sweet, herbal flavor dances on your tongue with a hint of spice. These tea leaves are one of the few that can grow on Eris in an artificial environment. You added a spoonful of the Nectary’s tonic to complement the taste. It’s a drink popularly referred to as ambrosia.

“How about you? Have you healed— oh, um.” You raise your hand to cover your traitorous mouth. It can prevent more words from coming out, but it can’t take back what’s already been said.

“I have, unfortunately.”

“‘Unfortunately?’” You repeat back, though the sound is muffled. You wince. So much for putting an end to your bluntness.

“You’re acting reserved,” he dryly notes. “Is this the same woman who takes every chance to tell me off?”

“Hey, I don’t take every chance to—” You throw your head back in exasperation upon seeing the beginning of a self-satisfied smirk. “... I shouldn’t… have behaved as… candidly as I did. It’s unprofessional.”

“‘That part,’ huh,” Blade mutters. “You don’t have to section off parts of yourself, you choose to.”

The tea’s aftertaste turns bitter.

To be whole is a privilege Blade doesn’t have, you think. If he allowed that, then… would he really be ‘Blade’ anymore?

You stare down at the distorted reflection the tea provides, ripples distorting your likeness before you can confirm his claim. Your hands must be trembling.

“I advised against it for a reason. My mind is unsightly.”

“It isn’t that!” you turn your head toward him, catching how he furrows his eyebrows at your outburst of emotion, “What I did… it wasn’t right. I took advantage of your vulnerable state and tried to manipulate you. Control you. A violation like that… it’s unforgivable.”

Anytime a situation threatens to spiral beyond your control, you resort to what you supposedly swore off.

I’ll only do it this once, the circumstances call for it, you’d tell yourself. No more after that. I mean this time, I really do. It won’t happen again.

Until it does.

Alister with his weapon. Blade after he saved your life. Lear when the loneliness felt excruciating.

Your chest feels like it’s hosting a colony of crawling maggots ready to burst through your flesh. It hurts, this slimy, despicable filth that you scrub raw only to dirty again. Not trusting yourself with the fragile teacup, you set it down.

“So that’s what you consider a sin,” Blade says. “You oppose incarceration and yet you're a prisoner to your own guilt.”

“That’s different.”

“Even so, one is far worse than the other. I should know; I’ve experienced both. If I could choose between a physical prison or my mind, I’d pick the former.”

You recall the gargantuan structure that is Blade’s repressed psyche. The oppressive atmosphere, how it stood alone, far removed from anything resembling hope.

If it’s of Xianzhou build, it must be none other than the Shackling Prison.

“The injuries you received when protecting me,” You work through each word slowly, as if testing their validity. “They should’ve killed you. But instead… you ‘defied the natural order’ — death itself.”

Blade doesn’t move his gaze from the four moons in the sky.

The Xianzhou Alliance’s intolerance for those who follow the Aeon of Abundance, Yaoshi, is infamous throughout the universe. What the followers consider blessings, they reject as curses. For the Xianzhou, it’s personal. The ink the Aeon has left behind hardly has time to dry before more transgressions are added to the ledger.

Those who live on Eris, yourself included, most commonly follow the Noct, the Aeon of The Ideal. Noct is thought to be the one who blessed this planet with the Nectary. Without it, the first generation of prisoners left to fend for themselves by the IPC would have perished. Your Aeon is in what the Genius Society calls ‘an indefinite hibernation’, not interacting with the material world yet not fully removed from it either. Some revere their Aeon enough to die for them, others despise them enough to dedicate everything to their destruction; neither side makes sense.

To you, the Aeons feel almost as distant as the stars.

“Can it really be considered a sin if it’s beyond your control?”

“It won’t always be,” he replies. “Until then, I can’t allow myself to forget. You must get why.”

You wish you didn’t.

A few moments pass. They flow into each other smoothly, lacking acidity. You resume drinking your tea. It’s lukewarm, but you don’t mind.

“You truly aren’t afraid of me,” you remark.

“What’s there to be afraid of?”

The deep bass of his voice temporarily adjusts to allow bemusement. It takes you a moment to realize he isn’t mocking you, it’s more teasing than anything. The reminder does serve you well. Physically, the gap in your strength is insurmountable. He could snuff out your life before you realized your appointment with death had been expedited.

“Most people are put off by my company in a casual setting. Being around someone who could peer into your mind, past all the pretenses we work so diligently to build… it’s frightening. Unnatural, even.”

He focuses on the abyssal horizon. It’s as if your Aeon swaddled this planet in a pitch-black blanket with the four moons acting as a nursery mobile. You can reach up to grasp them as much as you’d like, but the cosmic entities will never be yours. It is you who belongs to them.

“My mind has a will of its own,” Blade tells you. “It’s loud. Something about you quiets it down.”

You blink. “Really?”

He stares at you blankly instead of repeating himself. You take it that’s his way of communicating he has no reason to be dishonest.

“This affliction you’re suffering from… it’s called mara, correct?”

The instant the word leaves your lips, his demeanor shifts. It’s subtle, the tightening of his muscles and his frown deepening, yet the physical signs aren’t what tip you off. The pervasive air shrouding the beast inside his psyche is twitching. It longs to permanently rid Blade of control and loathes each rejection it’s endured.

“I think I saw it. From what I’ve heard, I thought it’d be more self-destructive. Yours, though… how do I put it… it’s vicious, but it’s like a muzzle has been forced on it. I assume Kafka had something to do with that?”

He doesn’t deny your conjecture.

“Hmph, figures it’d be her handiwork. She can poke around in people’s heads, but her techniques are more effective in the short term. It lacks staying power,” you cross your arms. “I wonder why my presence deters your mara.”

“It’s never functioned normally. I’ve long abandoned trying to make sense of it.”

“I can’t accept that,” you huff. “You’ve saved my life twice now. There has to be something useful to be gleaned from this, even if it isn’t a complete cure.”

The groundwork has been laid out. You were able to scrape together enough to give his psyche form, an act that’s no small feat, since he didn’t go through the typical interview process. Initiating physical contact with him was a risk, but you’ve yet to notice any consequences.

While considering the best methods, an epiphany sinks its claws into you.

You bite your lower lip. “I’m— um. Getting ahead of myself. After what happened, I understand if you don’t want me in your head.”

The terms of atonement crafted by your own hands can’t be sufficient penance.

“Multiple influences have fought for control of my mind,” he reveals. Your breath catches in your tightening throat. This isn’t a wound you’ve inflicted, it’s a wound you’ve reopened. Mara’s madness, Kafka’s adjustments; how much tampering has he been subjected to? There have been foreign elements inserted and his original self shifted around, if not removed entirely. His psyche is strung together like fraying patchwork.

You don’t know what to do. Should you apologize again? Leave him be? Form some sort of arrangement where he doesn’t have to interact with you directly?

These frantic thoughts halt when you examine his profile.

Blade isn’t stewing in animosity or grief. He’s simply sitting there, living in the present. Swarming torments don’t caw and peck at him. He isn’t smiling, but his facial features express contentment, the way a laborer would after a toiling day. Flowing with the current instead of struggling against the tide.

“Out of all of them, though,”

The brilliant luster of his eyes takes you hostage.

“Yours… wasn’t so bad.”

Unknown

You’re there, aren’t you?

Unknown

Don’t be shy and ignore my messages.

Unlike some people, I’m busy

Unknown

I assure you I’m busy with various preparations too.

Unknown

Never too busy to check in on my favorite Arbiter though. ♡

Unknown

Did you like the roses?

I would’ve liked them more if they weren’t from you

Unknown

💔

Unknown

So, it’d be different if they were from someone else? Hm… I might get jealous if that’s the case.

It wouldn’t make much of a difference, anyway They’ve already wilted

Unknown

That’s a shame

Unknown

I suppose what I find beautiful doesn’t suit Eris’ climate very well

Unknown

I know you’re not going to respond anymore, so I’ll stop pestering you for now

Unknown

Take good care of yourself, little Miss Arbiter ♡

It’s become a tradition for Lear to join your and Nona’s training sessions. She’s in her highest spirits when the three of you are under the same roof, even if you’re all doing different things. Presently, Lear is replacing Loopy’s hardware with an older operating system. The latest update downloaded automatically and fixed the bug that caused your favorite robot’s premier quality. Having a robot named Loopy who no longer loops is inconceivable.

Since the LOTUS-EATER is closed for the foreseeable future, you accepted Nona’s idea to have her training on the first floor rather than the second. According to her, The Lounge has ‘distracting’ vibes, so you hoped a change in scenery might recenter her.

However, you’re beginning to seriously question your judgment.

“Lear, can I please have a drink?”

“Lear, don’t pay her any mind. She needs to be sober during her training.”

“Sobriety is a concept invented by the prohibitionists!”

Lear’s attention darts between you, standing imposingly with your arms crossed, then to Nona, who mimes what she must think to be a sympathetic countenance.

“Um…” he trails off. Unable to withstand the immovable object and unstoppable force, he retreats to the motherboard he’s been working on. “I’m technically not on the clock, so I shouldn’t handle merchandise that doesn’t belong to me.”

Nona wads up a piece of paper and throws it at him.

It misses.

By a lot.

“Stop pestering Lear and take your assignment seriously,” you frown. Then you realize what paper she used as ammunition. “Hold on… don’t tell me you just crumpled up and threw correspondence from Chrysus.”

She shrugs. “That discount hound probably didn’t have anything worthwhile to say, anyway.”

“Is Eris’ future not ‘worthwhile?’”

“Not if we hop on a spaceship and never look back.”

Lear sets his tools aside, unfurls the letter, then returns it to you. Nona sticks her tongue out at him and he flips her off.

… Maybe you need a drink.

“Hey, Stellaron Hunter,” Nona waves her arms wildly. “You must have a ship, right? How about it? Got room for three more? It wouldn’t even disrupt the arrangement. You can keep watch over [First] to your heart’s content.”

The ‘Stellaron Hunter’ in question has stationed himself on a barstool, where he blatantly ignores Nona’s request. He had been standing against a far wall as you’ve learned he’s apt to do, but this made you feel bad. After some needling, he caved and sat down at your behest. It’s been a little over a week since your conversation on the balcony. Your free time since then has been sparse. An injury doesn’t make your work disappear, it just causes it to pile up higher.

In light of what Chrysus deems a terrorist attack, you are to have a hearing with him and Caicias. Blade staunchly refused any request for you to meet them in person. For once, you agreed with the strict measures. The nectar guide has been repaired, but the mere chance that more people could be injured at another attempt on your life is unacceptable. After some bureaucratic back and forth, it was agreed upon that the risk of a cyberattack would be the lesser of two evils.

Chrysus insisted on handwritten correspondence delivered through trustworthy sources until the hearing. The message Nona flung consisted of him tiptoeing around every serious query you’ve brought to his attention. Your most burning question concerns the residential district’s building inspections. More specifically, how the dire reports never made their way to you.

Initially, you thought it may have fallen through the cracks. Your mother’s sudden death two years prior plunged Thelx into chaos. She wasn’t expected to retire for another fifty years. As such, you were woefully underprepared for the mantle forced onto you. She hadn’t even told you the passcode to unlock the LOTUS-EATER’s front doors. Data restoration from some old hardware she never disposed of provided enough login information for you to keep things rolling. That theory crumbled when you recalled that in 2150 AE, building permits and inspections were made to be public records.

Upon checking, from 2150 AE to the present, everything has supposedly been up to code.

The employee who signed off on the inspections is under an Ade company, which falls outside your jurisdiction.

You wrote to Chrysus detailing your concerns. His response can best be summarized as him telling you that he’ll handle it.

That did little to put your doubts to rest.

“I’m telling you, this is impossible,” Nona grumbles. “Can you reset it?”

“I’ve already reset it four times.”

“Well, you know, fifth time’s the charm.”

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve sighed throughout this training.

“Let’s not give up so soon, okay? Which part do you feel is impossible?”

You sit down beside her to get a better look. The blue, holographic screen fills you with nostalgia. This program was developed by a retired Arbiter to aid in their training. Essentially, it generates a ‘person’ with traits indistinguishable from their flesh and blood counterparts. Physiology, disposition, every experience they’ll go through from birth to death; it misses no detail.

The trainees are supposed to go through the steps as if they were interacting with a client. They must establish a link by piecing together the simulated psyche, giving it an interactable form.

Nona’s a rare case. Most Arbiters struggle with establishing and maintaining Synalinks, an area she excels at. It’s the first step that presents an issue. She has a difficult time establishing links. It’s a foundational part of the process that can’t be haphazard.

“He’s so whiny. He’s a bigshot vocalist, traveling around the galaxy to sold-out shows, and he still complains that no one will ever ‘understand’ him or his art when even he doesn’t get it! He’s just coming up with fake deep lyrics.”

“Did you look at the childhood fragments? For insecurity, that’s a good place to start.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on that,” she grimaces as if she bit into something sour. “He came from old money. Opera star for a mom and a successful businessman for a dad. He wanted for nothing. But no, apparently he still needs to change his profile picture to black and the about section to ‘gone’ whenever he wants attention.”

You pull up a critical childhood fragment. “Here you can see his father leaving a recital early to take a phone call. Then, after the performance, his mother is quick to point out the areas he needs to work on.”

“So? He was screwing around on his phone during his singing lessons, what did he expect?”

“Consider what happens when his tutor leaves. His face falls and he’s fighting back tears. He’s acting out to get the attention his parents don’t give him. The tutor is older and in a position of power, which makes him a perfect surrogate.”

“That happened when he was six, though. He’s had decades to get over it.”

“Even if that were true, it wouldn’t make a difference. A person’s experiences are real to them. Say I think there’s a hidden compartment in my bedroom due to the wall making a peculiar noise. I have lived my entire life believing this. If you saw that fragment while trying to piece my psyche together, then dispute it because you know there’s no hidden compartment, there’d be disunity. Every belief, no matter how small, connects in a complex web. Why did I make that inference? Did I read it in a book? Did my mother scare me into following curfew by saying a secret monster hiding there would get me if I stayed up too late? The mind is a fragile thing and we must treat it as such.”

Nona puts her hands up. “Alright, alright, geez. Make sense of the events through their lens, not mine. Got it.”

Unexpectedly, it’s Lear who speaks up next.

“What would happen if those fragments were altered?”

You place a hand on your chin. “It’d depend on the fragment’s importance. In the example I gave, it’d cause friction in maintaining a link, but it wouldn’t fundamentally change everything I’ve ever known. As for a fragment more significant, well… I’m not sure.”

“You aren’t?”

“Without credible data to pull from, I’d only be speculating.”

A frigid draft whirrs through. You shiver.

“You’re better at this than I am, Lear. Wanna switch places?” Nona asks.

Lear stands up, his palm covering his mouth. It’s as if the vitality has been drained from his face. He transitions through multiple expressions, each more agonized than the last. Your heart twists violently against your ribcage. You want to call out to him, comfort him, but there’s no combination of words that’d douse the raging fire.

Is it happening again? You think. No… this has to be the worst one yet!

It’s before you again.

A simple stage in a modest auditorium.

There are no performers or stagehands. The lights in the theater are dim, the chairs are folded up. Pamphlets clutter the ground in disorganized heaps. Looking up, you realize they’re falling from the rafters like rain. One lands by your feet. You pick it up, squinting to make sense of the words. It’s a playbill advertising a show titled The Idiot.

Directed by

ANIA PHAEALES

THE CAST

(In order of appearance)

The Servant…………………………………………………………………………..UNNAMED

The Fool…………………………………………………………………..…………..UNNAMED

The Coward…………………………………………………………………………...UNNAMED

On and on the list goes, ascribing every unflattering role to an unknown party.

Mother’s name is here? Why? Was she that influential over Lear?

Spotlights flick on. Hot streams of light illuminate you in a blinding assault, which you try to block with your hands. The light’s intensity overpowers your meager attempts. A spectral crowd cheers, rousing applause and whistles emanating from empty chairs. Champagne glasses clink, men guffaw deep from their diaphragms, and women shriek like banshees.

It gets hotter and louder, again, then once more; suffocating you in a cacophony of sensory stimuli.

The audience makes passing comments.

“... A shame, it couldn’t work out…”

“Though what did they expect, truly…”

“... Know how it is…”

The finale rings crystal clear.

“Some people born will die never knowing love.”

A wet, metallic-smelling substance drips from your nose. The softness of a rag replaces this feeling. It remains there, tickling your senses. There’s that floral scent again — subtle and pleasant. The flower it’s derived from may be toxic, but the strands of vermillion that curl outward like spider legs look so inviting. The petals are streams of blood frozen by time. Every time they wither, they’re forced to bloom again, perpetuating a cycle from which there’s no escape.

You’ve seen sunsets in pictures. There are two of them glaring down at you now, circular, as if viewed through a looking glass.

“How pretty,” your words blur together. “‘ve always to see… a sunset…”

You never will, though. Eris is far, far away from any brilliant stars. The aloof night sky will be your lullaby and your dirge.

Sluggishly, you sit up. You’re on one of the nice leather couches in The Club. A headache thumps in your head like a landlord who raps against the door of a tenant late with rent. You’re about to stand when an authoritative voice stops you.

“Stay still.”

You open your mouth to protest. Blade must know your demeanor when you intend to be petulant, for he cuts you off.

“That wasn’t a request.”

You murmur something incomprehensible and melt back into the cushion. Regardless of your obedience, Blade stands close, as if you’re planning to bolt, trip on an uneven floor panel, then hit your head and die instantly. Glancing around, you note no one else is here.

He follows your eyes and accurately surmises your intentions. “The quiet one ran out and the noisy one ran after him.”

Any other time, that deadpan delivery mixed with his personal interpretation of Lear and Nona would’ve made you laugh. Presently, though, you’re fighting off a headache that outclasses every other that’s come before it. Top of the class and then some. It helps to know that Lear won’t be alone. Why exactly he experienced such an intense emotional eruption is a mystery to you. Then there’s the chaotic state of his psyche to consider; if you were disoriented from the aftershocks, the epicenter must’ve been cataclysmic.

You’re so swept up in your thoughts, that it takes you a while to notice how Blade’s been staring at you. This in and of itself is nothing new. He’s been your shadow ever since forced this arrangement. It irritated you at first, but that blistering offense eased into acceptance. His vigilance felt befitting of a guard. Taking in your surroundings, assessing any threats; such is his prerogative.

How he’s eyeing you now feels different. It’s as if he’s looking through you, not at you.

“Is something wrong? You’re making such a scary expression,” you joke.

No visual reaction.

“I’m waiting for your explanation.”

“About…?”

Blade doesn’t bother hiding his displeasure. He glowers down at you, the difference in your height further exacerbated because you’re sitting down.

The impromptu staring contest comes to an end when he speaks up, his voice carrying less hostility.

“That idea you proposed,” he begins, moving back to return your personal space, “Are you still willing to try it?”

He has to bring this up now of all times? You don’t want to loudly announce a deeply private matter, especially if there’s a possibility the information will make it back to Kafka. Your best shot is to downplay the severity of what you went through. He might be doing his job, but you don’t want him cordoning off Lear as a precautionary measure. You don’t blame Lear in the slightest — this punishment is appropriate for your past hubris.

“Of course.”

“I accept your offer.”

Ah, you think. So this is the game he’s going to play.

“In that case… when should we get started?”

You can guess his next sentence before it comes out.

“I’m ready whenever you are.”

Nona

hey hey

Nona

we’re all good here

Nona

lear’s quiet but he’s doing better. he keeps apologizing

Nona

i thanked him for causing a scene and getting me out of class

Nona

he kinda maybe let out a sound like a laugh

Nona

i’ll be hanging with him until things simmer down a bit more

Nona

man. i have to say though. sword guy had the most abominable vibes when it all went down

Nona

i yelled at him that if he hurt lear you would turn his mind into goop

Nona

soooo if you wouldn’t mind please tell him that was a joke and that i don’t deserve to get stabbed on sight.

Nona

anyway. take care of yourself. call me when you feel up to it

It took three hours, a couple of painkillers, and more glasses of water than you cared to count to be ‘ready.’

