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brainrotfm · 8 months

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the sideshow spectacular: week one

☞ pairing: nurse!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

☞ word count: ~4.6k

☞ short description: yandere fertility nurse sukuna who thinks he's pulling a fast one on you except you're yan4yan and have masterminded this exact situation from the start

☞ content warnings: dark content, modern au, no curse au, yan4yan, yandere behavior, medical play kink, breeding kink, light bondage, inappropriate power dynamic, baby trapping, afab!reader, feminine descriptors + pronouns, blink and you miss it daddy kink, probably a lot more honestly i'm sorry for being a pervert

☞ notes: credit shhhhh don't look at what time this was posted i *definitely* made the cut off for week 1 also this came to me in a vision and then i feverishly wrote between today and yesterday also this is my first posted smut ever pls be nice also also also not beta'd not edited we die like men have fun xoxoxo

You have turned him into a monster.

You, with your kind smile, the way you offer it so carelessly to every person you meet. You, with your adorable gestures, fidgeting and fiddling with pens, magazines, the edges of your skirts as you sit in the waiting room. You, with those trusting eyes, lashes fluttering at every passing sensitivity. He could read your emotions clear as day, and spent too much of his time doing so, pretending to work behind an antiquated desktop as he side eyed you.

The other nurses had caught on, of course - ever watchful hens, they were quick to pinpoint his interest in you, tutting at him in the break room only for a moment about it being inappropriate to desire patients. Their admonishments turned teasing without him interfering, settling into their usual lust for office gossip without another acknowledgement. In truth, his coworkers were delighted, in fact, by the pink haired man "softening" over you.

This would have drawn his ire, even his retaliation in most instances. Until Sukuna realized he was purposely being slid your chart whenever your monthly appointment rolled around, an unexpected convenience in Sukuna's intricate plan to claim you as his own.

He had only heard of your husband in passing, the man only present at your introductory interview with the fertility team and the first few appointments before his obligation to you waned. Sukuna despised him for it on principle, but in practice, no other presence in the exam room meant having his bubble of heaven. A single half hour appointment, once a month, where he reviewed your chart, asked invasive questions about your health, took blood, gave the occasional ultrasound, offered advice on the repetitious nature of fertility treatments, and flirted his ass off as he watched you giggle and squirm under his attention. The prospect of cucking this faceless man only added to Sukuna's dark desires.

Today was finally the day. It was even circled on his desk calendar, red ink.

"You look handsome," you offered him the compliment easily, your voice obscuring the click of the door locking behind you both, back to him as you set your jacket on the extra chair. Sukuna preened for a second, smiling to himself.

Sukuna was wearing a tight, long sleeve black shirt beneath his favorite maroon red scrubs, the smallest hint of a chain beneath his collar, and comfortable black sneakers - none of his piercings, sadly, and since his interview, he had worn make up to cover his face and neck tattoos at work as well.

He knew you meant it too, as he diligently wore the exact same outfit to every one of your appointments since the first time you had complimented him all those months ago.

"Already buttering me up, you better not be trying to get out of your blood work," Sukuna teased as he opened one of the nearby cabinet drawers, retrieving his special black gloves that only he was allowed to use, quietly noting that none were missing with a smirk.

"You always remind me of a tattoo artist with those," you deflected, tossing him one of your oh-so pretty smiles.

"Y'know, I buy these with my own money, and I'm gonna let you in on a lil' secret... That's why, that's what I want you to think," Sukuna bantered back, so at ease around you that he rolled his sleeves up thoughtlessly before making a show out of snapping the nitrile against his wrists. He had never done that before.

You had caught wisps in the past, only question marks until today. Thick black bands of tattooed ink sat around his wrists, hidden now beneath his gloves that blended so well against them, it made sense why he liked them so much.

Your mouth went dry at the sight, licking your lips as you choked out to him, "I didn't know you had tattoos."

The tone of your voice had him raising a brow, lopsided smirk already in place, "Is that a deal breaker, baby?" If only you knew.

"Those can't be the only ones," you replied, and if Sukuna wasn't mistaken, there was a lilt of hope sitting between your words, causing his smirk to soften to a smile, his heart wrenching for a moment at you. You. He was going to ruin you.

That when he noticed that you were still standing awkwardly, your things deposited in the nearby chairs as you rocked on the balls of your feet, something about you seemingly overwhelming tense despite being in such good company. You were being different today too; Sukuna hoped you didn't sense something was amiss.

"Everything okay with you today, doll?"

"I, um... I was wondering if we could wait, actually, to do the ultra sound today," you started shyly, and he could tell you were fighting the urge to wring your hands as your fingertips jittered against your wrists. Despite your words, he continued to dig materials out of the cabinets, glancing at you over his shoulder as he spoke.

"You want to do blood first? Feeling bold today, sweet girl?" Sukuna hoped so, he had big plans for you. He turned from the cabinet to approach you to do the prep work. He didn't want to waste anymore time, but maybe having you light-headed from lack of blood wasn't such a bad idea - he stopped when he saw the look on your face.

"Is there any way I can have a physical exam today, actually? Y'know, like my annual one, but instead... now," your question was rushed as you looked toward him but not at him, and Sukuna knew this because he was staring you down, a predator honing in on his prey. He felt like he could hear your pulse from where he stood, and it made his mouth water.

"You mean your pelvic exam?" he repeated, almost dumbfounded at his luck - were you stupid or naive? Nurses didn't give pelvic exams, that was the doctor's job. Your chart only had an appointment for your usual round of bullshit, blood and ultrasound, Sukuna trying to upsell you hormones your insurance wouldn't cover, blah blah blah.

God, you were so pretty and dumb, was this on purpose? Were you trying to manipulate him? You'd been here enough times to know better, right ? When was the universe ever so giving? Sukuna figured there was really no way you'd fall for what he was about to try, sure this was your attempt at catching him red handed in his obsession over you, but he didn't care. He'd take the bait, even if it was a shot in the dark for you.

His head had cocked with his thoughts, a lopsided grin unfurling across his cheeks as he regarded you with darkening eyes, coughing to clear the husk of his arousal from his voice. "You know, the doctor has been in and out all morning. Something with her kids. I'd hate for you to get stuck waiting around for her. I could always administer the exam, if you'd like."

He very much could not, but he kept his wicked smirk in place, silently praying you wouldn't call his bluff. To Sukuna's delight, your gaze twitched between him and the exam table, knees rubbing together briefly before your hesitation subsided and you made a half step in its direction, wavering as you looked down at yourself. He understood in an instant, clicking his tongue in recognition as he went back to the drawers to dig out an exam gown for you, both your hands lingering on the package when he passed it forward.

"I'll step ou-"

"No, you can just... stay," you sounded much more confident now, cutting him off with a defiant look in your eye, the smallest curl of a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, "You're going to see everything anyway, right? J-just turn around, maybe?"

You were so cute, he wished he could kiss you right then. Using every ounce of his control to suppress his smirk, Sukuna turned on his heel and faced the opposing wall dutifully, the urge to peek over his shoulder at you easy to resist when he knew exactly where all this was leading. As if the wheels hadn't been in motion since before you had even arrived today.

It was sort of erotic, though, to hear the jostle of your clothes hitting the floor, knowing you were naked and so close to him, and being unable to touch or see. Not yet. A little more patience and he knew he would reap the best of rewards. You cleared your throat when you were ready and Sukuna turned, unable to hid his smirk now that he saw you in the silly canary yellow exam gown they gave people here. You were still adorable, though.

Stepping to the side, Sukuna pulled out the lowest shelf of the table to act as a foot stool and help you up, before moving to each side to unfurl the arms of the stirrups he'd be putting your feet into. He couldn't think about it too much or his cock might hear, already on thin ice until you were properly restrained. The room had grown painfully quiet, Sukuna unable to continue joking with you when he was barely keeping his hands off you.

It was taking every ounce of his self control to not start panting and drooling like a dog at the way you quietly obeyed him, without question. So trusting... So easy, it took nothing to lead you down his path of corruption. His skin was starting to get hot, but Sukuna ignored the prickling beneath his shirt, knowing he needed to retain focus now more than ever. Oh, you were speaking. Fuck.