You change into formal garments, consisting of an ivory gown that flows down to your feet, and a chiffon, indigo cloak that encases you from your shoulders to your knees. You fasten the heavy fabric into place with a broach your mother wore when she served as the Exalted Arbiter. It shows different stages of a moon, connected by four silver spokes. The highest point is the first quarter moon; to the right, the hollow outline of a new moon; the lowest point, the last quarter moon; then lastly, the full moon is to the left.

Blade sits across from you in the chair designated for clients. He’s silent as you make your preparations, his eyes following you like a haunted painting. His ulterior motives are irrelevant. Inside this room, you’ve carried out your work as an Arbiter hundreds, if not thousands of times. You’ve heard the most clandestine fantasies that wouldn’t even be uttered on a deathbed. Devoid of judgment, you’ve filled your mind with the overflowing desires of their heart, careful not to lose a single drop.

“Are you comfortable?”

He nods.

“Good. Let me know if you need anything.”

An ornate tea kettle made from Eris’ dark stone sits atop the Nectary’s gemstone. It’s bronze in color and emits a warm, calming glow. Once the water inside is brought to a boil, you pour it into an opal goblet. Next, you add ambrosia leaves that have been ground into a fine powder. It sizzles upon contact with the water. Finally, you procure a vial from a pouch inside your clothes. Four drops of the Necatary’s tonic descend into the concoction.

“I’ve seen you drink this before,” Blade notes.

“Now you’ll get to try. Don’t worry, it isn’t poisoned.”

It could be the low lighting and exhaustion, but you swear you see his lips curl upward.

“Add however much you please. My only condition is that it works permanently.”

“It’s a tempting offer. Sadly, I have to drink after you. Maybe another time.”

After stirring the ambrosia, you hand the goblet to him. His eyes remind you of burning embers. Their radiance fascinates you. You shift in your seat, suddenly conscious of yourself. Has his gaze always held this weight? When he pulls the goblet away, you notice the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, how there’s a pretty sheen coating his lips.

Where is this onslaught coming from? Why couldn’t it have waited until later?

You hurriedly take a sip from the goblet. Noct’s ichor tastes sweet and spicy.

It’s tradition to repeat an incantation so as to invoke your slumbering Aeon’s blessing. You’re about to say it, when there’s a cool, smooth sensation against the corner of your lips. Every muscle in your body goes taut as if you’ve been turned to stone by some wicked spell.

Blade’s gloved finger ghosts over your skin.

He’s leaning over, still sitting down, close enough that you can see your reflection in his eyes. You see how high your eyebrows have raised, the ‘o’ shape of your mouth.

“B-Blade?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.

He says nothing. Goosebumps litter your skin, the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Your heart is a ferocious war drum. Whether it’s sounding an alarm or an invitation, you cannot tell. A beast made in your image has life breathed into it. You thought you slayed it, watched the light drain from its beady eyes, but it’s resuscitating.

Then again, maybe you’re a fool for thinking lust can stay dead.

He sinks back into his seat, completely impassive, acting like what he did carried no significance.

“Some of the drink got on you,” he explains, entirely nonchalant. “I cleaned it off.”

Being thrown into a furnace wouldn’t compare to the heat ensnaring your body.

You cough into your hand. “Oh, yeah, that’s— thank you.”

The awkward jumble of words flounders out before you can stop them. Your lessons in etiquette and oration have hidden themselves, somewhere beyond accessibility, scurrying to the shadows like mice when a cat approaches. If you were to make a list of your dumbest statements, this would make it far in the rankings.

This time, you’re certain of it. That little smirk. Maybe he’s getting back at you for withholding information earlier.

Whatever the case, you have a goal you’re determined to see through. You resume the incantation, although your voice lacks assertiveness.

“To dream is a sacred thing. Don’t fear it. Welcome it, rejoice in it, and shed no tears when it is finished. We’ve been granted your purest blessing. As you slumber, we find rest in you. Allow us the sweetest of dreams.”

You close your eyes…

… And when you reopen them, the Shackling Prison looms above you.

This link is far more stable than its predecessor. There’s no ticking timer hurrying you along, you’re free to examine every nook and cranny. You notice how desaturated your surroundings are. The blades of grass closest to the prison blend in with the stone, the only hit belying their true nature being how they sway in the breeze. There isn’t any vegetation or ambiance that suits the surrounding environment. Birds don’t sing, rushing rivers are silent, and bugs refuse to perform their melodies.

Nothing regresses or progresses; he’s wedged in a constant state of inertia. Your heart aches.

You make your way to the impenetrable gates. After thinking about it, you hypothesized the seal you previously encountered was an emergency defense he unknowingly created. At that exact moment, Blade didn’t want you puppeteering him. He may be enigmatic, but what you know for certain is that he takes his assignments seriously. The Stellaron Hunters want you alive so he has to as well.

That’d explain why it acted hostile to your interference. You’ve never established a link in such a high-stakes, volatile setting. You were bound to encounter oddities of some fashion. This explanation reassures you as you get closer.

Only to ruthlessly get debunked.

The seal is still here. It’s styled in the outline of a circle, overlapping the doors that keep you from studying Blade’s mara. Frustration floods you. This can’t be Blade’s handiwork. The one comparison is how it emanates steady energy, similar to how he is in a meditative state. The similarities stop there.

It's grown paler, you realize. Its potency has waned since I’ve last seen it, too.

To test this, you push against it.

The gates creak back.

This gap lets you steal a glance at Blade’s mara. It consists of multiple tumor-like abscesses that writhe against each other, forming a pulsating, fleshy mass. This ebullition isn’t consistent. Different sections have a will of their own. Some try consuming their adversary, others suffocate what’s beneath through their bulk alone. The horror extends down into a pit whose depth you couldn’t possibly guess. Killing, devouring, gorging, and digesting; only to experience a rebirth that will perpetuate the cycle.

It pushes against the windows and seeps into the structure’s cracks, of which you count many. The mara’s repairing him, vigilant in its upkeep. It is a ghastly glue holding fractured pieces that long for respite together.

Your intrusion causes it to gurgle and retract. The mara doesn’t break down or weaken, it gradually oozes down like bile in an esophagus.

The seal repels you, cutting your grotesque investigation short.

The last thing you see before the gates slam shut is the mara reclaiming its territory.

…

Blade’s fully conscious while you need some time to refamiliarize yourself with your surroundings. Your head raises its thunderous complaints about how it’s being overused lately. You down a cup of water, careful not to get any on your lips, so your earlier weakness isn’t repeated.

“Alright. Let me get my thoughts together,” You take a deep breath, then continue, “I only caught a glimpse of your mara. It did retreat after noticing my presence, although I’m not sure why.

Blade doesn’t say anything. You’re beginning to get used to that.

“And another thing. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, since everything about our previous link was messy… but this time and the last, there’s this seal preventing me from going deeper. Do you have any idea what that’s about?”

“You’re the expert here.”

That must mean he doesn’t.

“Hah. I’m starting to wonder about that.”

You don’t mean to sound so defeated. You have some years under your belt — 120, to be exact — but you’ve realized how many areas you’re lacking in. Nymphalians live anywhere from 500 to 700 years. Your mother was 200 when she’d been anointed as Eris’ new Exalted Arbiter. She tried stamping out the quiet pride your prodigious abilities instilled in you. All it did was form a gaping chasm neither of you ever tried to mend.

You have the materials now, but it’s too late. There’d be no one waiting on the other side once you crossed.

Blade leans forward, presses his elbows to his knees, and rests his chin on his fists.

“Would it help if you touched me?”

You shoot up straight from your chair like it just stabbed you. Heat infuses into your cheeks, then spreads throughout, momentarily stupefying you. His monotonous words loop in your head. How can he sit there so collected after making an insinuation like that?! Especially when you’re not at your top performance.

“That’s highly inna—”

“You avoid skin-to-skin contact,” he interrupts, his visage unreadable. “The one time you didn’t, you made it far.”

It’s a mistake to underestimate his perspicacity just because he doesn’t actively flaunt it.

“What did you think I meant?”

Why can’t his voice have a little more intonation? If he’s being playful, his delivery is too dry for you to tell.

“Nothing, nothing at all,” you sit back down and cross your legs in an attempt to look professional. “What you’re referring to is a precaution my mother suggested. In the past, strange reactions have occurred after I came into direct contact with someone. Not always, though. No one could determine the how or why.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Honestly… you Stellaron Hunters should’ve just waterboarded me, you would’ve gotten this information faster, if that’s the objective here.”

“Lie if you want.”

“I don’t want to lie to you,” you admit. He knits his eyebrows together, an act that accentuates the dark lines beneath his eyes. “You deserve to understand what I did. If I hadn’t resorted to that, it’d be different.”

“Hm.”

No one can ever claim Blade doesn’t have a way with words.

Suppressing a yawn, you refocus the conversation. “I think we made some good progress here. I’m willing to keep at it if you are.”

“No. That’s enough for now,” he says. “Go rest.”

“Eh? I can keep going, though.”

“I know. Rest anyway.”

Your body is letting you know that it’s finished, your exhaustion has crossed the semi-tolerable threshold to unbearable. There’s a hearing to prepare for, Nona and Lear to reach out to, and about another million odds and ends. This flurry of activity won’t get done any faster if you’re crawling around like a host controlled by a parasite.

“... Fine, have it your way. Lear’s always getting on me about my sleeping habits too.”

You sense an irregular fluctuation from him. However, there’s no shift in his body language, so you decide it isn’t your place to pry.

“Blade?”

He turns his head toward you.

“This ability of mine, it’s only ever provided entertainment for others, which is fine, of course… but… the chance to help someone directly… is a first,” you give him a bashful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. I mean it.”

For a brief moment, his gaze doesn’t feel so intense.

Nona

hey hey

Nona

please tell me the sword guy didn’t confiscate your phone. if that’s the case it’s so over

Nona

i’m not going up against him to get it back

It’s me texting from [First]’s phone. I remember what you said about the brain goop. Lock your windows and sleep with one eye open.

Nona

!!!

Nona

oh btw. the dust has settled

Nona

it’s weird… this doesn’t happen for years, then suddenly, twice in such close succession?

Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too I don’t get it

Nona

welcome back from being held hostage btw

Wow thank you

Let me know if you both need anything I actually have no idea how I haven’t passed out yet

Nona

it’s because you haven’t given mushroom mania a chance. their music is so chill

Nona is typing…

Please don’t spam the link to their album again

Nona

alright fine whatever

Nona

i am bored though if you want to play connect four hmu

Nona has invited you to play Connect Four™©®.

Nona

[first]? come back my queen

Nona

wow you fell asleep fast </3

Nona

rest up. you deserve it

There are two monitors in front of you.

To the left is a man with a graceful physiognomy — Chrysus Ophídion. He has hair white as snow, pulled back into a long ponytail that stops at his lower back. His eyes are sharp, cunning, hidden behind thin glasses that reflect his monitor’s shine. He’s already asked you the questions courtesy demands, such as your health and how the LOTUS-EATER is faring during the IPC travel ban.

“It’s nothing but a power play,” he had reassured you. “I’ve had productive negotiations with their chief financial officer, he’s insinuated that a proposal to remedy the dispute isn’t far off.”

While you’d often be remiss to take Chrysus at his word, there is one sacred objective he’ll never work against — money.

He isn’t exactly subtle. His office’s backdrop is a hulking conglomerate; a screen that shows everything from graphs of Eris’ most prominent businesses to stocks throughout the universe updating in real-time. There must be around a hundred different squares dedicated to this flashing panoply. Before Chrysus’ repurposing, it was a wide window from which one could view Eris’ mountain range to the northeast. Your mother detested the change and the room itself.

Then to the right, there’s Caicias Rex. He’s a burly, bearded man, with dark hair going silver from age. Rumors have been circulating that he’ll announce his retirement on his 500th birthday. Between the two, you prefer dealing with him. Caicias isn’t verbose or prickly. If anything, he’s a little too brazen.

“How are you holding up, little Miss Arbiter?”

Caicias’ gravelly voice is at a deafening volume, made worse by the fact you’re using in-ears. His microphone peaks at its own leisure.

“Caicias, please, your microphone,” Chrysus grits out whilst wincing, “Did you not have your assistant set it up beforehand as I suggested?”

You both take out your in-ears before he responds. It’s loud enough that you can hear what he’s saying even while holding them far away.

“Oh, the dial’s screwed up. Alright. There. Any better?”

You put your in-ears back on. “I believe so.”

“Great! Let me repeat myself then. Are you feeling any better? Ready to do all that mind magic stuff?”

“I’m doing much better, thank you. If you’re referring to my capacity to establish links, I haven’t encountered any issues so far.”

Caicias takes a moment to respond. “That way of speaking, your posture… you’re the spitting image of Ania.”

The call falls silent. While you’re thinking of something to say, Chrysus takes the initiative himself.

“May Noct grant her blissful rest,” he repeats the platitude you heard spoken aplenty at your mother’s funeral. “I apologize for changing the topic so abruptly, but there’s a sensitive matter at hand to discuss. I ask that you both listen until I’m finished without any interjections.”

Sensitive? What could he possibly mean by that?

You feel a churning in your soul.

“Thank you. As you’re both well aware, the position of Ade’s Exalted Regent isn’t limited to operating as Eris’ primary treasurer. Caicias and the belated Ania Phaeales agreed to my proposal to form a coalition that’d combat Eris’ uptick in crime decades prior. The coalition has seen great success.

With Miss Phaeales injured and Mister Rex preoccupied with investigating hazardous mining conditions in the Nectary, I was appointed head of the Thelx nectar guide bombing investigation. My team and I have spared no resources in uncovering the culprits behind such a senseless act of violence.

Initially, we turned our attention toward the IPC. At this point, we’ve found nothing to implicate them. On the contrary, evidence from the preliminary investigation suggests the involvement of Arc citizens. I am well aware of the prejudice certain people have against those who come from Arc, so I wanted to be absolutely certain. You’ll both receive digital copies of the documented evidence, but for the purpose of this hearing, I’ll focus on the most relevant evidence.

Through data restoration and witness accounts, two main suspects have been identified. Felix Laurence, a nectar guide engineer who was granted Thelx citizenship by Ania Phaeales, and his nephew, Ryker Laurence, unemployed. A standard employee-issued passcode assigned to Felix accessed the NGT, or Nectar Guide Terminal, three cycles prior to the incident. Logs show he spent considerable time eyeing the schedule of the cycle when Miss Phaeales was to depart.

Felix’s co-workers have corroborated that he offered to take their shifts, as the trip was scheduled on a cycle he doesn’t work. His offer was accepted by the second person he asked. Audio logs recorded in the common area corroborate this. Surveillance places Felix’s arrival at 0100 hours, where he claimed that an emergency malfunction notice was sent to his pager. The NGT confirms no such notice was issued.

The fragments recovered from the explosive device show it to be the kind that activates on contact, which simplifies the installation process. Felix is seen returning at 0112. Co-workers report he seemed ‘unlike himself’ and was drenched in sweat. Miss Phaeales’ cabin departed at 0200, the tragedy occurred at 0223. A reconstruction of the device reveals a minor malfunction that delayed the device’s detonation, a blessing from Noct, I’m sure.

The Laurence residence was promptly raided, where materials matching those inside the explosive crime were located. Testimonies from those who know Ryker attest to his hobby of making strange contraptions that never work as intended. I have personnel ready to detain Felix and his co-conspirator Ryker at a moment’s notice, in compliance with Eris’ No Involuntary Confinement Act, where they’ll be extradited to Arc unless they make an appeal.”

The pictures of the two suspects take up Chrysus’ screen. Caicias strokes his beard while viewing them, whereas you remain motionless. You remember the name Felix Laurence. You attended the event where his special citizenship was awarded, some twenty years ago. What could have driven him to this? Where did you fall short? If it was your mother in charge, would things have gone differently? Chrysus, Caicias, Kafka… none of them take you seriously. They consider you a child playing make pretend.

Is that not what you are?

Mother would’ve held her own if Kafka tried coercing her.

She would’ve found out about the building inspection dilemma through her own channels.

Blade’s seal, his mara — she would’ve helped him better than you ever could.

But she can’t. She’s gone and you’ll never be her.

“I understand it’s a lot to take in,” Chrysus states. It doesn’t sound like he means it. “In truth, the account I gave is highly summarized. I felt I owed it to Miss Phaeales before I arrived at my next point.”

“... What do you mean by that?” You ask.

“It became clear to me that an investigation like this couldn’t be limited in scope. For instance, how did Felix know Miss Phaeales was due to use the nectary guide at that specific cycle and that specific time? As I said earlier, he accessed the NGT, but your name isn’t visible there. Only the Director of Operations knows when you’re set to travel. All Felix would’ve been able to see is that a private cabin was scheduled to leave at 0200, which isn’t a rare occurrence.”

“Please place aside certain biases to the best of your ability,” he says. “Ryker’s correspondence these past two years showed some red flags. Specifically, he had frequent correspondence with an unknown person whose IP was traced back to the LOTUS-EATER. These conversations were largely written in code, but from what we’ve decrypted, this unknown person has been leaking information about you and Ania Phaeales. Based on available information, it’s highly likely that this unknown person is who you refer to as ‘Nona.’”

Caicias closes his eyes and exhales.

“That… that’s absurd,” your voice is weaker than a breeze. “There’s no way I’ll accept a baseless accusation like this.”

“Allow me to once again request that you place aside your bias. Nona, whose birth name is unknown, was born and raised in Arc’s most hostile faction. At the self-reported age of 74, she submitted a request for Thelx citizenship. Your mother, in her benevolence, granted the request due to seeing Nona’s potential as a future Arbiter. Do you deny any of this?”

You think you might be sick.

“... No,” you grit out.

“Why would she suddenly abandon an extremist group and request citizenship in Thelx, a quadrant they’re especially hateful towards? Or, did this faction see an opportunity in Nona, who was widely known to have a talent close to yours in establishing Synalinks?”

“Little Nona is what, 113 now? That’s a long time to be acting as a double agent,” Caicias points out.

“Can indoctrination like that ever be fully deprogrammed?” Chrysus challenges.

Your horror gives way to an icy rage.

“If you’re determined to pursue this ‘lead’, so be it, I guarantee my staff and I will fully cooperate. That doesn’t mean you can implicate one of my Arbiters for such a serious offense with nothing but circumstantial evidence.”

Chrysus sighs. “I’m sorry you see it that way. You’re right that there’s no direct evidence yet — I bring this up to err on the side of caution. It’d deal a severe blow to Eris if anything happened to the Phaeales bloodline. Is it at least fair to say that out of everyone at the LOTUS-EATER, Nona would be one of the most familiar with your itinerary? Did you tell her about your trip to Perianth II?”

You draw your lips in a thin line. You had told her.

“Alright, Chrysus, this isn’t an interrogation. This is Ania’s daughter you’re talking to,” Caicias frowns.

Ania’s daughter, huh?

“... You’re right. I just wish to ensure Miss Phaeales’ safety. I got ahead of myself.”

“There are better approaches. Let’s call it for now. We won’t get anywhere bickering like this,” Caicias says. He steeples his fingers and looks directly into the camera. “Have your men keep watch on those two. We’ll meet back again in a cycle; that should give us enough time to flip through all these documents you’re sending.”

This suggestion is for your sake and you all know it. Caicias has good intentions, but you’ll never earn the respect necessary for a leader if you back down now. You imagine you’re preparing to establish a link. The steps it entails, how your mind must surrender its solid form.

“It’s alright, Mister Rex. I can keep going,” you reassure with a smile. Your cadence has lost its vibrato and transitions into a steady timbre. Every dissonant note is scratched out to recite the sheet music lying before you. If you’re to get through this, it’ll be the performance of a lifetime.

“Hm… are you sure?” Caicias asks. He squints, trying to get a better read on you through the screen.

You consider a conductor’s baton, how it glides through the air, commanding absolute obedience from its orchestra. Your heart, your lungs, the feeling of static buzzing in your head; you demand a decrescendo.

You might not be your mother, but you can play in the same key.

“I am. Mister Ophídion, would you please go over everything from the beginning without paraphrasing? There’s a great deal to examine.”

You’re occupying a space between reality and fantasy.

Cogency of any kind flees from you. Chasing after it has become tiring, a prospect that instills dread. There’s no affliction worse than uncertainty. You envy fortunate fools who can cling to a belief from their first breath to their last, what a blessing it must be to never reside in doubt’s shadow.

You don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do.

Chrysus had an explanation for everything. The file he’s built up on Nona? That’s standard procedure, anyone in such close quarters with you must be vetted. The employee who signed off on an unsafe building? A full investigation will be conducted, you need only be patient. Why hadn't he contacted you sooner about any of this? He didn’t want to risk any leaks that’d tip off the enemy before he was prepared.

You don’t know what was worse. Being treated like an idiot by Chrysus or a sniveling child by Caicias.

Ripping your mother’s broach off, you walk over to the balcony’s edge and raise your arm.

The inky night spreads out like paint spilled across a canvas. This is the only view you’ve had throughout the years — a cold void that never wanted to host life. The nameless planet must’ve counted itself fortunate to have been passed up by settlers. No one will ever want to settle here, it had thought. I will make my surface so terrible that those who come here will certainly die.

You lower your arm. The broach is set on a table you subsequently push out of sight.

In a way, this balcony is your cell. You’ve sat here and contemplated freedom as any inmate would. What would it be like to feel the sun? Does it burn, does it sting? Is it true that you shouldn’t stand in it for long? What about the sunrise? How lovely it must be for such a sight to be there every morning, greeting you with its gentle colors and soft edges.

You hug your legs to your chest and rest your head on your knees.

The door behind you opens without warning.

You don’t need to look to know who it is. You can pick up on his taciturn presence without trying. It’s inevitable, so long as you’ve been exposed to a person enough.

Blade’s footsteps make no sound, he’s almost like a levitating wraith. You assume he’ll take his place on the leftmost chair. It's become an unspoken ritual. Those who have experienced the sun are ever so enchanted by the moon, he’s no different. Rather than sitting down, however, he lingers behind you. You can feel him staring. After a few seconds, he comes closer, so that he’s beside you.

Wordlessly, he holds out a teacup you’ve never seen. It’s porcelain with a glossy finish, boasting intricate blue designs painted along the sides. The inside contains a bloody ocean that glistens beneath the moonlight. The aroma clues you in — it’s ambrosia, just without the Nectary’s tonic.

“Is this for me?” You whisper, incredulous.

His flat expression seems to communicate, ‘Who do you think it’s for?’

You cradle it in both your hands. Warmth seeps through and becomes acquainted with your skin. Likewise, the steam wafts up, tickling your nose. It’s as if the drink is a pocket watch and you’ve been hypnotized.

Once it’s secure in your grasp, he pulls back.

Then he starts to walk away.

He’s leaving? Why is he leaving?

Your body springs up of its own accord. You balance the teacup in one hand and reach out to him with the other, your fingers fanning out, ready to sink into whatever they can. Everything happens in the blink of an eye. Your free hand succeeds in finding a destination — settling on the abrasive finish of his bandages.

You feel another texture alongside it.

It’s smooth, cold, and visible through the interstices of his winding bandages.

His skin.

Realizing this, you withdraw your hand in panic. Then you wait, bracing yourself for a brutal rebound. What horrors could a mind like his prepare for you? Would it cross the threshold of mental anguish to physical harm? You squeeze your eyes shut.

When you find the courage to reopen them, there’s nothing abominable waiting with bated breath to drag you through a mental purgatory.

Instead of a consequence, there’s only Blade, fixed in place. He hasn’t moved an inch.

You’re okay. Nothing’s wrong.

You let out a relieved sigh.

“Let me at least get the words thank you out,” you insist, desperate to refocus his attention. “I… thank you. You don’t have to be… in such a rush…?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Much to your chagrin, Blade takes your teacup by the rim and lifts it. You tilt your head. Did he… did he just repossess your drink? That’s a low blow.

“You were about to drop it,” Blade deadpans. “Quit pouting.”

“Wh—?! I’m not pouting!”

He raises an eyebrow.

To think you went through all that anxiety for this.

“You Stellaron Hunters are the worst,” you grumble.

“Hm.”

Fed up beyond measure, you spin on your heel and start walking back to your chair. You deserve an uninterrupted night of listening to depressing music while thinking depressing thoughts. It’s your right, having endured so much lately.

“[First].”

A chain reaction goes off in your chest. You’ve made it one measly step away and a blackhole threatens to reel you back. His voice, that deep, resonant tone, stirs something inside you, beckons it out to play. He spoke your name. Has he ever done so before? You don’t know. If someone were to ask you the most basic question right now, you’d be physically incapable of responding.

He doesn’t have to ask you to come back. You do so willingly.

Blade brings the teacup back down to your height. Confusingly, he doesn’t return it to your hands, nor does he give any indication that he plans on doing so. He’s holding it level to your face. You want to ask what it is he wants from you. It’s best to have everything out in the open, so that no misconceptions arise, and yet, that rational thinking presents itself as a nuisance. You don’t want anything to ruin this moment. The ambiguity entices you and holds your soul captive while the key is within reach.

Tentatively, you press your lips to the teacup’s edge.

The emotions teeming inside of him are palpable. They curl around you, these tendrils of unadulterated carnality squirm against your flesh. It isn’t a fair comparison to say you’re playing with fire. No, you’re laying down at an altar as a voluntary sacrifice.

He inclines the teacup toward you.

It’s a harmonic union between saccharine and spice, a robust flavor that leaves your tongue tingling. He rebalances the cup while you swallow your first sip. Pulling back, you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“It’s delicious,” you compliment. In a coquettish act, you wet your lips as if you’d made a mess.

His eyes glow like molten magma.

Slowly, you stand on your tiptoes, both your arms coiling around his neck. You pull him closer and he lets you. Your lips almost connect, only for you to move back at the last second. He tries remedying this by leaning down further. You prove stubborn by dodging him once more. His nostrils flare and he lets out a sound akin to a growl.

“Aw,” you coo, a condescending lilt present. You twist your head to the side and jut out your lower lip. “Who’s pouting now?”

He descends on you like a rabid dog.

His lips are relentless, demanding more and more, driven by a fervor that belies his seemingly apathetic disposition. It isn’t sensual so much as it is voracious. You’re taken aback yet find it titillating all the same. His bandaged hand flies to your nape, then drops lower, following the ridges of your spine. Subconsciously, you arch your back. He shudders at the softness of your chest pressing against him. His hand eventually settles on the back of your thigh, squeezing and grabbing the flesh with blatant greed. Without warning, he hikes your leg up, an act that causes you to temporarily lose your balance.

Blade’s chest rumbles in a low chuckle. The husky sound sends heat straight to your core, you may have left out a debauched noise if your lips hadn’t been preoccupied.

Regardless, you won’t let him off that easily. Who knows what he’ll start to pull if you’re lenient. You pull away and glare at him for the infraction. Considering your messy hair, heaving chest, and swollen lips, you doubt you’re very frightening to one of the universe’s most notorious criminals. The mirth dancing in his eyes confirms this.

“Still you,” he muses.

You release an audible yelp as he effortlessly picks you up. Manhandling you must be a newfound delight of his, his satisfaction is readily apparent. You doubt he’d drop you, but your instincts aren’t allowing the risk — you cling yourself to him for extra security. It occurs to you that both his hands are in use. Recalling the teacup, you glance around, curious about its whereabouts. You find it sitting beside your broach, perfectly intact. Wasn’t he holding it seconds ago?

“How did you do that?”

He grabs your chin and turns your head back to face him.

“Strange, clumsy, and distractible,” he mutters, though not without a certain fondness. “Keep your eyes on me, girl.”

“It’s a legitimate question! Also, hold on,” you jab your fingers at his chest in accusation, “I’m most certainly older than you. Are you familiar with the adage, ‘respect your elders?’”

“Are you?”

“Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have said it— ohhh.”

He’s gracious enough to wait as you piece everything together. Xianzhou attire, an ability that could reasonably be classified as immortality…

“On second thought, ideas like that are outdated. They perpetuate a cycle of complacency. Respect is earned, not given.”

“At the end of the day, past that haughty exterior…” Blade trails off, his lips nearing your outer earlobe. You swallow while he keeps you in suspense. The pointed tips of his canine teeth drag against the sensitive flesh, sometimes sinking down, only to let up before he leaves behind so much as an indent.

He plays this game for as long as it pleases him and not a moment longer.

Finally, he bites down, almost eliciting a whimper. It takes considerable self-control to hold it in.

“You’re something of a brat, aren’t you?”

He accentuates this remark by grabbing the tips of your hair and tugging them to the side. Not enough to hurt, but enough to give him a canvas to work with. His teeth trail down from your ear to your neck, settling on your racing pulse point. He nibbles at the area just enough to leave behind marks. Meanwhile, your breathing picks up to an erratic pace. You lull your head to the side so that he has unrestricted access. He rewards your obedience with a kiss, soothing the tender area he’s been working on.

Amazing as that feels, you swear you’ll go crazy if you don’t receive more stimulation. Whether or not he’s aware of this, you can’t say for sure, but you do know that he’s taking his sweet time sucking and nibbling the second place you want him most. In this position, there’s little you can do to encourage more friction. It’s too awkward an angle to grind against him, not to mention how damaging that’d be to your ego.

You tighten your grip around his broad shoulders in what you hope to be an obvious tell. When that doesn’t get you anywhere, an agitated noise slips by before you can stop it.

Finally, he pulls back from his assault on your neck. “What?”

How has his voice deepened in pitch?!

“Just— don’t you want to, you know, inside?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to be clearer.”

This bastard is deliberately toying with you. Huffing, you move back, unsurprised by the sight of supposed neutrality. He might be able to keep his facial expressions in check, but his eyes give him away. There’s no mistaking it. Those are the eyes of a starving beast. The intensity makes you shiver. Whether it’s from primordial fear or lust, there’s no telling. It’s most likely a warped combination of the two.

This is a feeling you could get addicted to.

Your dominant hand rises to cup his cheek. Exhaling a shaky breath, you allow the taut muscles in your face to relax. Your leering gives way to something softer. You familiarize yourself with him, running the pad of your thumb over his cheekbones, then lightly kissing the same cheek. His palms dig into you tighter. Acting as if you have all the time in the world, you pepper his face with featherlight kisses, loosely following a line that ends near his mouth. Finally, having arrived at your spell’s conclusion, you place a chaste kiss on his lips.

You bat your eyelashes in a show of faux coyness.

“Please?”

He audibly swallows.

Testing your limits, you throw in a sly comment. “Don’t you have a soft spot for me?”

Blade scoffs. He doesn’t say anything for or against your claim, but you do notice how the tips of his ears turn red.

“If I’d known this was the best way to deal with you Stellaron Hunters, I would’ve considered doing this with Kafka.”

Blade’s eyes narrow into slits that, realistically, should unsettle you. It does to an extent. Especially considering the maelstrom of heightened emotions swirling around him, and, by extension, you. He’s glowering, sizing you and your intentions up. He lets out a harsh laugh, shaking his head while doing so.

“What a mouth,” he remarks.

Unbothered by the vitriol, you shrug. “You’re the one who told me to speak ‘normally.’”

“My mistake.”

You don’t get to respond — his lips are on yours again. He steps back, somehow mindful enough to input the door’s passcode while never breaking away from you. His tongue doesn’t ask for entry, it demands it. You’re happy to comply. He takes pleasure in ravishing your mouth, tasting the lingering flavors from the gift that brought you to this.

You’re back on a solid surface after he pushes some writing implements to the side. You decide that this will be the one time you allow someone to make a mess of your desk. He urges your legs open with his knee, a request you’re quick to fulfill.

His lung capacity must be otherworldly, you have to give his shoulders a push for him to get the hint. A throaty noise leaves him, expressing his disgruntlement at the prospect of parting. Still, he grants you respite. A thin trail of saliva sees to it that your contact isn’t completely severed.

Blade doesn’t let you recuperate for long. He presses his hard length against your core, creating heavenly friction. You no longer have the means to muffle your noises, which must’ve been his intent. His hands find your hips in a frenzy. He grabs the flesh, pulls you closer, and grinds against your clothed cunt.

It doesn’t take long for you to teeter close to the edge. The guttural noises near your ear, the steady stimulation, his scent, and shameless thirst for you; everything envelops your head in an intoxicating haze. Your problems that stack high into the sky seem so far away. The stress evaporates away, the tension you’ve held in your body dissipating alongside it. He’s doing most of the work for you.

Your peak gets closer, you’re right on the precipice—

—And he stops.

You can’t say you didn’t see it coming. Blade has a penchant for riling you up, delighting in the vivid reactions he gets.

This cruelty earns him a whine.

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re impatient,” is his rebuttal.

“I am,” you agree. You learn that your equilibrium is askew when you get up. After steadying your wobbly legs, you grab his wrist and tug. Your sulking must be more tantalizing than any destination you could take him to. It isn’t until the fifth pull that he relents and follows along. You pull up the lock specifications for your bedroom, inputting that an unregistered person has permission to enter. Your fingers lack the dexterity to complete this adjustment on the first try.

And the second.

And the third.

“Say anything and I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll…?” he encourages.

“I’ll practice celibacy,” is your final threat.

“Mhm.”

Your bedroom door opens on the fourth try.

After fiddling with your do not disturb settling, you point to the edge of your bed.

“Sit there.”

He takes off his shoes first then listens to your request. You unfasten your outer cloak. The long fabric falls into your grasp and is put aside. You’re left in nothing but your loungewear, a simple button-up shirt and leggings. Turning around, you anticipate an annoying expression to be sprawled over his face. You even have an insult on standby.

These thoughts crumble into dust.

Blade’s gripping your comforter hard enough for his knuckles to turn bone white. He’s leaning forward, as if ready to pounce, yet lucid enough to exercise some semblance of self-control. He reminds you of a starved animal trapped in a cage, salivating over a piece of meat hanging outside the bars. Goosebumps cover your body. This isn’t simple lust… it’s visceral, some primitive desire too overwhelming to be understood.

You’re the one he’s staring at with this unbridled yearning.

Yes, he’s teased you. Pushed your buttons and riled you up. Not so subtly flaunted the strength that lets him maneuver you like you weigh nothing. You might have status and mastery in your given field, but he’s participated in the annihilation of worlds; the end of civilizations that span back since time immemorial.

He should be the one in charge.

Yet as you stand here, witnessing how he tortures himself by not pouncing on you like he easily could, a thought is planted.

He’d really do anything you asked if it kept this from ending.

The adrenaline rush this realization brings is enough to turn any cognition you still possess off.

Your trembling hands hover above your topmost button. Your mattress dips as he slants forward, his fraying patience almost snapping. You hear the leather of his gloved hand creak from how hard he’s clenching it. You shake your head to deter him. The room’s atmosphere has a headiness to it that renders you breathless. Had you seen this expression without context, you’d think he was in physical agony.

A button is undone for every step you take toward him.

The thin shirt flutters off your shoulders when your knees hit the bed’s edge.

Blade gazes at your body as if he’d find salvation in it.

Since you were planning to relax, you’d discarded your bra earlier. The exposure to the cool air causes your nipples to harden. He can’t settle for ogling any one part of your bare torso, his eyes flitter from your collarbones to your chest, your navel, then back up again. You start bending over. His eyes widen slightly. It takes you a second to find where his mind has wandered off since you were just going to remove your leggings.

“What? Was there something you wanted from me?” You hum.

If looks could kill, you’d be a goner.

You decide he’s suffered enough. Your leggings are thrown aside, you’re past the point of caring to be tidy. You both exhale shakily as you sit your clothed cunt directly over his prominent bulge. Your arousal seeps through your panties and onto his pants; there’ll be no pretending that you aren’t as excited as he is.

“Are you finished?”

His low, grumpy voice has no business sounding as good as it does.

You play with his high collar and pretend to ponder. “Hm… I guess.”

No sooner than the words leave your mouth do you get flipped over.

Blade’s large hands fondle your chest, memorizing how soft and pliable the flesh is for him. He’s quick to remove one so that he can attach his lips to your pert nipple. He sucks the tender area, releasing sounds that’d have you thinking he was the one being pleasured. Meanwhile, his free palm flattens against your stomach.

You’re lost in a myriad of sensations. His hot, wet mouth sucking your nipple, the cold smoothness of his gloved hand fondling what isn’t in his mouth, the coarse texture of his bandages sliding along your skin. He’s obsessed with your body and it shows. Whether he’s worshiping or desecrating it remains to be seen.

“Blade, please,” you roll your hips against his so he can get the message.

He delivers his punishment swiftly — he tweaks one nipple and nibbles the other.

Unexpectedly, this extracts a mewl from you.

Blade pulls back. A self-satisfied grin spreads over his face.

“Poor needy thing,” he chuckles. Your glare doesn’t last long, for he brushes his fingertips over your clothed clit. He draws featherlight circles. “Soaked too. What? Was there something you wanted from me?”

His reciting of your previous taunt antagonizes your pride. Rather than responding verbally, you try grinding against his stupidly stationary fingers. He holds your hips down to prevent you from misbehaving further. Having not learned your lesson, you try again. He barely needs to exert any more strength for your body to be pinned to the bed as if you were a butterfly on a collector’s wall.

He clicks his tongue. “Have you forgotten how to speak?”

“M-Maybe.”

“Hm. A shame,” he says. He shifts back and parts your legs. You close your eyes as he nudges his nose against your inner thigh, his warm breath fanning over your skin. He leaves a trail of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses as he leisurely makes his way to your cunt.

“I’ll have to pry other sounds from you instead.”

He kisses your covered core, once, then twice, a growl leaving him when your hips desperately raise for more friction. Much to your disappointment, he revisits your inner thigh, this time nipping at it. He subjects the soft flesh to the conquest of his teeth. You prop yourself up on your elbows, intending to remove the last piece of clothing that separates you from him. He pushes you back down and mutters something incomprehensible.

The sound of fabric tearing reverberates throughout your room.

You’re not left wondering what he’s done for long. Blade pulls you against him by your hips, attaches his lips to your clit, and sucks.

He’s relentless, almost as if he’s chasing his release instead of yours. His tongue licks from the bottom to the top. He feasts on you, his face pressing as close as he can get. The rapidly mounting pleasure leaves you incapable of forming coherent words or thoughts. All you can think about is Blade, how he’s grinding himself against your bed, fucking you with his tongue.

Should you be doing this? Are you using him? Is he using you? These pesky little concerns fade into the foreground.

He slurps your clit like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Your previous sensitivity has your release imminent. You thread your hands into his hair and throw your head back. Tugging on the long locks in encouragement has him groaning against you, sending vibrations straight to your core.

Your release builds and builds. The muscles in your thighs tense, your voice elevates in pitch, pleasure diluting your senses.

“Gonna— mm—”

You come on his ruthless tongue and ride out your high, ecstasy rushing throughout your body.

Once you come back down to reality, you realize he hasn’t stopped. Your nerves are sensitive enough to almost hurt. You keen as he messily kisses your cunt. You can’t move your legs and your arms feel like jello. With some difficulty, you urge his head away. Your slick glistens along his parted lips. He greedily licks up the remnants since you’ve deprived him of the source.

Blade takes off his overcoat. He then removes his golden shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing both garments aside. Next, he undoes the buckle that hangs across his hips. His silver pants join the heap of his clothes not long after. You drink in the sight of his toned figure. You’ve always thought him to be handsome. His sharp jawline, long, silky hair, and those blazing eyes. You never thought you’d get to see what’s beneath his clothes. Scars litter the expanse of his otherwise pale skin, their shape perplexing you. He catches you staring and gives you a look you can’t place.

“Is it more unsightly than my mind?”

You push yourself up, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him close.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur against his lips. “All I see is a handsome man who I want to fuck me senseless.”

“Hm. There’s that mouth again.”

He kisses your forehead while bringing you back down to the bed. Once your head is on the pillow, he lines himself up at your entrance. Abundant pre-cum leaks from his tip, which he smears against you, stimulating your clit in the process. You gnaw on your lower lip to stop a moan from sneaking out. He just barely pushes the head in. As it’s been a while, you hold your breath in anticipation for the stretch to come. However, he doesn’t go any further. He's just staring at you, his eyes like that of a madman. The intensity has you averting your gaze.