"I read online that during ovulation, there can be blockages that, like, can contribute to the problems I'm... having, you know," you were rambling, words rushed, and Sukuna realized you were embarrassed by the information you were offering. Cute, so fucking cute. You probably should be, it sounded like snake oil garbage, but Sukuna thanked whatever AI algorithm spat that nonsense into your brain as he nodded along.

"Hmmmm, well, that's only sort of true," he hummed through the lie easily, trying not to let his fingertips linger too long against the soft skin of your calf, your ankle as Sukuna strapped your left foot into place. He was even quicker with the right one, worried you may change your mind if he idled too long.

He used his foot to kick the rolling stool closer and sat down in a smooth motion. He couldn't give you a moment to think, because if he did, you may realize your mistake. Sukuna's hands were already beneath your gown as he rubbed both palms eagerly at your inner thighs, cooing from beneath you when you jolted at the sensation, "Hey, it's okay, it's just me. You trust me, yeah? I'm not going to hurt you."

Only some of it was a lie, but you eased regardless, somehow relaxing when you shouldn't be. Sukuna would've clicked his tongue, admonished you, if he wasn't the villain in this story.

"I'm going to look at you now," it was a command more than a question, not waiting for your consent before his hands are moving to your outer thighs, pushing the gown up easily, the fabric already wanting to give from the angle of your legs in the stirrups. It just needed some encouragement.

Glancing up at you, Sukuna noted your fluttering eyelashes and shallow breaths, and realized you probably needed some encouragement too.

"So beautiful," he couldn't stop his silky whisper, barely even trying to keep up the ruse that had put you here, careless as he finally gazed at your perfect pussy, splayed out wide for him. He wanted to touch. He needed to taste.

"Y-yeah?" the quiver in your tone perfect, and Sukuna fought the urge to moan at the entire situation, wondering how someone as bad as him could have such a perfect moment unfolding like this.

"My prognosis is that you have pretty pussy syndrome," Sukuna couldn't even stop himself now, having gone mad as soon as he could smell your arousal, spit pooling on his tongue as his fingers twitched on your thighs. He wanted to touch you everywhere. He wanted to have everything. He leaned closer, his breath beginning to fan over your folds, using two fingers to spread you even further, really expose every inch of you to him. He had dreamed of it for so long, Sukuna couldn't help but linger here, just a moment.

"I d-don't think you're supposed to talk to me like t-that," you wriggled beneath him despite your words, probably beginning to realize this may have been a bad idea, but it was too late for you. You'd have to scream, and to be frank, Sukuna would shut you up before anyone could intervene. He was too close to what he wanted to be stopped now - not that you would. The wetness leaking out of your pulsing little entrance reassured him.

"Yeah? That was unprofessional of me, wasn't it?" Sukuna feigned agreement before he was licked a flat stripe from your perineum to your clit, making sure to linger and kiss at the hooded bud once, twice before giving an experimental suck, earning him a pitched keen that had him grinning.

"But then why are you so wet for me, doll?" the pet name dripped venomously off his tongue as two deft fingers pinched and rolled at your clit, crimson gaze peering up your body at your reaction. The look on your face was almost enough to make him cum right there; your tongue was poking out between your lips as you panted, eyes hazy and hooded, unable to tear your gaze from where Sukuna sat between your legs and continued his ministrations. You already looked fucked out, and he was just getting started.

He laved his tongue gently against your rapidly engorging clit, another whimper falling from your lips when a fingertip started to tease at your fluttering entrance. Already so sopping wet with the prettiest slick he'd ever tasted, he was so entranced by you that he was hardly listening.

"T-this isn't... This is different than what-" You sounded so cute like this, all high pitched and whining. Needy for something you couldn't ask for, not yet, not that you'd have to - Sukuna knew he'd give it to you, give it all to you, give you everything he had.

"We're doing a different kind of exam, doll. I'm not your gynecologist," Sukuna chided back with a sharp laugh, his words full of a condescending mirth as he sunk two fingers deep into your cunt, fighting his own moan at how easily your pulsing hole gave way to him. A moment longer of watching your cunt gobble up his fingers to the knuckle and Sukuna was going to finger bang you to death, truly.

The nitrile gloves were definitely the culprit, the addition of all your slick eradicating any friction. To be fair, your pussy was tight enough that when your walls fluttered around the sudden intrusion, Sukuna had a momentary worry that making you cum might break his hand. It'd be worth it though, so the thought passed him by.