Your cheek barely grazes the pillow before he speaks up, his tone chastising. “[First].”

You feel your walls clench around nothing.

Sheepishly, you turn your head back to face him.

“That’s all it takes, huh?”

You guess it did work for him twice. It isn’t your fault. Hearing someone call you by your birth name is rare. To everyone else, you’re a title or notable last name. You aren’t an individual. The characteristics that define you remain purposefully hidden from sight. You’ll just be another line on a long list, perhaps a topic for disinterested schoolchildren to write a report on.

“Yeah,” you admit as he gradually sinks into you, “That’s all it takes.”

He’s thick enough to make you wince, regardless of how slow he goes. Your walls struggle to accommodate his size. He stills until you recollect yourself, taking deep breaths to relax your tense body. The dull ache fades. You nod at him to continue. He pushes his cock deeper, exhaling shakily by your ear as inch after inch slips in. It’s hot and heavy inside you, occasionally twitching.

Your legs wrap around his waist, eliciting a choked sound from him. Though you’re panting, you still have enough audacity to let your self-satisfaction show. He doesn’t chastise you or revert to teasing. No, he laughs, low and from the diaphragm. The room is almost unbearably hot and still you shudder.

Blade slides out of you and thrusts back in. The pace isn’t too fast, but he insists on pulling all the way out and filling you to completion again. His pelvis smacks against yours as he fully stretches you. This time, he lets you throw your head back, his teeth sinking into the bruises he left earlier. You hear your headboard hit the wall from how forcefully he fucks you. It’s raw and brutal, but you love it. For once, you don’t have to think or do a thing. All he wants to do is ravish you and you’ll gladly let him.

Your eyes shoot open when his gloved hand finds its way to your sensitive clit. He rubs sloppy circles against it, causing your walls to clench around his cock. He groans into your neck. This unrestrained expression of the pleasure you’re providing him is almost too much. You never would’ve imagined he’d be so vocal, panting hot by your ear, holding absolutely nothing back. You could spend an eternity listening to him.

A second orgasm creeps up on you. Your moans and delighted gasps grow loud enough to let him know. He squishes your cheeks in the coolness of his gloved hand, demanding that your attention wander nowhere else.

“Open your eyes.”

What he’s asking of you feels personal, almost too intimate. You hesitate for a moment but ultimately give him what he wants. He rewards you by revisiting your throbbing clit, rubbing and rubbing until there are spots in your vision. You chant his name, sometimes getting through the entire word, or barely stumbling through the first few letters. He hastens his pace.

You clench down on him hard and cry out.

He grits his teeth from how you tighten around him throughout your orgasm. He fucks you during its duration, not letting up for a second, chasing his own end. His hands clench on your hips, digging into the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. You collapse onto your pillow, your energy spent. He has no problem adjusting you exactly how he wants. Your leg is thrown over his shoulder and you keen at the change in angle. The head of his cock finds a sensitive, spongy area that you hadn’t realized existed. You arch into him and whine.

“B-Blade,” you whine, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin, “Too much… It’s too much…!”

Tears form in the corner of your eyes. One trickles down your cheek, which he promptly licks off.

“I know. Be good,” he pants.

The insults you set aside earlier form on your tongue. They die a swift death again, for his breath hitches and he groans by your ear.

Heat floods your tender insides. He forces your hips flush against him, his thrusts stuttering and then stopping entirely. Wave after wave of his thick cum coats your walls. It never seems to end — his throbbing cock continues releasing the viscous substance until it has no choice but to form globs that leak out of you.

Meanwhile, he slants his lips sloppily against yours, almost growling when you whimper. He pulls back and thrusts in one last time, pushing his release as deep inside as it can go.

You both heave desperately for air. He still doesn’t pull out, even when his cock goes soft. Something tells you he’d be content to leave it there for as long as you permit.

“My blanket… I’ll have to wash it.”

“Mm.”

Blade fixes the strands of hair sticking to your temples. You tilt your head toward his hand. It’s been so long. A small, malicious fragment of yourself taunted how you’ll never enjoy another’s touch again. That your fate would be one defined by solitude. How could you take a lover with such a risk looming over your head? The last time had been disastrous. It haunts you more effectively than any ghost.

He pulls out.

The newfound emptiness feels strange.

Blade rolls off of you and slides his briefs on. You watch his every movement through heavy eyelids. The scars along his chest seem like nothing compared to the amount on his back. They lay heavy along his neck, shoulders, and spine. The off-color stripes are all similar in length and width. Your stomach churns violently as you realize it must’ve been intentional.

He must know you’re staring, but he doesn’t utter a word as he finishes getting dressed.

A petal falls from the bouquet of purple roses Kafka gifted.

The slight movement earns his immediate attention, a reminder of how sharp his senses are.

You grab a nearby blanket to cover your chest and crawl over, curious about what’s caught his interest.

Blade picks up your crystal lotus. Its multiple surfaces change color depending on the angle he holds it at, refracting the low light in your room. He inspects it with furrowed eyebrows and a frown.

“That’s from my mother,” you explain. “She was never big on gift giving, but… for whatever reason, a few years before her death, she started leaving me little trinkets like that. I have a whole drawer full of them.”

You smile as best as you can, not wanting to be a downer.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

His eyes find yours in the mirror.

He nods.

#oh boy i sure do hope nothing bad happens!#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #nexus #my stuff

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grapejuicestyless · 4 months

Text

I’ll Crawl Home To Her

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: There was no distance that could keep Harry from you. Not even the vastest oceans would slow him down. As the holidays near closer and closer, all he really wants is you.

PURE FLUFF

He thinks of her always. A plaguing memory of the last time they spoke, a vivid painting of the way her eyes would crinkle when she smiled. He carried her honey-sweet laughter within him. Her voice the ground beneath his very feet.

He thinks of how lucky he is. To be blessed with someone so soft, so sweet. When he was with her, Harry didn’t seem to ever worry about heaven or hell. All he wished for was to be gently placed beneath the soil. He wished for him to be able to stay there, somewhere he could pull himself from, even in death to find her. Trace the dimples in her back just one last time, feel her lips pressed to his temple just one last time.

He could write all the songs for her, tell everyone just how much his heart yearned for the girl, but no words could describe her fully. Her honest smile and wild hair. If he were to sing it, he was sure nobody would ever be able to picture her right.

She had an aura that could never be captured. A rare beauty no person could ever really swallow fully. The more Harry thinks about it, the more starved he becomes.

He tortures himself with the image of her eyes twinkling in the fairy lights. The tree behind her littered with ornaments they collected from all their adventures together. At first he had wanted a theme for their tree. A color scheme. She insisted it would feel more like home to have it that way. She was always right. No gold and white color coordination could fill him with as much pride as the small plastic figures on the branches would.

He sees her wrapping presents. The thought of her doing it all alone, without the specially curated playlists he made drives him mad. How the kitchen floors are untouched because she’d sworn dancing just wasn’t dancing if it wasn’t with him.

He knows the oven is cold. There are no treats on the counter or glasses of milk on the counter like when he was there. He wishes he could live a life with a job that wasn’t so demanding.

He thinks about the thousands of people begging for his attention. And even in all of their praise and love for him, it’s nothing but a fraction compared to what she provides. Harry decides he can’t take it. He has all the heart to speak of her like she’s all he could ever need, but here he is half the world away, sitting alone in a hotel room with a bottle of wine and Tylenol. She would laugh at him for sure. The thought only motivates him further.

So when he calls her that night, it’s from the airport. He claims it’s the stadium buzz, the usual sound of his team and their own team too. She buys it because he would never lie to her.

When he walks through the door that same night, she doesn’t believe it. How someone so distant could be so close now. And she can’t trust herself until her hands are gripping at his shirt snd her nose is in his neck. Her tears wet his collar and she swears she can feel his running down her shoulder. When she asks him how he’s done it, he answers by telling her how much he loves her. And when she laughs he takes her face in his hands, cradling it delicately and rubbing his thumb to dry her tears.

“Not even death could part me from you. No grave can hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to you.” It’s honest and raw. It’s something that Harry could never have said before. Words he never knew how to say before. He thinks she’ll take his words as crazy, back off and laugh. But she places her hands on his and massages his fingers between hers.

And when she presses a kiss to his palm, he swears he feels more alive than ever.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #yn x harrystyles #harry styles

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from-izzy · 4 months

Text

double a decade | tbz kim sunwoo

Double a decade—no, more than that.

PAIRING » tbz kim sunwoo x gn!reader (proofread twice! lmk if i missed anything!) TROPE/AU » childhood friends to lovers, non-idol au!, holiday season au! (starts a little bit from christmas up to new years!) GENRE » it's so fluffy like wow...i'm not going to write something so fluff for sunwoo for a while after this, a tinge of angst, SUNWOO AND READER ARE BOTH IDIOTS, sunwoo thought his love was one-sided, very shy kim sunwoo, sunwoo being very cute and patient to the reader, reader is sick and sunwoo takes care of them uwu, they platonically share the same bed, big spoon sunwoo who is physically bigger than you and holds you to sleep, MUTUAL PINING REEEEEE, a ton of hugs from kim sunwoo because he's so...ugh, reader blushing cause of kim sunwoo, sunwoo giving his jackets that're oversized for you to use (ahhhh) WORD COUNT » 5760 ESTIMATED READING TIME » ~21 mins WARNINGS (lmk if i missed anything!) » reader is sick with a fever (if you're actually sick, please isolate yourself!), kim sunwoo being a shy idiot, one swear word (but cuts through halfway)

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

my last story for 2023! looking forward to the new year! happy 2024 everyone!

thank you for reading and screaming with me @winterchimez, @heemingyu and @mosviqu !! you three were so chaotic 😭 like ally really whipped out my government name, i couldn't tell whether sana was mad at me or sunwoo, and bar was...yeah...uhm...yeah!

(i suffered so much with the banner, i need to stop looking at it now)

Even you found this situation absurd.

How could something so beautiful cause you to have tissues and wet towels lying around your heating body? It’s bittersweet to know that the things that made you enwrap in the layer of heated and weighted blankets are the same ones every year that fall nicely from the hues of orange and red sky. Maybe it’s the headache or the jealousy as you hear the excited shrills of the children outside the window having fun and throwing the cold ball of death to each other’s faces. It’s probably also the fact that you’re at the time of your month, the cramps around the underside of your stomach in addition to the scratchy itch on your throat that makes swallowing hard.

In the end, this year’s Christmas has been wasted and you could only cry under the sheets alone, convincing your parents not to enter as you knew they had to return to work as soon as the holidays ended. You truly regretted your past naive and idiotic self for making a snow angel without proper winter battle clothes. The effect took a massive toll on your body, especially with the amount of hours you have been working and the stress of it all. The way you spent Christmas was lonely as you looked down to the ground floor where your family gathered, a warm blanket slouched on your messy, unwashed hair. The distance between your pout and their smiles wasn’t too far but because of your dying voice and their charged voice, even your mother could barely hear your Christmas greetings.

But, there was someone in your life who still barged into your highly contaminated room with his raccoon loverboy beanie and matching handmade raccoon scarf that you gifted for him this Christmas. Even with your refutes and arguments, he just shrugs, refusing to let you spend the holiday season time alone.

Every year has always been the same at this time of the year. From when the clock strikes midnight when the jingle bells ring from the city hall up to your room, up until around noon, you would spend it with your family. From noon, when you and your best friend would be amazed at how the snowman still kept its shape up until around dinner time, you would be all over the neighbourhood with him. Then cues the opening of gifts underneath the green tree with ornaments from your grandparents’ age, the smile plasters on everyone’s faces as choruses of ‘thank you’s would be said. Three hours before Christmas day passes, you would retreat to your room, only to have a visitor open your door, the pile of snow between the strands of his hair making the wood of your floor a tripping hazard.

Every year has always been the same for you both and Kim Sunwoo is determined to make sure that it would still be that way. The boy has always made every single Christmas memorable from the day you both were in diapers to now. He made sure that Christmas this year isn’t wasted and he proves that solidly.

Now, another day of fighting begins as you pray for your fever to die down in time for the approaching new year. Contrary to your wishes, your whole body feels like it’s been shut down, feeling too effortful to even raise a finger despite it lying on your bed for the last twenty hours.

“Sunwoo…” The tears well up in your eyes, wishing that you could at least pick up the phone to hear his stories about the day.

“I got you!”

The door clicks open to reveal his toothy, mischievous smile. In one hand, a filled fabric bag is held as the other fist punches the sky eagerly. If you could, you would’ve chucked all the layers of fabric to the ground for all you care, clinging onto the boy like a koala. He understands the thoughts roaming in your head as soon as he sees the way the ceiling light highlights the sweat on your forehead and the moisture around the bottom of your eyes.

The once-upturned corners of his mouth dipped and so did his shoulders. With his free hand, the door closed quietly. He slowly approaches you, kneeling on the floor beside your bed. Sunwoo takes his mittens off, tilting his head and his furrowed eyebrows match his solemn smile.

“The new year is literally in three days and I’m still here all wrapped up like a mummy.” He unfolded one of the new towels on your bedside table, dapping the sweat away from your flushed face. “I hate this…”

Sunwoo couldn’t hide his true feelings either, missing having you healthy by his side for more than a whole week now. The night walks were now leaning more toward miserable than lonely. He misses the way you would wrap your nearest arm with his, the other hand loosely anchoring on as well as you both comment on whatever comes into your mind. It’s during those times that you would be so preoccupied with your words that the world around him becomes silent, looking down at the slope of your nose and the shape of your moving lips dearly.

If you look up towards him, you can see the way that Sunwoo’s eyes relax and the corners of his lips lift just slightly, looking at you with utmost adore and affection. His cheeks would be red, not because of the chilly wind, but because his heart is telling him to just hold you close, confess and kiss you deeply into the night.

It’s no exaggeration to say that the fluttering feeling in his heart, gave his body more warmth than the mittens, beanie, scarf and winter outfit.

“It’ll pass soon, don’t worry,” Sunwoo reassures you, straightening his legs and heading to your bathroom. There, he shrieks and the laugh from the joined room, where you lay in bed with a new cold wet towel on your burning forehead tells him that you did it on purpose. “I thought that was real!” His head peaks out slightly from the bathroom door with the toy cockroach in his hand, throwing it on the duvet where it conveniently plops upside down.

“I need some laughs, okay?” It only earned an eye roll from Sunwoo, who closed the bathroom door.

Your eyes widen at the familiar actions, the sprinkling of water confirming your thoughts.

“Sunwoo!” You scold him. “You can’t stay over! I’m literally sick!”

“I’ll be fine!”

These are the only words that he says, ignoring the rest of your complaints and nagging; he knows though, that it’s just because you care for his health and wellbeing.

Your lips could only form a big mountain when Sunwoo finally does exit your now sauna-like bathroom. He had his favourite raccoon onesie on, his used clothes in one hand and was supported with his chest to avoid it from toppling over his hold. A toothbrush is leisurely in his mouth, the frothing around the inside of his lips tells you that he has no second thoughts about staying over.

“You can’t, Woo.” An exasperated sigh comes out as soon as he slips into the room. “Why don’t you ever listen to what I say?”

The toothbrush stops its rustling sound against his healthy, white teeth and you can tell from the way his hands land on the side of his waist that he has a complaint back about you.

“As if you’ll ever listen to me.” And the rustling continues with a tune of a song.

“Touche.”

There is one thing that changed from your usual sleepovers but again, you’re not complaining as it is the best choice. Sunwoo takes out the spare roll-up mattress after excitedly knocking on your parent’s room for help. You could hear how your parents are beyond surprised by the visit but you could only smile when you hear the way they scold Sunwoo for wanting to stay beside you with your condition.

For some odd reason, he was still able to walk back into your room, showing off the white fabric on his shoulder that he held, shoulder way too high for your liking as his pride replaces the gloomy atmosphere in the room.

“Make some sort of distance between you and my bed please.”

Your tone is no longer playful, almost tired and most definitely worried. Sunwoo nods, his lips pulling into a line. At this moment, when Sunwoo sets up his bed for the night away from you, you don’t realise the clench in your heart, your hand swishing over the space beside you where he would usually cuddle with you to sleep.

“This alright?” Pulling off his sparkly doe eyes, shooting you a smile that you couldn’t possibly refute. “Alright! Goodnight!” He cheers when you nod defeatedly.

With a flick of the switch, the only thing that allows you to see your covered feet is the moonlight from outside. Sunwoo is in a better position because the lower level means that your bed blocks the shine enough for him to slumber back to sleep.

For some reason, you couldn’t. Your body is still, your eyelids shut and your calm breathing would’ve fooled anyone that you were actually in dreamland. In reality, all you could hear was Sunwoo’s more soothing snores, the sudden feeling that nothing was covering you and the uncomfortable feeling of staying awake.

Your eyelids shoot open once more, staring at the lines and scratches that managed to make it there. Maybe it was a chaotic cat? Or a really strong spiky fly? Or maybe, a ghost? Continuing a questionable amount of ideas. You didn’t even realise when your body turned to the side where Sunwoo was. Without thinking much, your arm reaches for the expensive headpiece straight to the once-slumbering boy.

Disturbed between reality and dreams, his body immediately straightens up, turning his head at you. “Hey!”

“Sorry.” You did feel guilty, not knowing that your impulse actions would jolt him so much; but your laugh tells him that once again, you did plan it with some sort of naughty reason.

Like the antagonist of a scary movie, Sunwoo’s head dips down slightly, his bangs covering his eyes and his cheek rising with menacing thoughts in his head. Suddenly, he jumps over to the mattress, wiggling his fingers all over your body.

“S-Stop! Sunwoo!” He didn’t bother doing so, his heart delighted at the sound of your laughter after so long. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you pathetic raccoon!”

“Oh, you’re really asking for it!”

It’s a miracle that none of your parents didn’t woke up after almost five minutes of different volumes of laughter. After a week or so of copping up in your room, unable to properly see your best friend, he makes his mark on the winter holiday, knowing that every time you fall sick with a fever, you’ll recall this fun memory.

“Can’t sleep?”

He retreats to the edge of the bed, his legs dangling. Yet, he has his full focus on the way your smile gradually falls into a frown. His hands move under the blanket, finding yours. As soon as he feels you, his fingers intertwine with yours. Automatically, your thumb caresses Sunwoo’s, calming enough for him to sleep. Eyelids heavy but not completely down yet, your brown orbs observe the way Sunwoo kneels beside you.

“Sunwoo…”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for staying.”

His eyes widen slightly but he then lets out a small chuckle. “Just doing your lovely parents a favour.”

“No.” He gulps at your seriousness, watching the way that even though your back is facing the natural light source, the growing waters underneath your eyelids make his other hand reach out for you, the movement shaking your tears down. “I meant in life. Thank you for staying with me another year.”

Your eyelashes fluttered, the darkness quietly enveloping you. Sunwoo just lets out a soft sigh, your words making his heart beat too rapidly for him to sleep tonight.

“I love you.”

There…

He rehearsed the confession in the mirror many times, different scenarios each time, a different object in his hand every time as he imagined the perfect gift that he would give if he was ever given a chance to pour his feelings into you. A part of him wishes you heard it, hoping that you didn’t keep this friendship going.

The mattress that he worked hard to retrieve from your parents is left untouched for the rest of the night. Forget about his well-being for a second, prioritising the love in his heart. Forget about being sick if it meant being able to hold you in his arms just like all those times. Forget about your scoldings that he would only stick his tongue out nonchalantly to. Sunwoo climbs on the opposite side, his usual spot in your bed. He carefully slips his body inside, the air a thousand times warmer, almost making him wince at the sudden temperature rise that he didn’t expect.

For one last time in the night, he wipes your forehead clean, pressing a lingering kiss on the area. Your body recognises the dip of the bed, turning to the other side and hiding your eyes from the glare of the night into Sunwoo’s beating chest. Perplexed but still somewhat composed, he lets you get comfortable first, both of your hands reaching up to the fabric of his collar, tugging it slightly as a satisfied smile makes its way onto your relaxed face.

“I love you.”

He says once more.

“I love you so much, bubs.”

A little bit louder.

“I love you so much but,” He rests his head on the pillow, pulling you further into his embrace with his hand curling over the shape of your head. “I don’t think I can stay beside you next year.”

Unrequited love his whole life.

The trade-off between friendship and love is too much for him to fully digest.

But as the years pass, Sunwoo knows that there is nothing much he can do but drown in his uncertainties. At the same time, he’s no longer sure how much longer he could fake another smile towards you whenever you were taken out for dates. He’s no longer sure how to keep his heartbeat at bay whenever you accidentally whip your hair across his face whenever he scared you, and the way your first instinct is to squish his cheeks, frown and check up for any hurt on his beautiful face. He’s no longer sure if he could hide the urge to pull you into his chest whenever your fingers would lace together even during the hot summer days.

So Sunwoo made it clear to himself that tonight would be the last time he would bask in your presence. Another unsure kiss is given to your forehead and against the screamings inside his head, he follows his heart to press one on each of your closed lids, whispering loving words that he desperately wishes you would hear.

“I’m thankful for you too.”

True to his words, Sunwoo is gone by the early morning, the white blob on the floor is gone and so are the used towels that you have used throughout the previous day. Judging from the coolness of the sheets beside you, he must’ve left some time ago and it left a bitter feeling in your whole being when he left no note that would usually snap the drowsiness in you to an immediate deadpan reaction, or contrary a dog video that would make up want to curl up and stay in bed for longer.

Three distinct knocks on the door tell you that your mum has breakfast ready but you can’t respond as enthusiastically as you usually would.

“You’re looking better today, actually.” The plastic tray rests on the corner of your table. The now-occupied space reminds you of last night when Sunwoo used the same space for his worn-out backpack. Satisfied with the way your forehead is no longer burning and almost back to normal temperature, the woman nods and lets out a sigh of relief. “Must be the Sunwoo effect.”

It did make you forget your confusion for a second, the corners of your slumped lips pulling to a straight line. When you were once again left all alone in the room, the loneliness was unlike ever before. The charging cable is ripped away from your device, opening the messaging app to text Sunwoo a very formal, very awkward morning greeting. Your eyes bore into the bottom left of the screen, seeing if the familiar typing icon would pop out but after around four minutes of empty wishes, the way you shoved your phone under the pillow shows how crestfallen you are with his isolating behaviour. It continued for the rest of the day, your phone never buzzing because of him even though his social media activity shows him posting a new memory to share over the internet.

New Year is around a few hours and to you, it looks like Sunwoo has no plans to change his indifference towards you. Even when Eric says he would make sure that Sunwoo sends a message to you, the only thing that changed in your messaging status with him is the ‘delivered’ to ‘seen’ sign.

“The audacity of this little piece of sh—”

Your fingers tapped rapidly first, and the floating tiles of your keyboard pour your conflicted emotions with a dash of empty threats to him. It’s infuriating that the only thing he did was still, left you on ‘seen’ but this time, in real-time.

“Okay, fine!”

Why are you so defeated? Frustrated? Annoyed? Irritated? Worried? Sour? Confused? Are you really going to spend the rest of the year without him? Start the new one without him? Is he really breaking the streak of watching the fireworks together and being each other’s first ‘Happy New Year!’s with a bunch of jumping and squealing?

Is he mad because you’re the reason why you can’t watch the flowers in the sky with him this year? But Sunwoo knows that you’ve been sick! But if he is, is he so mad to the point that he's going to break the streak of being each other’s first ‘Happy New Year!’s next year because of it? But between you both, you’ve always beaten him by a split second!

“Fine! Be that way then!” If the framed picture of you both had noise sensitivity, you’re sure that it would’ve cowered away and fallen straight to the bin next to it. “Ignore me then! Go have fun with the rest of your friends! Why’d you come here and act like you cared when you were just going to avoid me like this?!”

As if the whole universe isn’t seemingly against you already, the bunny doll that Sunwoo won for you smiled sweetly from the corner of your room. The rubber material of your slippers makes high-pitched slaps and your arms snatch the poor plush by its neck, shaking it back and forth as you start to let out all the cursing in all the languages that you know to the boy in your head.

“You got it!”

You couldn’t hide the excitement on your face as soon as the claw hovers in the hole of the machine, a few seconds away from delivering the prize to your hands. Sunwoo rejoices and is proud after winning against the rigged game with only the first try.

You try to wait patiently for Sunwoo to give it to you, but the way that your upper body bounces, and the way your slightly wavy hair goes along with the motions of your body, only makes it harder for Sunwoo to properly hand you over the gift. You weren’t doing anything special but he was so in love with you that he couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath at the way your eyes sparkle to him—it didn’t help his case that you were cutely drowning in his jacket.

“D-Do you love it that much?”

Would it be weird if he snapped a photo of you right now? When your cheeks are smushed against the bunny’s fluffy ones? Would it be weird if he wanted to set it as his wallpaper and just stare at it all day long?

“It’s so cute!”

You indirectly answered, putting your full attention and affection to the animal in your hands. The way you bopped your nose with its own only fuels his adoration for you and because you’re so immersed in your birthday gift, Sunwoo did manage to get the picture that he desires.

Kim Sunwoo also had it as his lock screen, hiding it within a collage of other memories—it’s the reason why he’s been so protective over his phone for the last few months.

Having had enough of giving the inanimate animal a headache, you threw it onto the floor with a huff, blowing the loose strand of hair away from your vision. All of a sudden, the tears finally well up in your eyes and you let out silent croaked sobs. The hunched-over plushie is the catalyst for your head to replay the memories in your head. With your back against your bed, knees folded to your chest and the bunny sitting on top, the outside world blurs out of existence for a while.

Everything is just Kim Sunwoo.

From the way he smiles.

To the way he drools in his sleep.

From the way he would literally hide you from the outside world, arms enveloping and muffling your cries.

To the way he welcomes the series of punches on his chest because life is too much for you sometimes.

From the way he has your mum on speed dial in case he can’t reach you.

To the way that he would hop into the car to pick you up from your solo late-night, early-morning beach walks still in his pyjamas.

From the way he knew how to comfort you depending on the situation.

To the way he wouldn’t mind submitting his assignment late if it meant that you’ll be able to sleep peacefully.

Your face flares up, recalling the light pressure of his lips on your eyelids the other night and with it, the meaning behind your tight hold on the bunny becomes something entirely different. That’s all it takes for you to rush out the front door, your mum following your rushed actions with her eyes.

“Well,” she shrugs, eyes back to the television of her favourite Christmas movie, “that happened.”

So maybe you should’ve changed to snowing boots or something more appropriate than your slippers but in your body’s adrenaline to keep your body intact for another five minutes when you would reach Sunwoo’s house.

“You’re so—ugh!”

The crystals falling from the sky are too uncomfortable and you know that you will be bedridden for longer after this but that’s not going to be your fault. Someone else will take the blame for this and you’ll make it clear for him.

It’s only when you reach the front door, hands on your bent knees, throat dry, nose red, cheeks most probably iced due to your tears and the weather that the words all evaporate from your head. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore and with the curtain from the living room open just enough for you to see Sunwoo snuggling in the couch with his cup of hot chocolate, the feelings that you have been hiding from him amplified greatly.

You’re so mad at him but you still think he looks cute with the blanket over his head, covering his shoulders and eyes focused so much to the point the colours of the graphics were being reflected on his eyes. Changing the direction from kicking down the front door, you decided to instead gather a lump of ice into your palm, striking it against the window where his face was.

His body jolts back but it didn’t take long for his mind to register the white remnants crumbling on the glass, window frame and sill. It takes Sunwoo less than a second to take in your shivering figure on the other side of the window and he knows he’s going to get an earful from his mum when she sees the sweet and sticky drink on her carpet.

The coat hanger rattles and almost breaks an arm with how violently Sunwoo takes two of his warmest jackets, swiftly getting ready to meet the cold and starting blizzard outside. He automatically winced when nature slammed the door open, almost stubbing his toe—but maybe that’s his karma for leaving you on read for more than a whole day without a proper explanation.

Sunwoo took his focus away from the throbbing pain, skipping down the stairs, using the spiky handrail for support as he pushed his body up whenever he went down a step lower, relaxing when his feet landed on the ground safely. It’s only been a few minutes since he stepped out of his blanket but now everything is throbbing—his heart as well for a different reason.

Seeing you still facing the window, your hair flying all over the place, your chin basically on your chest, Sunwoo realises that he hurt you badly. Maybe he should’ve just been honest. If so, then at the very least, you wouldn’t chase him out like this when it looks like you just started to feel better.

“Hey…” his feet make cautious little shuffles, scrunching the remaining mixes of nature and ice, kind of scared for his life that you would start to (rightfully) punch him. Thankfully, he got close enough to drape his jacket onto your shoulder, zipping up the front without asking you to put your arms. If it wasn’t for the fact that he ignored you, he would be teasing and asking you about what you are mulling over. “Let’s go inside, hm?”

Sunwoo sighs at your stubbornness when you shoved his arm away, feet planted on the ground.

“Go away.”

His heart clenches at the way you probably meant that. It included a hint of hurt, broken the unanswered questions that were swarming your head.

“I’m sorry,” Sunwoo said so softly that you could’ve missed it if it wasn’t the way you were already actively focusing on him. “So please, let’s just get you inside. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

His palm goes over where his heart is and the other hand gives you a reassuring press. Sunwoo knew by the way you refused to look at him despite him bending over to meet your eyes, that this was going to be tough for you to listen to him.

But Kim Sunwoo is patient.

He’s always been patient and understanding when it comes to you. When his hands reach over to envelop yours, you don’t push away how he wraps his own between yours. Your heartbeat picks up its pace when he leads your joined hands into the pocket of his jacket, his thumb gliding over your skin. The act also sends your body closer to his, finally closing the gap between your bodies, sharing body warmth corresponding to the red hues on your cheeks.

Your lips now hover over his outwear and your nose takes his scent in, enjoying breathing in the familiarity after almost two days of no contact. Sunwoo bites his lips, nervous about having you in front of him and the way you tighten your hold on his hands tells him that you have a lot to say.

“You don’t want to spend the first week of the new year bedridden, bubs.” Wordlessly and timidly, Sunwoo just scans over your facial features, his eyes roaming about while your eyes are stuck on his zipper which is halfway done.

“Don’t call me that…” Because it clicks open the surge of feelings that you have been trying to hide from him for the longest time. “Don’t…”

You were still half awake when he said his words.

Unknowingly to Sunwoo, you heard every single word that you have always wanted to say to him. That night, when his hand wrapped securely around your waist, you had the best sleep in your life, taking a mental note to talk about the topic later on.

Only to realise that you are both idiots with your feelings.

“I’m sor—”

“Stop apologising!”

And it sends Sunwoo into a puddle of shock and confusion when your eyes send out a waterfall. He separates his hands from yours and they fly quickly to hold your cheeks. Stutters of more apologies string out and his thumbs weren’t fast enough to keep your face dry.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry too!”

“Hey, what are you sorry about? I’m the one who left you on read!”

“I’m sorry that I’ve never told you how much I appreciate you,” you hiccup before continuing, seeing a glimpse of Sunwoo’s gaping mouth, “I’m sorry that you’ve always been the one taking care of me and not the other way around,” and you see the way he shakes his head with furrowed eyebrows, “I’m sorry that I ever make you think that I don’t care about you!”

“Hey, no. Don’t say that, I know you care abo—”

“I love you, Kim Sunwoo!”

To him, even though Christmas has passed, he’s convinced that it’s a miracle for him. The night when he left to stay in your house, he innocently wished upon the shooting star, closing his eyes and hoping for your health and happiness—but he couldn’t help but also wish that you would love him back even though that’s out of his control.

But what can he do when he’s only loved one person and one person throughout his whole life?

“I’m sorry if I ever made you think that I like someone else because I can tell you now that all those dates I went to only made me sure that I’m so in love with you and you make me feel like I can just be myself when I’m around you and I also feel jittery when I’m around you and—”

This is not the type of confession that he has rehearsed for.

He guides your face into his chest, still sobbing and crying. As always, your hands weakly hit him, your lips still voicing out muffled confessions to him. Sunwoo’s arms wrap around your shoulders, the other on top of it. His head dips, his lips breathing out air near your ear, resting his forehead on his arm for stability. He wants to say something, anything to make sure that his avoidance doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you back but all he wants to do is to just hold you closer to make it clear that no one could take you out on another date.

Only he can take you out on dates now.

You sniffle, catching your breath after letting your feelings out. The hold around you makes you melt, smiling before turning to where Sunwoo is. At your longing stare, his head shoots back up in surprise, tripping over his own words at how you look at him with beady, watery eyes in adoration. Shy Sunwoo is going to be a sight that you’ll get used to quickly, noting how adorable he is with how his eyes refuse to meet yours and his lips moving without any sound actually coming through.

“I love you.”

You repeated quieter just for him so that he was the only one who could hear the words.

“I love you so much.”

You stood on your toes, planting a kiss on his chin.

“I love you so much but,” Sunwoo gulps with how you squinted your eyes, “if you leave my side next year, I won’t hesitate to throw a snowball to your face.”

“Oh God, please don’t do that.” Mortified and shaking his head, “I’m sorry, you win. I’ll do anything, just please have mercy on me.”

“Anything?”

Sunwoo gives a series of firm, convincing nods.

“Kiss me.”

The words took a while to register in his mind and he couldn’t help the breath hitching when he realised your request. Sunwoo almost stumbled backwards, your hands tug the fabric of his pockets, pulling him back to you and reality. It caused your foreheads to lightly bump and the impact made you wince at his stupidity.

“I-I’m sorry! I-I’m—”

“Kim Sunwoo! There’s going to be a mark there! That hur—”

A pair of comforting hands hold your jawline, tilting your face to accommodate the height difference between the two once-best friends. When Sunwoo gets a better grip on himself, he quickly dives in when your lips part, swallowing your complaints and making his dreams come true.

Double a decade—no, more than that.

That’s how much he’s waited for this moment with you.

When his lips would slot against yours, hugging your top ones with his before pulling away to give the same amount of affection to your bottom ones. Your noses bump into each other slightly, making the moment seem real and fun, smiling and giggling when you both part for air. Shy and kind of embarrassed with how messy and uncoordinated it is but you both know you wouldn’t want to share each other’s firsts with anyone else.

At this moment, it’s you and him in this world.

That’s how you ended the year. Clenched fist still inside his pockets, though that didn’t stop you from folding the fabric back so that you could have your arms wrapped around his middle to pull him closer. The sky soon blooms shortly after, and the happy firing noises illuminate the night sky, beating the dull light and colour of the moon that everyone sees every day. Because of the dynamic colours, Sunwoo is able to see the shades of the celebration mirrored on your skin, finding you more beautiful than ever before.

Though beautiful, the fireworks did make Sunwoo roll his eyes when he seemingly needed to repeat variations of “Be my girlfriend!” even though you were less than ten centimetres away from his face. He knows after your third “What? I can’t hear you” that you were playing with him, giving you pecks of his lips across your face playfully, enjoying how your laughs neutralised the flowers in the sky.

You ended the year with the start of a kiss with your best friend.

And start the new year with a new title for your ex-best friend.

With Kim Sunwoo, of course.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here!): @deoboyznet 📢❤️ @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿

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fadingdaggerr · 4 months

Note

Could you do Mel x reader where reader normally LOVES all things Christmas and gifting presents to people but this year she’s feeling down and just not as festive so Mel goes out of her way to give reader the most magical Christmas 🎄

Please and thank you! May you have the best day 🫶

frosted hymnal

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: generally the request above, however, there is definitely a different tone to this then what was asked for, bit more sad underneath | 4.1k

warnings: grief/loss (thematic - not in depth), hurt and immense comfort throughout to makeup for this sad

translations: bambino (baby), cara (dear), tua stellina (your little star)

note: this one is a bit personal to me, especially in the details and a family tradition i snuck in. i’m also not feeling very festive and ‘hell yeah christmas’ due to similar things i put in which is why this reads more h/c than holiday cheer oops

Ever since that balmy night in August when you’d gotten a call from your aunt as you ate dinner, laughing at Melissa’s recount of her conversation with Barbara earlier in the day. As the phone cuts her off unexpectedly, you swallow your laughter as you say a greeting into the phone. Immediately, your smile drops and your eyes flick to Melissa’s, already red and a fist clenching and unclenching as you listen.

“Thank you for calling,” you say with a shaky voice, barely making it out before you gasped for breath. Another beat as your aunt says more to you, “yeah, I will. Love you, too. Bye.” The moment the call ends, your head falls into your hands and tears fall. Melissa is immediately next to you, pulling you into her. Her lips press into your hairline, just letting you lean on her and let it all out.

You’d just talked to your grandfather three days before.

For days after, you hardly spoke, ate, or even moved from the bed. Your arms stayed locked around Melissa unless she had to step away, only then would her pillow take her place. She barely knew what to do, most of her family were angry when in mourning, much like herself; she’d broken half her picture frames and almost her hand when she found out about her grandmother. This eerie silence, the lack of anything from you, it was different, and it scared her even if she didn’t want to admit it. It took days to get you downstairs, a week to get you into the sun in the backyard. Melissa just held you until you quietly asked to go with her to the store after two weeks, the same quiet tone that filtered into most gatherings since.

She’d noticed it at Thanksgiving, the silence and the empty stare when no one was interacting with you. First holidays are always the hardest, she’d felt the same when her Nana passed away, but that was years ago and she’d had everyone around her where your family was states away. You spent the holiday pressed into Melissa’s side, only speaking when spoken to, hand gripping hers for dear life. Aunt Deb tried not to look offended when you barely touched the famous apple pie that you usually inhaled.

It had been Grandpa’s favorite.

—

The silence and the stare never really went away as the table runners went from orange to red and green, apples and pumpkins became evergreens and snowflakes. Melissa tried to stay discreet in how she watched you detangle the gold beads that wrap around the tree, robotic movements and pursed lips. Slowly, she moved from the couch to the spot next to you with her ornaments and hooks, shuffling closer to you to gain your attention.

You turn to look at her for a moment, a tiny smile stretching your lips before your eyes go back to the beads in your lap. The redhead takes the chance to prop her chin on your shoulder, making you turn back to her again, tilting your head back to get a proper look at her. Cold fingers brush her hair behind her ear while you admire her, a low voice speaking to her for the first time in an hour, “hi, pretty.”

“Hi, amore,” she murmurs back, a gentle kiss placed to your shoulder over your sweater, “you’re awfully quiet over here by your lonesome.”

You huff a little laugh through your nose, “I’m sorry, I’ve just been spacing out while I untangle these damned things,” you hold up the beads, “seriously, did you tie these in knots before I put them in the attic last year?”

“All part of my secret plan to keep you here forever,” she jokes as she shoves the ornaments away to help you with detangling.

Melissa delights in the first smile she’s seen from you all day as you shake your head at her answer. Leaning in quickly, you press a kiss to her cheek and quietly say, “like I was planning on going anywhere.”

Half of The Apartment and two glasses of wine later, you both finally get the beads untangled and wrapped around the tree. Basic ornaments went first, then the intricate ones that had been gifted by Barbara from the craft store were next, followed by the more personal ones with names, dates, and pictures within. A fireplace ornament with a photo of you two in it made you pause and let a little smile on your face, but it dropped when you remembered who had taken the picture and hand written your names on the bottom. Melissa sees the warmth in you go cold, taking the ornament from your hands and placing it on a branch for you, front and center.

“Hon, we can hold off on this if you need us to,” she says with a gentle tone, as if the right volume would shatter you into pieces. Melissa had watched you sluggishly place ornaments on the tree, for every three she got on there, you’d only put up one. The blank stare that had appeared at Thanksgiving was even more pronounced, and every conversation about holidays and holiday shopping had been borderline dismissed unless absolutely necessary.

The sigh she gets as an initial answer is less than desirable for a response. You turn away to grab a penguin on skis, breathing out a real answer, “it’s fine, babe, really. I just want to get this over with.”

That was certainly not what she expected. She normally had to hold you back from decorating before Halloween even ended, by the last trick-or-treater you already had a plan for the decor for the winter months. Sure you’d brought down the boxes for her, not letting her help at all since she always complains about her back afterwards, and yeah, you pulled out the Ella Fitzgerald Christmas album, but only at her request. There was no bounce in your steps, no obnoxious lovely singing of carols, not even the reindeer antler headband had made an appearance when decorating. As much as she poked fun at you for all of it, she found herself missing it more than anything at this moment. Simply hungering for your unbridled joy during the season.

Even though her own shoulders deflate, Melissa steps towards you, arms wrapping around your middle. Immediately she feels you give into her, leaning fully and melting into her arms. Her lips pressed to the side of your head, “it’ll get done anyways. Why don’t we take a break? We have the weekend, honey.”

“Can we just finish it now?” you murmur as if you’re afraid she’ll get mad. In truth, you just want it to be over so that you don’t have to think about it anymore, pretend the holiday isn’t even happening. You turn in her arms and move your hands to hold her face, “I just want to lay down and watch movies with you all weekend and eat the cookie dough that’s in the freezer.”

“That dough is for my students, so keep your grubby little hands away from it,” she jokes to lighten your mood, which works fractionally given your soft laugh. She leans to kiss your cheek, “how about I’ll make some brownies while you wrap this up?” She gestures to the remaining ornaments on the coffee table. Your nod and smile have more life to them, making her grin and press a short kiss to your lips, pulling away despite your insistence to make it last.

She watches you from the doorway for a moment, watching you stare at the tree as you mentally mapped where the ornaments should go, almost akin to your usual behavior. Melissa takes the distraction and runs with it, calling your aunt as she pulls out cocoa powder and sugar.

Melissa keeps her voice low as she asks your aunt questions, and slows down as she repeats her address for your aunt. The next call she makes is to her own mother, knowing that Giorgia is near god-level when it comes to sewing, having made every blanket and bunny for her grand and great-grandchildren.

The night ends with only half of the brownie she gave you being eaten while you lay on top of Melissa, head tucked into her neck and a tight grip on her shirt. She resides herself to the knowledge her back will hurt in the morning, but your steady breathing and weight against her was enough to not care.

—

The last day of school before winter break arrives, finally. The next two weeks were going to give Melissa the peace she had been waiting for, especially for you. Half of her lunch today was spent worrying about you when you came in late with redlined eyes, evidence of your tears in the corner of your eye. You waved off concerned glances and questioning looks, just giving a look to your girlfriend that you would tell her later. Under the table, she knocks her foot with yours and keeps it there, a silent I got you.

Getting out of the car, you immediately turn when Melissa doesn’t join you, “where are you going?”

“I gotta run over to Ma’s, I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” she says, crossing her fingers that you won’t press more, “I promise.” Your eyes give her a once over before you nod and turn back towards the house. She pipes up again, trying to ease the guilt of not being able to spill the beans, “no kiss?”

You laugh from your spot at the front door, calling over your shoulder, “you can come collect when you get home, ditcher.”

At her mother’s she is given the creation already wrapped since it was “perfect” and looking would be “questioning the genius at work,” so she doesn’t peek, knowing her mother adored you too much to have screwed this up. Pulling into the driveway, she moves quickly to not gain your attention, slipping inside to run upstairs before the door even shuts. She hides the box in the spare bedroom closet, praying that you won’t feel the need to remake the whole bed over the weekend.

As she descends and joins you back in the kitchen, she sees your rigid posture as you stand over the stovetop. Soup. You always make soup when you’re sad, always watching it simmer and bubble, stirring near constant like the spoon is pushing your thoughts around and not the vegetables. Before she can wrap herself around you, you’re already turned to the side with an arm out, inviting her into your embrace. Melissa quickly accepts, taking the moment to bury herself in your neck, holding your waist tight as one of your hands rests on her back, the other still stirring.

“What happened at lunch?” she asks from her hiding place, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw.

Your blunt nails scratch her upper back as you speak, “Tamika gave me a card and was telling me all about her Christmas plans this year.” There it was. Tamika lived with her grandparents, and Melissa remembers from when she was her student that the girl was very close with her grandfather, always talking about their weekend adventures. You sigh as you play with amber waves, “I just needed time to cool down before I came to lunch. If I came in crying, I would probably still have Janine glued to my hip right now.”

Melissa just squeezes you tighter, “text me next time, won’t you? I could’ve been there for you, you don’t have to do this ‘suffer in silence’ bullcrap.”

“I know-”

“I don’t wanna hear it. You need me, you get me. Got it?” Despite her serious words, her tone is soft, telling you that she means every word, and that these words are coming from her heart.

“Yes ma’am,” you mumble, kissing her hair as she tucks into you more.

—

Christmas Eve at the Schemmenti house was loud, very, very loud. Melissa’s eyes were drawn to you every few minutes, gauging your reactions and facial expressions, knowing full well you’ll put on a face for everyone else that only she can see through. Her heart beat speeds up as she sees no sign of anything on your face as the nieces and nephews are practically climbing you like a jungle gym, all vying for your uninterrupted attention. When Giorgia finally allows everyone into the kitchen again, you enter with Michael over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, plopping him into his booster seat as he giggles and squirms.

Falling into your designated seat in between the toddler and Melissa, you’re met immediately with a hand squeezing your thigh. You can feel the silent question in her touch, responding with your own squeeze of her hand, an answer telling her that yes, you’re okay. Giorgia captures your attention as she passes the bolognese over to you, but Melissa’s eyes stay on you and the crinkles around your eyes.

“Bambino,” Girogia says later on, pulling your eyes away from the kids playing together, “you’ve barely touched the tiramisu, I know it’s your favorite. Not even a second slice?” Leave it to Giorgia to ask you how you are without actually saying the words.

“Ma,” Melissa begins to warn, but stops as your hand falls on top of her on the table.

“I’m okay, mamma,” you say with a little smile at her concern, “I just don’t wanna eat too much of one thing and not get to enjoy the rest.” Unconvinced, but knowing not to pry, she cuts out another square of the desert and puts it on your plate. There is no room for refusal, so you dig your fork in and pray to whoever may be watching that neither woman notices your hand shaking. As the kids open their singular gifts for Christmas Eve, there’s a notable lack of smile on your face, unless one of the kids is looking right at you. The smile seems to come out easiest for them, but Melissa can see how quickly it falls once the attention is gone. She wonders if you’ve been doing the same around her when she’s been able to get a smile from you the last few days.

Everyone began leaving shortly after, most of the kids getting tired and cranky. Though she was half asleep in her father’s arms, Nicolette made a point to drag herself over to you to hug tightly before she left, barely wanting to let go. Vinny has to pry her off of you with a promise that she’ll see you in a week for New Year’s, though you end up having to give her a pinky promise to seal the deal. Melissa thinks that may have been the most you’ve smiled in months.

Once the kids and cousins are all gone, the redhead allows herself to drape across you, mumbling into your ear, “ready to go home?” She gets a nod as a response, your eyes shutting as you bask in her touch for a few selfish seconds. Saying goodbye to Giorgia, though never a want, was a must by the end of the night, your off-behavior making it that two Schemmenti women had eagle eyes set on you. Two big kisses to the cheek and a ciao set you free from the house, Melissa’s hand only ever disconnects from yours as you get into the car.

That night, Melissa and you lay in bed watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas while you braided little sections of her hair, releasing them and rebraiding every few minutes. Your fingers trailed from her hair for her forehead, gently gliding down to her chin to tilt her face up towards you. Her lips stretch into a smile as she watches you look down at her in adoration, eyes soft and searching over her face. Leaning over her in your lap, you relish in her smile growing at the sudden closeness.

She pushes up, pressing her lips to your shortly. Sitting up and turning to face you, she kissed you again, pushing you back into the pillows. Melissa’s hands gripped your hips while yours came to her face, thumbs gently caressing her warm skin. Whining as she pulls away becomes laughter when she presses kisses across your face, settling a last kiss to your lips.

You stay cupping her face as you take your turn to stare up at her. In a quiet voice, as if you were afraid to ruin the moment, you say, “I’m sorry for being such a downer lately.”

A kiss to your cheek, “you’re not a downer, you’re grieving. It just feels different this year and it sucks. You can be all sad, and I get to hug and spoil you without you complaining about it.”

“Name one time I complained about you kissing me, I’ll wait,” you say with fake indignation, before she can answer, you cut her off, “you can’t, don’t even try.” When she laughs, you feel it as you still hold her face, staring up at her dumbfounded.

“What?” she asks when she notices that difference in your gaze.

Your thumb brushes over her bottom lip, catching slightly, “I just love you so, so much.”

“I love you, too,” her lips press to your thumb. Her eyes shift to the clock on her nightstand, 12:02 AM stares back at her, “merry Christmas, baby.”

Your only response is pulling her down to kiss her again.

—

The sun wasn’t even up yet, why the fuck did she think this was a good idea?

The better part of the early morning was spent desperately searching how to get her laptop connected to the TV, and God forbid the sound works one of these times. Melissa is just about to scream into a throw pillow before the screen lit up and the tester video finally played through the speakers. She got her present for you all situated, wondering how the ones for her got there without you waking her up, she’d both fallen asleep and woken up on top of you. After what felt like six hours but was only two, she slowly moves upstairs to wake you up, but is met with you groggily sitting up in bed.-

“I’m surprised you’re up already,” she says as she moves closer to you, her arms raising to rest on your shoulders. Your own go around her waist, pulling her in until she’s straddling your lap, hands pushing under her shirt to warm against her torso.

“It was too quiet, no one was snoring in my face,” you mumble, smile stretching across before wincing as she smacks your shoulder, “you wound me, I may never recover.”

She can’t hide her laugh, “if this ends with you saying the cure is taking my shirt off, it is too fucking cold in here and you can stay wounded.”

“I thought you loved me,” you huff as you flop back down on the bed.

Melissa leans over you, “would breakfast and presents work?”

“She really does love me,” you say with a giggle as you push up to kiss her quickly before patting her thigh to ease her off of you.

When you walk downstairs, you almost completely walk past the TV without noticing half your family on the screen, waving as they see you. Nearly jumping out of your skin makes them laugh, but your attention goes to Melissa. She just points at the laptop, showing you that the call is live, that your family is sorta-here for the holiday. There’s heavy effort that goes into making sure you don’t start crying on the spot, overwhelmed by the work that you know Melissa put into getting everyone on the call together.

“Merry Christmas guys,” you say, waving at your nephews as they start cramming into the camera, desperately trying to reach you through the screen.

“Aunt Mellie said we surprising you,” the oldest one yells, grinning with a front tooth growing in.

You smile, hands almost reaching like you wanted to grab him, “oh, you did, you totally did, buddy.” Turning back to Melissa you walk into her opening arms, needing to express the love for her that felt like Coke and Mentos in your chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you murmur into her neck as she sways you from left to right.

The rest of the morning is spent watching the kids open their presents from you and Melissa on the video call, listening to your cousins, aunts, and uncles update you on everything, and staring at Melissa as she talked easily with your family. She’s so good with them, and more importantly, they’re good with her, most of the little kids already prefer her to you anyways. Who are you to complain, you already know she’s the best.

When everyone hangs up, the tears in your eyes are no longer sad, but happy, carefree. Melissa put an arm around your shoulders, “have a good morning, hon?”

“You did all that for me,” it’s not really a question, moreso a statement of disbelief.

She nods, “I got one more thing, even though it does break the ‘only a stocking’ rule.” Your face screams unimpressed, she’s the one who said if it couldn’t fit in a stocking, neither of you could get it for the other. Before you can argue she amends her statement, “there was no purchase involved, cross my heart.” That seems to get the irritation off your face.

From behind the tree, she pulls out a box in ice blue wrapping paper, paper you recognized from her mother’s house. You eye her carefully, but her face gives nothing away, only the fidgeting of her sleeves says that this was a big deal to her. Carefully, you undo every piece of tape, pulling out a which box. Melissa’s hand urges you to open the box, nodding at you even though her eyes stay trained on the lid until your hand begins to open it.

In the box is a teddy bear, a worn-maroon color, tortoise shell buttons for eyes. Your thumb runs over the fabric, eyes flicking across it as the bear starts to feel familiar. Raising it to your nose and inhaling, there’s a lingering scent of wood and shoeshine, and this indescribable smell that brought you back to hanging clothes on the line at your grandparents house. It was his shirt, it was your grandfather’s lucky shirt. He’d worn this shirt the day you were born, when each of the grandkids graduated high school or college, and to every anniversary date with grandma.

Tears fall down your cheeks freely. Looking up at Melissa, she seems unsure of what to do, finding it hard to look at you while you look at the bear. Flying out of your seat, you launch yourself at Melissa, knocking her backwards onto the couch, “thank you. Thank you so much. This is so... you’re too perfect, thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she answers as she holds you to her tightly.

“I love it,” you press a kiss to her skin. You trace your finger over the stitching on the arm, recognizing the pattern, “did your mom do this?”

“She did. I called your aunt and asked her to send a shirt, and gave it to Ma at a dinner a few weeks ago to make into a bear or rabbit or whatever she could with the material,” Melissa clears her throat, “this way, you can give the old man a hug whenever you need one.” The sincerity and adoration in her gift, her words, her actions, were all too much. She felt a choked sob against her as fresh tears fell, mutterings of I love you from both of you.

The cocoa on the table went cold, the breakfast she was going to make completely forgotten. Melissa was never one to care this much about what she got from or gave to other people during the holidays, truthfully she threw out almost everything anyone by you or Barbara gave her, save for the pencils from her students. Sure the novelty items were great, and the scratch tickets weren’t bad either, but she liked the look on your face seeing that bear more than anything she’d ever get.

This was everything. You in her arms, holding onto her, kissing her face everywhere as the appreciation and love for her overflowed into the living room. Nothing else has or will ever matter as much as this, as much as you with her in this moment.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” she whispers into the space between you.

“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” you answer, closing that space.

happy holidays my angels, love u all ❄️

as always, feedback appreciated <3

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #lesbian

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madelynraemunson · 6 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors skiddaddle pls

Chapter 009: Nina

There’s a new girl at Hellfire and Eddie is seemingly wrapped around her finger. Meanwhile, Max makes a shocking new discovery…

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 3.8k words

disclaimers & warnings — ⚠️ this is a verrrryy emotionally intense chapter. pls read at your discretion ; generational curses, physical altercations, profanities, throwing objects, heated arguments, implications of suspected grooming, shy girl being delulu, lmk if anything else

“Shouldn't have to listen to the shit you say.”

♡

"C’mon... COME ON!" Dustin roars in frustration. "What starts with a T and ends with a C?"

Slow Monday afternoons call for Wordle with the Party.

With little else to do in Hawkins on your day off, you find yourself situated at DRAGON’S BREATH with Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan’s younger brother Will.

Figuring out the last Wordle is a daunting task. Thankfully Argyle has been periodically swinging by, his emotional support nachos being the only thing keeping you from ripping out your hair.

"Tunic," Will suggests.

"Tonic," Steve contributes. "Like tonic water."

"Topic?" you pitch in. “Like Hot Topic.”

This is taking all of your last brain cells combined.

"Topic was one of them, Shy Girl,” Dustin sighs irritably. “I said that already.”

You raise your arms, surrendering. It seems you’ve poked the beast.

It’s been hard for you to focus anyway. The hot and heavy night you spent with Eddie a couple nights ago is taking up all the space of your dirty little mind.

You think of Eddie. His moans. The O-shape his mouth made as he chased his own pleasure on you. How full your pussy felt with just his three fingers pulsing in and out, and how full your mouth felt with Eddie's cock ramming the back of your throat with no mercy. The taste of him. How shocked he looked when you swallowed. How rough he was with you, but oh so thoughtful at the same time.

Truly an experience from another dimension. And you’re already fantasizing about the next time.

But you still want to keep it on the down low. Considering Eddie might still be seeing his Lady Friend, and you're still getting shagged by his roommate whenever he’s not home, you can't exactly get mad at him for texting someone who isn't you.

“Pssst,” you nudge Steve while the others brainstorm. “I think Eddie is talking to Nina again.”

Confusion sets in on Steve's face. He raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Yeah,” you smirk, trying to pretend that it doesn’t hurt. “Saw a message exchange between them a couple days ago.”

“Who’s Nina?”

“Isn’t that the Lady Friend’s name?”

“No…” Steve shakes his head. “Lady Friend’s name was Heather.”

It really has you wondering now... who is Nina?

"Yeah, the kukris are cool huh?" you hear Eddie's soothing voice come into earshot.

Odd. He stopped coming in on Mondays, you thought.

"That's the cool thing about owning a business,” you hear Eddie explain. “You get to choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes — at least most of the time."

Where have you heard that before?

Then Eddie comes into view, with a girl walking very closely behind him.

She’s stunning, standing to be about five-foot-two with a youthful face, petite body, and straight, long jet-black hair. Both conventionally, and legitimately beautiful, the girl looks to be at least 20 years old, dressed in cream-colored Chuck Taylor's, tattered booty shorts, and a playful white off-the-shoulder blouse. Scattered fine-line tattoos ornament her body. Her makeup has been flawlessly painted on, her lash extensions a hybrid between voluminous and wispy. And because you’re from Southern California, you can spot lip injections from a mile away.

A new dancer.

"This is where you clock in," Eddie explains to her. "I'll be sure to get you your punch in code by the end of the week. Over at the lounge we have Will, Shy Girl, Steve, and Dustin. Hey guys!”

Now you know why it sounds familiar. You received a very identical run down when you first started.

You're too shocked to wave so you feign a smile at your new colleague. Also, Eddie is too quick for you to react.

"We call the hookah lounge Dragon's Breath," Eddie continues. "And main-stage-slash-tip-rail is called Vecna's Lair."

They walk over to VECNA'S LAIR and you crane your neck to watch.

You observe Eddie give the girl a very familiar run down of Hellfire, using his arms to talk and eyes to listen.

She laughs at Eddie's charm, as anyone would. They talk for a bit more before he walks, what looks like to you, a predatory circle around her — a lion and a gazelle — and then spins her. Then Eddie does something that just about snaps your heart in half.

“MWAH!” he exclaims. “You are gonna do great. I just know it.”

The verbal kiss. The spin. The drowning her in compliments. Everything he did with you.

If Eddie’s gonna do his job, could he at least make every interaction with his employees unique? It all makes you feel betrayed. As if you were just another number in the factory.

"Traitor." you hiss sharply under your breath.

You abruptly stand up to start towards Eddie, hands balled into fists at the blatant disrespect displayed in front of you. You feel sick to your stomach, skin seemingly dragon-green with envy.

"That’s seven letters not five!" Dustin calls after you.

Eddie sees you in his periphery and waves. For the sake of keeping the peace, the smile you exude is fake to him, but friendly to the girl next to him.

"Hey, Hargrove!" Eddie smiles. "We've got a new person on board."

"I see that!" you exclaim. "Hi, I'm Shy Girl."

"I'm Nina," she introduces herself with a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you."

You two shake hands. Nina is just darling. Her eyes are so kind and bright, full of wonder. Her energy is warm. For a second there she was making you nervous.

“Y-you gonna be starting with us soon?” you investigate.

“Yeah, I start on Friday!”

“First dancing gig?”

Eddie shoots you a look, almost as if what you said was disrespectful. It wasn’t your intention. You were just wondering, after all. Nina looks really, really young.

“Uh, no actually,” Nina smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been dancing since I was 18. So two-ish years now.”

Your soul hurts.

Eighteen is just a baby. Twenty is a fresh adult. Nina is only a year older than the kiddos and can't even be near POTIONS without redirection from Henry.

Now you’re disgusted with Eddie. Why would he ever get so close to someone so young? You thought teenagers at Hellfire made him queasy. Nina is 20 now, but still. What would she have in common with a 28 year old? What about her was so appealing to Eddie?

“Oh! That’s cool… I think?”

Eddie’s harsh lines deepen across his face.

“Nina, why won’t you put your bag down by the cubbies, sweetheart?” Eddie suggests. “Then I’ll have Argyle make you something to eat. My treat.”

“Okay!” Nina chimes. "I was eyeing the chicken wings."

"Done deal. Wings or flats?"

"Flats!" Nina says as she skips away. "Please."

Eddie's admiring eyes trail after her as Nina acqauints herself with Hellfire.

So many questions arise in your head. Is Nina who Eddie’s been texting all this time? Did she come in and audition like you did? Did he ask her out on an 'orientation' lunch/dinner that he apparently does with all of his dancers? It wouldn't surprise you. None of this behavior is new.

This jealousy feels icky. And most of all, it hurts.

"Ugh!" Eddie clutches his chest. He turns to you. "I love her already."

You remain stiff as a board as Eddie slowly leans into you. A part of you is aching to lean in as well, but you can’t give him the satisfaction.

Eddie hovers his hand over the small of your back because he knows Steve is watching. His eyes are out on a prowl per usual the way they burn into you.

"Looking beautiful as always," Eddie compliments you. "How are you? I haven't stopped thinking about you since Saturday."

He looks over your shoulder at the Wordle group.

"What was the last word?"

“Don’t know,” you huff. “You seem to have gotten it.”

“What?” Eddie questions cluelessly.

“With Nina,” you cross your arms. "And all your words that you've been wooing her with."

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie scowls. His hand drops back to his side. “You're mad because I... hired a stripper? Cause that’s kinda what I do.”

“I'm not mad that you hired a stripper, you literally own a strip club,” you shrug. “It’s just that…I didn’t know you use the same script with every new hire.”

"I'm sorry? Script?”

"You used almost the exact same words with me, Eddie," you explain. "Like you do with everybody I'm guessing.”

Disbelief sets in on Eddie's face, accompanied by an ounce of fear. Eddie is scared of something.

"Well, I don't know what you expected me to do when you first started," Eddie shrugs. "I'm not gonna come off strong and hit on you like some creep. Of course I'm gonna give you the same treatment I give everybody."

Eddie's got a solid rationale, but it didn't take away from the fact that you simply felt ordinary. When you compare the interactions side by side, nothing about Shy Girl stuck out from Nina.

"Why are we even having this conversation right now?" Eddie asks you. "We're not even together."

“I’m not trying to pick a fight, believe me,” you cross your arms. “I’m just disappointed is all. You made me really think you were falling for me.”

“Oh so all it takes is me walking with a girl to have all of my words not ring true anymore?”

Your tongue and stomach are in knots. All you can do is stand there and blubber like a baby. You’re making no sense, you’re aware. But why does it hurt you so bad?

Eddie paces back and forth. "I don't even know why I feel the need to explain myself, Hargrove,” he continues. “I’m not the one fucking the other’s best friend."

It's a reasonable standpoint. Still. You felt disgusting.

“Yeah but..." you argue softly. "How can you feel so comfortable touching…kissing…interacting with someone like that after being so intimate with me?”

Your boss can only release a chuckle, a baffled one at that. He shakes his head rapidly.

“Just because we hooked up over the weekend, you think you have a say in who I associate with or what goes on around here?" Eddie spews. “What, are you trying to take over Hellfire or something?”

Your lip quivers. “I never said that! Where did that even come from? Why are you so fucking defensive right now?”

Eddie’s nose flares angrily as he tries to keep himself collected. Suddenly, Nina calls out for his attention and he softens up again.

“Eddie!” the new girl cheers. “Argyle gave me some of his flats and it's so good! I think I’m gonna shoot for Creeping Death next!”

“Hey, nice!” Eddie smiles. “You like spicy, huh?”

“Mhm!”

It would be a lot easier to hate her if she did something to you. But Nina didn't do anything.

Eddie turns back around to face you, kicking at the ground before he thinks of something to say.

“Let’s not do this right now,” Eddie resigns, placing his hands over his hips. “You uh…clocking in?”

“No, I’m going home actually,” you respond. “It’s my day off.”

Eddie makes a face. You project it back onto him. For a moment, you two are staring at each other, appalled at one another's behavior. Being infatuated with the literal mirror version of yourself is hell.

“Hey Eddie!” Will calls. “Do you know a five-lettered word that starts with T and ends with C?”

Eddie’s eyes don’t leave you.

“Sure do,” he answers. “TOXIC.”

There’s a pause.

“BADA-BOOM!” Dustin hollers. “That’s the one.”

Eddie doesn't bother to chase you after your mini altercation. Just then, another pair of heels that don't belong to you click across the hard club floor. Chrissy comes into sight, holding a tray of slushees and her car keys in her hands.

“Hey guys!” Chrissy sings. “I got us some slushees from 7-Eleven. They're Cherry flavored...”

“I’ll pass,” you huff. “You can give one to Nina.”

“Ooh we have someone new?!” she chirps. “Where?”

Chrissy notices your shift in attitude when you walk away and Eddie’s stand-offish posture.

“What the fuck did you say to her?” you hear her snap at Eddie as you walk away.

“Nothing,”

“Bullshit. You look guilty as fuck.”

You stomp your way back over to your section and ask Steve to hand you your purse. It's obvious by the look on his face that Steve caught onto what you were feeling. He doesn't question it. He hands you your things.

"I'm not feeling too well, guys," you announce. "I'm going home."

You collect your trash and organize it neatly for Argyle when he comes back over with some waffle fries. Showing your appreciation for him, you thank him and give him a soft pat on the shoulder.

"Argyle, you should've seen the new girl," Dustin fawns. "She's so pretty."

"Yeah?" Argyle quirks up. "What's her name?"

"Nina."

"Was she hot?" he turns to the guys. "Byers, what do you think? Was she a 10 or what?"

Will, who never seems to pay the Hellfire girls any mind, eyes glued to his sketchbook instead of their sultry outfits, squirms around in his seat. He shrugs. "I-I don't know."

"Steve?"

"She was pretty cute."

Your blood boils. Not her stealing Steve's heart too!

"Nina…” Argyle repeats. "How exotic. She sounds like a small feisty Latina woman."

“Bet Shy Girl can vouch,” Dustin comments. “Right, Shy Girl?”

Intrigued, the line cook turns to you.

"Well, Shy Girl? Is she giving chunti, chingona, or what?”

Steve encourages Argyle to stop as you walk away, hair covering the sides of your face on the way out.

“What?” Argyle sounds bewildered. “What’d I say?”

"Was I made from a broken home?"

A girls day with Max would surely take your mind off of the Nina situation. She always knew how to make you feel better. Lucky for you, she is home today, evident by her skateboard that is situated neatly in the garage.

You hear some commotion coming from your shared bedroom and go in to greet her.

"Hey girl hey!" you call out to your sister. "It's my day off so I was wondering if you wanted to go t-"

You pause in your tracks, horrified.

"Hmm," Max ponders aloud. "Last time I recall, stilettos and G-strings aren't really part of nursing home etiquette."

Propped open on Max’s bed is one of your unpacked suitcases, the one that you hid all your lingerie, heels, and the Hellfire shirt Eddie gave you when you first started in. Typically you lock it but you left it open this morning. Out of all days Max had to look through your room, it had to be today.

Max has a tennis racket in her hand, the handle acting as a hook the way it swept up a thong of yours so effortlessly. You feel your knees buckle.

"What are you doing looking through my stuff, you little shit?" you bark.

"Looking for my sports bras," Max replies nonchalantly. "Still can't find 'em."

She dangles the thong in the air like it's something she caught at the lake.

"Found some other goodies though."

"You couldn't have just waited to ask me?"

"I would've had to wait a day or two since you work nights," Max snaps. "Now I know why. And do I even need to ask where?"

Just what you needed. This is JUST what you needed.

You feel exposed. Violated. Disrespected. In every aspect and every situation. There was no safe place to turn. It makes you angry.

Fine. If people are going to disrespect you, you'll be disrespectful too.

"When is it EVER okay to snoop?" you hiss. "Have you any respect for others and their belongings? How would you feel if I started picking apart at your shit?"

"I wouldn’t care because I don't have anything to hide."

"That's not the fucking point, Maxine."

"Oh, not the government name!" Max exclaims, sassily putting a hand over her chest.

That really tips you over the edge.

"I should've known," Max proceeds, shaking her head. She chucks the racket back onto her bed. “You haven't renewed your CPR cert since you graduated high school. And you need that to even work as a caregiver. Didn't catch that loophole when you were LYING, did you?"

"I was lying to protect you."

"You still lied, Sis," Maxine argues. "You're missing the point..."

Oh, now she wants to mimmick you.

You're blind-sided. Tunnel-visioned. You are feeling all five stages of grief all at once. It’s all too much to bear. You feel the bomb ticking...

As much as you love your sister, it sure was a bitch to raise her. You spent most of the time explaining to Max what social cues are, what is acceptable and what is not. It often made you short-fused because what was common sense to you took ages for Max to understand. Like how you shouldn't look through other people's things.

Max learns best when she puts herself in others' shoes. You've learned that the hard way, over the years.

“How would you feel if I was looking through your drawers and shit?” you walk over to Max’s corner of the room, prying open her drawers and tossing whatever is in there out. “And just tossing your shit out onto the floor?"

“What the fuck?!” Max exclaims. "What are you doing?!"

“Or what if I just went to your side of the mirror and…” you knock her perfume bottles off from the dresser mirror in numbers and watch them fall onto the floor. "Knocked all your shit down because I was looking for my own things?"

"I get it now, stop."

“Or," you brainstorm. "What if I just started unpacking your vinyls and shit and just not care about the packaging?”

Max stops you right there. "ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?! I said STOP."

“How would YOU FEEL?” you yell. “HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I DID THAT TO YOU?! IF I PULLED A 'YOU' ON YOU? NOT GREAT, HUH?”

How would everybody feel if you acted the way they did? Would they be mortified? Would they be disgusted?

Would Dad not hit anybody?

Would Mom have chosen to stay?

Would your first love never want to see you again?

Would Eddie be angry at your behavior?

Would Max think you're the worst sibling ever?

You would hope so for all the above.

Your heart couldn’t take any more pain.

"SHUT," Max screeches. "THE FUCK UP!"

She tosses an acrylic storage box at you. It hits you and you yelp in pain. When she realizes what she has done, Max punches the pillow on her bed. Physically aching for the last word, you take it upon yourself to chuck your empty Hydroflask at her. Thankfully, it misses and the ear-piercing CLINK sound is enough to startle her. Max shrinks herself down in fear, trying to process what you just did.

You regret it immediately. You didn't want to hit her. You mainly did it for intimidation.

It puts you to shame. You are toxic.

Suddenly, Max inflates again, her entire face extending to her ears redder than her fiery amber hair.

"YOU," Maxine growls. "ARE JUST LIKE BILLY!"

Silence.

You take a look around the trashed room. Never did you think you had it in you to be someone like your brother. But of course, the Wolf who is fed the most prevails.

The amount of hurt and anger you actually harbored was way more than you thought. You can’t take back the fact that you’ve exploded on everyone you love now. But at least you can hold yourself accountable.

"I didn't mean that," Max mumbles. “I’m really sorry.”

"No, Max," you sigh. "You're right. And I'm sure you've been wanting to say that for a while..."

But Max refuses. “NO! I just wanted the last word again. Like I always fucking do even when I know it’s never worth it.”

You and your sister join each other by sitting criss-crossed on the floor, pushing the debris off to the side to be handled later. Max leans her head on you and you let her, combing through her knotted hair with your trembling fingers.

"We have a lot to unlearn, don't we?" she sighs.

You nod. "Oh yeah..."

She grabs your hand.

"Are you safe at least?" Max questions. "At work? Any creeps I gotta beat up for you?"

A laugh escapes you. "Nah, someone's already got that covered. Bones snapping and all."

Max flinches.

"That's how you got all that money real fast, huh? Stripping?”

You nod to confirm. "I did it for you. Well, us."

You watch as Max takes out her phone and shuffles through her camera roll. Her most recent in the gallery are videos of her shooting free throws at the Y and playing tennis. She cancels out some apps for more storage, one of them being Messenger. The tab reveals that Billy was spamming her again.

You both shudder. Max puts her phone away.

"Because of you I have a membership," she beams. "And I have a safe place to rest my head and I have money to do what I want and I have food on the table."

She hugs you.

“I hope you know how grateful I am for you. For putting my needs before yours. For throwing yourself into something so terrifying just so I can have a better life than you did growing up.”

“I never thought for a second you were being ungrateful,” you hug her back. “And no matter what I say or do, I’m sticking by you no matter what.”

“Even when I’m being an asshole?”

“Even when you’re being an asshole.”

Max giggles. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

Suddenly your door swings open, causing you and Max to jolt in place. Thankfully, it’s just Robin and Vicky, both worried and confused about the state of your room.

"ToTo," Robin says. "We're not in Hawkins anymore."

"What tornado rummaged through here?!" Vicky exclaimed. "Guys. Are you okay?"

You and Max burst into laughter.

"Yeah, we’re good," you nod. "Just Hurricane Hargrove passing through."

As long as you have Max and your sisterhood with Robin and Vicky, you know you're going to be okay.

You refuse to mope around for the rest of the day, so in the evening you go bowling with Max and your roommates, loading yourselves up with carbs and soda. You ignore Eddie’s “can we talk?” messages, along with Billy’s routine “where the fuck are you” texts followed by rage-calls without a care in the world . Towards the end of the night, however, when the “Sad Boy Hours” hit, there’s a text from a man you simply can’t ignore.

Maybe: Henry

Hey 🧍🏻 it's Henry from work. Can I ask you something? Pls be honest.

tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #Spotify #SoundCloud #stranger things fanfiction

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catfern · 7 months

Text

salt.

pairing: cowboy!ellie williams x afab!reader (she/her pronouns used)

music: california love - 2pac etc. OR devil wears a suit and tie - colter wall (tysm angel @lissanovak)

word count: 1.7k

summary: ellie takes good money where she can get it. turns out there's a desperate runaway who will stop at nothing to fill her coin purse. well, and run away.

warnings: blood, gun use, minor injury, slight ageism towards joel, bounty hunter!ellie kinda, outlaw behaviour forrealsies

an: the start of cowboy!ellie and reader's love story <3 how i met ur mother actually. yk when u write a word so much and it doesn't look real anymore thats how i feel abt the word flower.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“is the money good?”

her eyes trace the faded ink that paints your jawline. her fingers itch in her gloves, tapping along the flimsy paper. she shifts quickly, cigarette smoke swirling and fading in the air, a sweet smell.

your father was a desperate, desperate man.

‘please, please, bring her back to me.’

‘my sweet child, my only child.’

honestly, ellie wasn’t paying much attention to the blubbering until the mention of a payout.

the drag was long, smoke settling her stomach, and spilling out from her lips in a rasp of a laugh, “yeah, it’s real good.”

this was clearly your first time running from home.

your name on her lips, nearly everyone she met was itching to tell ellie what they had seen, for a stray coin or two. you weren’t exactly quiet, rushing off with kicked up dust and curses rolling off your tongue. the easiest money they’ve ever made, joel jokes.

ellie had your photograph in her pocket, the one your father gave her. it had felt almost unlawful to take it, your smile too intimate, your laugh too familiar. you wore the ornaments of high society, silks and velvets finding their comfort in the contours of your body, but your look was something unknown, untamed, something scarcely to be found. it was something that she deemed herself unworthy of. a sick perversion it was, to look at a capturing of you and imagine something more. she swallowed it.

“y’seen her or not?”

His eyes lingered a fraction longer on your face, the ghost of his breath circling the rim of his glass, sinking into the beer at the bottom. ellie dug her fingernails into her palms. she hated this man.

“maybe. y’got something f’me?”

“how much?”

“twenty.”

jesus.

“ th’s higher than last time, butch.” joel’s calm, albeit tired. the rasp in his throat echoes into the jovial sounds of the saloon. the old crook chuckles, sags of skin rising and falling with his molasses, gap-toothed smile.

“business is business, old friend. consider it a family discount, jus’ for you two.”

ellie makes sure joel feels the fire of her gaze as he counts out the bills. there’s little comfort in knowing the reward is sweeter, as she watches half their year’s savings slide across the table.

“a friend of a friend seen her in valentine. in that pretty dress too.”

her breath rots in her throat, palms itching as she takes back the photo, settles it back in her pocket. joel leads her out with a dishonest smile.

“easiest money we ever made.” it’s a mocking closing statement, before the heavy breath of horses fills a dripping silence.

you’re not far from a fallen angel, when ellie spots you. completely separate from the delicacy of your photo, now, you’re wild. your hair looks softer, less abused with pomade and twists to make stiff curls, capturing the sun and shining it like fragmented glass. a warmer, kinder glow falls on the dust of your skin, your rich silks abandoned for something looser, free. she feels a tragedy nick at her head when joel doesn’t hesitate,

“miss,” he stops you on the step of the general store, your grocery basket swinging from your arm, change echoing in the pocket of your skirt, “we’re friends of your father’s. he’s asked us t’bring you on home now.”

you weren’t smiling before, but something fell on your face that made you hard to describe. something echoes and ellie can almost watch the moment everything clicks.

“damn!-ellie!”

apples roll down the steps, abandoned. joel is old, and slow. ellie isn’t.

she’s on you before you can even breathe a getaway, her hands a rough burn against your skin as she pins you, cheek flush against the wood paneling of the store. softness forsaken, your breath is heavy, a monster slipping from your lips as you kick and bleed,

“i won’t go back-y’can’t make me! bastard!”

the blade is cold fire, foreign on your neck, “trust me flower. we can go easy,” pressure. “or hard,”

the silence between you deepens, your breath swirling together as the heat from her chest ripples on your back. this isn’t how ellie thought you’d be.

“how the fuck did you think that was gonna go, joel? ‘oh, you’re my daddy’s friends? why, of course, let me go and pack my beloved valuables and we can ride home together while i sing a tisket, a tasket for your enjoyment.’”

your voice is a rough, searing anger, as it echoes from where you’re bent over on ellie’s horse, hands tied behind your back, “cunt.”

“that ain't a very ladylike mouth you got there, darlin’.”

your father is wringing his clammy little hands on the front porch when joel and ellie’s horses are spied up the road. working himself up, he runs to meet you with a blabber of words. joel lifts you gently, much kinder than he was back in valentine, and cuts the sandpaper ropes from your wrists. your mother appears with a scowl,

“come on then. you need a bath, you’re filthy.”

it’s a walk of shame back down the road to your eyesore of a prairie home. the money feels sickeningly heavy in ellie’s hands as she watches you.

oh, she’s home. home, home, home. your father mutters in relief.

it doesn’t last long.

the second time is almost as painful as the first. tears stain the suede of joel’s jacket, a manic grip as the older man wailed and cried,

“she’s gone, again, again! please!”

they found you wandering a mountain pass, the sand of the red desert rock smeared across your cheek and dusted in your hair. you’d stolen a pony of your father’s, skittish and small, ellie almost laughed.

but fuck, you were learning to put up a good fight. even had a knife on you this time, smart girl.

but your dumb horse didn’t fight much, flying off at the first sound of a gunshot, throwing you violently into the dirt, winded and dazed. ellie shaded you from the beating sun with shit-eating grin, “howdy stranger.”

your voice is a coughing fit, “fuc-k you.”

by the fourth time, they started taking payments up front. the fifth time, your mother delivered the news, your father too bed-ridden with worry to see through the mess of tears and snot.

“back so soon, friend?” it’s mean to be a laugh, but it’s a rasp, dying wind scratching at his throat as his brow furrows.

ellie’s not interested in his dance, counting out the money and running it along the bumps of the scarred bar table, “same girl, y’seen her?”

he tuts, his voice high and mighty and too drunkenly happy, “dunno. think i forgot what i’m lookin’ for. might need t’see that photo again.”

“watch it.”

the silver of her hunting knife twinkles like a star in the warm light, the point slowly digging an edge into the aging wood. he shrinks and wisps the money up before it disappears, “last i heard she hitched a train up north. all i know, i swear.”

“always a pleasure, butch.”

the glow of your dying campfire wasn’t an easy beacon to follow from below the cliff face, smoke easing off the edge and falling into the moonlight. ellie eased her horse quietly up the incline, her eyes trailing your silhouette against the amber coals. a horse was tied to the tree you were camping under, not yours.

didn’t take you long to settle into the wild.

you were a completely different creature, something unknowable. ellie rounds the thicket on her feet, watching you. your eyes melt with the starlight, windswept and sweet in the air of the hills. you belong here.

fortunately, god makes it clear that ellie does not. the crack of the stick calls and echoes off the distance mountains, and, fuck, when did you get a revolver?

her hands are up as she steps out, cursing under her breath as her pants snag in the bush.

“you even know how to use that, sweetheart?”

your thumb clicks the safety, it echoes in the silence,

“i know well enough.”

“and what?” it’s teasing, and at some point, as ellie ponders her life down the barrel of a gun, your gun, she wonders if maybe, it’s not the right time. fuck it, “you gonna shoot me, flower? you gonna try?”

“i ain’t going back to that house, ellie.”

however tense, and full of pure hatred, her name on your lips is something god-given. she fights to revel in it.

“clearly.”

ellie steps, hoping to bridge the distance between you with something kind, something deserving of you. you panic.

blood. warm and sticky, seeping through the scratchy fabric of her shirt, the burn spreading through her body like a parasite. her hand flies to her arm, “you fucking shot me?’

had you seen blood before? had you shot someone before? your aim wasn’t guided by god, but fuck, you didn’t exactly expect it to hit her, and ellie knows.

“you’re th’one who fucking came at me!”

“i was walking!”

the ride home was horribly reminiscent of the first time you met. except, somehow, the ropes were tighter, and ellie had two guns in her saddle bag.

your mother scrubs the dried blood from your side in a cold bath, muttering about the witching hour.

you wait a few nights in restlessness, listening to your parents argue about your disobedience, before packing yet another satchel.

the outline of her jaw was lit by a dying cigarette, the soft scratch of her boots on the dirt echoing in the cicada rhythm of midnight. you watch her carefully as you drop from your window, wishing you had grabbed the shotgun this time.

“what? you hoping to cash in without actually doing any work?”

she’s quiet, leaning against your back picket fence. flicking her cigarette down, it briefly lights the white tourniquet splitting her bicep.

“i’m real sorry about that.” it’s quiet, remorse.

she tuts, without care, “just a graze. y’have terrible aim.”

she’s watching you, enforcing a silence between you as she studies you, almost unsure.

a sharp whistle bounces off a distant hill. you can vaguely make out the glow of a lantern, and joel.

ellie sighs, heavy, defeated.

“get your shit. don’t expect me t’carry it.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #cowboy!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams fanfic #ellie x fem reader

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priestessame · 2 years

Text

The Emperor's most Favoured

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥

Emperor Zhongli x Bride reader

°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.-> 🎀 ! AFAB Virgin reader! °·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯°·.¸.-> 🎀

Warnings: Oral (receiving), zhongli has a corruption kink, themes of purity, hybrid Zhongli (he has horns), fingering, unprotected sex, slight voyeurism, dirty talk, overstymulation, power play. Minors DNI !

Summary: The emperor of Leiyue really dots on his new bride ଲ(ⓛ ω ⓛ)ଲ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

It was cold.

Colder than your red wedding robes had prepared you for. Even under the layers and layers of silk, a cold you couldn't shake away clung to your skin. You stretch your hands out, holding them up. The noticeable tremor told you that maybe it wasn't the cold. You pressed the anxiety down, maybe it was fear.

You drew your hands inwards, trying to get some body heat to sustain yourself. You turn, the read beaded veil jingling as you looked around the chambers.

As the last princess, although you had always been favored by your people, it wasnt the case with your own family. Your mother had been a simple musician who played the zither for the court, with no royal title of her own, the consorts looked at you like a pest to be squashed out. Your king father probably didn't even remember your name, more than happy to sell you off to the stranger tyrant. Your title had never been worth much, but the moment the proposal had come from Leuiye, you had been hailed like you were some noble born.

You wondered if this wedding would make your dead mother happy. "Your sisters will marry for honor and status." she would tell you, "But you, my dove, must marry for love and courage."

love and courage. She always used these two words together.

The truth was that they had offered you up as some sacrifice. All to save their own tails.

'They say the man is half a monster'. your sisters told you, as they dressed you up. Pretty voices dripping with malice. 'Horns growing out his head, scales on his arms.'

They said molten gold flowed through his veins.

Cold, dead, metal. Nothing human. Nothing warm.

You tightly pulled the silks around your body, remembering the ceremony. They had draped you up like one of your old dolls. Gold headdress, so heavy it was pulling at your hair. "As the last princess, this is how you serve the kingdom."

The jade ornaments were too tight around your throat, "it is high honor." voices explained, The maids ignored how badly your hands shook as they placed the bangles, "This is your duty."

You had considered running away, but even the ones who run have a home. Where would you run to?

Your legs had buckled as they walked you down to the ceremony, eyes peering past the red veil. You caught glimpses of the room. The huge high- rise celling decorated with gold and ornate blemishes. The traditional leiuyan paintings spread across every wall. Everyone of them had a flow, different scenes from an unknown myth connected to each other.

All the motifs finally met at the last wall. Stretching above you like a giant waiting to swallow you whole. The dragon on the wall was nothing short of terrifying. Slitted venomous eyes, jaw hanging open, still holding a severed body between its teeth. But you couldn't help but admire its beauty. How could man not worship a creature this majestic. Your heart stopped as you noticed the figure sitting against the painting. Your lord husband sat in his gold wedding robes. The picture of a dragon coiled like a halo behind him. His bare arms rippled gold, stag-like horns curling on either side of his head. A veil separating his own face from your sight. But your stomach dropped, the real fear of the situation crashing down into you. You didn't want this, you wanted to turn around and start sprinting.

You didn't realise you had stopped walking until the handmaiden gave you a push. You almost stumbled over the hem of your dress as they pulled you beside him, hands on your shoulders manovering you to sit down. Your knees gave out as you hit the cushion. The room spun, as the priest stood up atonce, starting the ceremony.

His long hands spreading out as he welcomed the guests. But with the panic rising you couldn't make sense of the time. In a few minutes he turned towards the two of you, he gestured towards you.

"Face him." One of the handmaiden's hissed under her breath. You turned a little too quickly.

Your heart hammered as he lifted your veil slowly. His face was devastatingly beautiful. You were realising he wasn't really human at all, the lines of his face, the gold fleckled iris settling on you, the way his mouth hitched in a faint smile as he drank you in. For those seconds you felt his power wash over you. You could almost see its color, golden and yellow, smelling of fresh earth. It encompassed you entirely, moving past your body flooding through the entire room.

You blinked in the yellow light as his fingers curled around your chin as he brought the wine to your lips. His touch seemed to burn into your skin.

You knew about this part of the ceremony, the man always drank first, a rendition of how a wife always puts her husband first, how she must be the first to sacrifice, But the dragon emperor reached for you instead. Your heart hammered as he lifted your veil slowly, keeping it pulled away from your face from one hand. The second brought the wine cup to your lips. A hushed silence fell among the guests.

It was such a curious gesture, tentative, wondering if you would take the step at all. Or refuse the change of tradition like a good bride. For a second you coud't tell if he meant it or if it was a jest. A funny prank for the guests to laugh at.

You reach forward, taking a small sip of the bitter liquid. He lets his thumb linger on your cheek before letting the veil separate you again. You were still dazed from his beauty as he placed the same cup to his mouth.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥

You sighed, sinking down into the soft mattress under you. It was heavy with the sap-sweet smell of flower petals. Idly you picked one of the silk flower petals and crushed it in your hands. The chilly wind carried a strong fragrance around the room. A little too strong, you sneezed so hard that your headrest jingled and you cussed aloud.

There was a deep chuckle.

You jumped a little, not realizing he had already entered. Indeed, the emperor himself. Traditionally he should have been in red silks to match yours, but the Lord of Geo was draped in all the shades of the earth.

Now the veil pulled from his face, he looked far too beautiful. His eyes nestled on your smiling.

Long earth-brown hair tumbled over his shoulders. A delicate golden belt went around his waist suspending tendrils of beads down to his feet.

His amber eyes went around the room, "are you not cold beloved?" You felt heat rise to your cheeks, "a- little."

This was the first time he had spoken to you. As he neared, your heart skipped a beat, walking to a dying lamp and lighting it again. There was a low chuckle, "I'm sure your family would be upset if I let my bride gets a cold on her first night here."

You laughed sarcastically at his comment, "They do not care." You said before you could catch yourself. You practically bit your tongue, "I-I didn't mean that your grace I shouldn't have-"

Zhongli's gait changed, "Were they not kind to you?"

You tightened your jaw making sure you don't show the quiver as you spoke. "They won't care if you send me back in a carriage or in a bag." The room darkened, the cold festering around you. A mocking smile slipped on your face as You shook your head, " I'm the last princess, the leftover."

His eyes softened, "Is that what you felt there?"

His voice echoed out, and his fingers touched your face delicately. Urging you to look at him.

The emotion in his eyes shocked you. "is that what they told you when you were sent here?" His voice hummed with an ancient power. "That you were sent here as a scapegoat? Against your will? To be ridiculed and slaughtered?"

Your lip wobbled as you tried a brave face, "yes."

Zhongli sat down beside you, his fingers brushing away the beads from your face. "I… do not wish to keep you here against your wish."

Your eyes wavered, unable to meet his, "Although I didn't have much say on being sent here, I won't be trouble I promise. There isn't a home for me there anymore, whether I wish it to be or not."

You shook your head, "I'm realizing there never really was."

"You're not some last princess here." He said, "You're the empress of Leiuye." He said, pressing down the anger that threatened to smite anyone that would have regarded you that way.

You blinked at him, eyes fluttering as he slipped his obsidian fingers through yours. His large palm encased yours. The warmth of his touch shocked you. In a strange way, you still expect him to be cold. But touching him felt like grazing fire.

"I don't aspire to make you someone that lives in my shadow, I want someone who can take the weight of this crown." he said, "And I knew I saw that fire the first time I saw you. I do not know these people or understand their minds. But if their actions have caused you to harden your heart, to pull up a fortress, then I am not so small as to force you to take me. If they haven't been able to break you, I don't doubt anything will. And it is for that courage I see in you, that I shall strive for your acceptance, as long as you demand it."

"Will you allow me that my queen?" He asked.

Your heart hammered, And your heart spoke, "Yes."

Something in his gaze shifted and he scooped you up, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. Its like you had lost the sense of your body when he kissed you. You felt his hands slide around your waist, pulling you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

He tasted your skin with his lips and teeth, tugging and pulling the skin on your neck, his hands wandering in your hair, angling your head as he continued to spoil you. Everything about him was hot, his touch searing into you. Zhongli dragged his hands along your body, hands running up your torso to grope your breasts, grabbing at your love handles.

"Y-Your grac-" you words are cut short as his fingers slid past your lips, gliding inside your mouth. He chuckled watching you gag, trying to take his fingers. You really were so pure. Your tongue tried to keep up with his fingers exploring your mouth, obediently sliding over his long digits.

"You have such a pretty mouth, love." he said, fingers reaching the back of your throat, "Why don't you call me morax? hm? I am your husband after all."

You gulped as he slid his fingers out, coated in your saliva, "M-morax" you mimed.

Something feral flashed in his amber eyes, and the thrill went straight to your core. "Very good."

His mouth latched onto yours with a hunger that wasn't there before. Whatever patience he held before seemed to crumble. His tongue forced itself into your mouth, you moaned into his mouth. It felt like the ocean was in his mouth, his warm taste consuming you. He growled softly as he kissed you, his hand holding your jaw in place. You found yourself practically clawing for him, fingers digging into his robes as you twirled your tongue in his mouth.

The perversion clouded your mind as he continued, you rolled your tongue over his fingers. Suddenly feeling very bold, you liked his fingers exploring your mouth you wanted to taste him more and more.

He pulled the headrest from your head, pressing soft kisses on your face. A kiss for every gold thread braided into your hair.

Your fingers no longer trembled as you worked on the knots that tied his robes. Although you blushed as you undid his robes dutifully. You were such a sweet little thing, so pliant so pure. He relished the small gasp that left your lips as he latched his mouth on your neck. Zhongli didn't just want to fuck you, he wanted to devour you whole.

He hugged you from the back, dragging his palms against your breasts, fingers grabbing at your skin greedily. He latched his mouth to yours again, as if he couldn't get enough of your taste. Wetness pooled between your legs. You rubbed your thighs sadly as you realised you wanted him to touch you there. So fucking badly.

His hand lazily caressed your inner thigh, the featherlight touch sending goosebumps across your body. You jumped as his fingers brushed higher. He chuckled, the sound resonating in his chest. You let your head roll back on his shoulder as his other hand reached for your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple. You couldn't help but squirm as Zhongli toyed with you. The arousal grew, flooding your body with a strange heat you had never felt before. His fingers on your thigh inched closer to your core, "have you touched yourself before, beloved?"

You shook your head, mind still reeling from his tantalizing touch, "N-no Your grace." You managed.

"hm?" he mused, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "That's a shame," he breathed, "Guess I'll have to figure out how to pleasure you on my own."

His fingers reached deep inside your core, rubbing along your walls. You yelped out his name as his fingers curved sliding wickedly inside you. His mouth still working at your neck, sneaking up to draw out languid, hot kisses. With every moment your desire for him grew. He laughed in your mouth as you sucked on his tongue, practically growling at how wet you were for him.

He continued to praise you to take away the burn of his fingers thrusting inside you. "Such a sweet, lovely thing~" he mused as he continued his lazy torturous rhythm.

He held you in his arms, your back against his chest. The inner of your thighs were slick from the hours of teasing. His fingers sunk to the knuckles, it was embarrassing just how riled up he got you from his fingers. You felt his cock harden, pressing against the small of your back needy-ly.

You groaned practically arching your back to feel more of him. But Zhongli just held you in place. His cock was painfully hair, pressing against the flimsy fabric of his pants, weeping at the tip. He drank in the whine as he pulled his fingers from your cunt, so fucking warm, his cock twitched again begging for attention. He traced his fingers down your torso, the swell of your breasts to the dip of your stomach, well his cock will just have to fucking wait. He had to taste you first.

He placed you down on your back, watching as you sink into the fabric. His eyes drank in your body, you were completely bare for him, thighs pushed apart. His wedding robes hung loosely around his shoulders, his bare chest heaving. His golden hands dug into your thighs, spreading them further.

You couldn't help but yelp as the cold air hit your folds, the humiliation of the position was too much to handle. Morax kissed your knee, "Now, now, little one." He hummed against your skin, "Don't be shy, you're so beautiful like this," his thumb brushed over your folds, featherlight. Your hips buckled under his touch, heart hammering with anticipation. His fingers dug into your plush thighs as his mouth lowered, trailing hot kisses down your thigh. You could see the lust pool into his eyes like molten gold, just the intensity of his gaze making your legs tremble.

careful not to hurt you with his horns, as he nestled between your legs. You felt his breath against your core. Your breath hitched as you realized what he was going to do.

His tongue felt warm and very arousing against you. He pressed soft kisses on your clit "so sweet" he growled out.

Just the sight of him nestled between your legs, dragging his tongue along your deepest parts threatened to push you over the edge. You felt a strange pressure build in you, blazing pleasure rising in your body. Your knitting into his hair and you grinded yourself against his face, demanding more friction.

As the coil in your stomach snapped, the pleasure made your eyes fly open. Zhongli's grip around your hips held you in place as you spasmed around his tongue. Your grip on his hair loosened as you panted out, too overwhelmed from your first orgasm. Zhongli growled out against your core, flicking his tongue over clit making you squeal out from over-sensitivity. He chuckled kissing up your thigh, dragging his teeth over the supple flesh.

The high from the orgasm dulled and whatever fear you had about this moment flew out the window. You wanted him to completely own you, take your body in every way, to completely ruin you-

He squeezed your face lovingly, pulling you in a kiss where you could taste yourself on his lips.

His hands brushed the hair off your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. Adoring your face.

You actually felt loved. Your heart felt so full as he reached forward claiming your mouth again. His hand moved down to your thigh, hooking his palm under your knee, raising your knee to your chest. You mewled as you felt his tip brush against your folds. "Morax~ ungh, please."

"Patience, my love." He murmured against you, dragging his cock along your folds, the tip digging into your soft core just enough to have you begging for him.

"Can't have you getting hurt now love."

You squirmed as he continued to tease you, gathering the slick from your core as he enjoyed how fucking warm you were.

His tip finally pressed against your entrance and your hips practically buckled with excitement. Zhongli cupped your face, making you look at him, "If it's too much, you must tell me immediately, understood?" You nodded feverishly, finding him torturously endearing now. The smirk told you he read your mind.

Your eyes rolled back as he finally, fucking finally eased his cock into you. You felt the pinching drag as he pushed each inch in. He was big for you, your walls struggling to accommodate his girth. But the pain of the intrusion only lasted for a second before you were completely consumed in the pleasure of just feeling so full. Your walls fluttered around him, you couldn't wrap your head around the fact that he was actually inside. You felt the warm tickle of blood down your leg as he bottomed into you. Morax continued to handle you like glass, rubbing your sides, singing you sweet things asking if it hurt too bad and if he should stop. But all you could think of was how badly you wanted him to move. To have some sort of friction.

Your fingers fisted in his silky hair and you pulled him closer, teeth knocking as you pulled him in a messy kiss.

"Show me you're mine emperor."

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥

With every passing moment, his patience grew thinner, head overcome with lust. He couldn't take his eyes off how his cock slid into your gushy hole, like you were made for him.

He loved seeing you under him, eyes glassy from the pleasure, a stupid smile on your face as he pounded into you. He had finally broken you, stripped away the shyness. He wanted you to use him to find all the crevices of love, to explore what pleasured you the most.

To take from him everything you were denied before. It had been hours of him fucking into you, he had already pushed you over the limit, but he could tell how you didn't want to stop yet. How his bride was just as insatiably obsessed with him as he was with her.

Your legs trembled as he pulled you on top, jerking his hips upwards, his blunt tip fucking deeper into your cunt. His pace grew more and more ruthless, your mind blanked, the world around you blending into the pure pleasure of his cock slamming into your sweet spot. Your glazed eyes pinned on his, hands pressed weakly against his chest. His fingers grazed your sides as you rode him out, hips meeting his thrusts halfway.

The curl of desire was so strong, your nails dug into his chest, drawing blood. He growled, the sound going straight to your core. For the first time in your life, you had a person to call your own.

Your eyes pinned on his fucked out face, the red flush running down his neck, eyes slightly glazed as he surrendered to you more and more with every thrust. An expression you would get to keep to yourself. You arched your back, quickening the pace. The way his cock glided inside you was just so fucking good. You could feel him twitch inside you just aching for release. For the last princess who was born with nothing, you were just owning the greatest emperor in the land.

The knot in your stomach finally snapped, your eyes rolled back, body going limp from one of the most intense orgasms of your life. Your walls spasmed uncontrollably against his girth, the feeling of your warm walls squeezing against him, sent the emperor over the edge. With a grunt he gripped your waist, the tip of the cock pressed deliciously against your cervix as he came. You watch his glorious face contort into pure pleasure as he filled you up with ropes of his thick cum. His grip on your waist eased and you collapsed onto his chest, panting hard.

You felt his cock soften inside you before slipping out, eliciting a whine from you. You panted against his warm chest, his arms wrapped around your body. His fingers ran through your sweat-soaked hair, murmuring praises, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, "So well, you did so well, beloved-"

His sex-heavy voice sent warmth flooding through your veins, from the roots of your hair to your fingertips. You buried your face in his chest as he hugged you closer. His voice purred out more praises, but you couldn't hear them anymore. The chamber felt blazing hot, eyes getting heavy as the exhaustion finally hit you. If this is why people in Leuyie kept their chambers always cold, maybe you could get used to it.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥ (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ (--) ♥

AHHHHHHHHH I have wanted to write this one for so long have fun✌🐜

#zhongli #genshin #genshin smut #zhongli smut #zhongli scenarios

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