He curled his fingers deeper, prodding and scissoring against the gummy slick of your walls, searching for the spot that would make you sing. He knew as soon as he did, a sharp inhale followed by a whimper leaving your mouth, and the man fought against his urge to grin at all the pretty sounds you were making just for him. Because of him.

He shushed you, easing the pressure against your G-spot, just swirling the pads of his fingers in a circular motion as he purred your name before admonishing you softly, "I really do need you to quiet down, we can't disturb the other patients in the waiting room. Can you be good?"

Your bottom lip was firmly beneath your teeth but wobbling precariously, the sight of you adorable but albeit, not very reassuring. Sighing, Sukuna slipped his fingers out of you, which left you whimpering and squirming, much to his pleasure. Standing between your legs, he regarded you with a cold scowl for a moment before reaching down both hands to shove your exam gown higher from your hips , up up up, not stopping until he'd bunched it beneath your arm pits and freed the jiggling fat of your breasts to the chill in the air. You didn't even wear a bra, whore. His characteristic smirk was back in place at the newfound sight of you.

He couldn't help but stare for a moment. He didn't think he could get away with taking a picture, and he needed to commit this to memory.

After a moment, he reached for the hem of your gown again, this time bunching a fistful together before pressing it against your lips, his smirk going crooked with arousal when you took it with a tentative bite, the pretty doe eyes gazing up at him starting to water.

"Shhh, don't worry, I'm prescribing the perfect fertility treatment for you today, it's even covered by your insurance," Sukuna shushed, the comfort and sympathy offered obviously fake as his fingers tips caught on your entrance again, unceremoniously shoving three forward. Maybe Sukuna was the one who needed the gag - he all but groaned when half his hand sunk into your pussy without resistance, your messy hole squelching loudly for him.

Your eyes immediately rolled as he began an unforgiving pace, hammering his knuckles against your thinly stretched entrance, his other hand having shoved into his pants to fist his cock for even the smallest ounce of relief. Despite your muffled whines to the contrary, your hands began to smack helplessly against his shoulders, the only defense you had to the onslaught of pleasure as you were otherwise pinned and tied to the exam table, by your own wishes. You had, quite literally in Sukuna's opinion, asked for this.

Sukuna squeezed the base of his cock when your flimsy pushing against his chest finally registered, because you weren't even really trying to get him away, because you were still moaning like a little bitch. He almost came at the thought.

His thumb found your clit with ease, the poor thing swollen and begging for attention as he swiped against it, and he had been right in his earlier observation; the added sensation had your pussy clenching down around him so hard, one of his fingers folded over another, practically crushing his knuckles from pressing into you any deeper. You were about to cum for him. That wicked smile of his began to curl across Sukuna's features as his other hand left his cock to take over at your clit, flicking back and forth in a quick motion while the hand buried in your cunt gave several practiced tilts forward.

"Pretty little doll," he groaned hoarsely, pressing in hard against the spongy tissue of your G-spot until your back arched from the table, tits wobbling in the air. Sukuna knew what you needed, grunting a commanding, "Now, cum for me now," before surging forward to bite one of your perfect nipples, the sudden change in angle and added sensation your ultimate undoing.

Like a bow pulled taut, you snapped at your peak, a surprised shout barely escaping your throat before your cunt flexed hard, before splitting itself open with a gush of clear liquid around Sukuna's eagerly awaiting palms, the hand inside you stilled to let you ride on while he continued to lazily flick your clit, prolonging your orgasm as long as he could.

You were going to feel heavenly around his cock.

Sukuna felt his eyes roll back as he mercilessly pummeled his hips forward, unable to slow himself down, your cunt filled to the brim with his girth. His hand was grasped so firmly over your mouth, you could only helplessly cry out against his palm, laving your tongue and teeth over the skin for some amount of grounding sensation as the man ruthlessly fucked into you.

The stirrups had kept you spread wide for him, unable to wriggle away from pleasure and pain alike, and a puddle was forming on the floor as your needy cunt drooled around his abusive thickness. So perfectly fucked out, just for him. Your walls fluttering indistinctly from the spasms of your orgasms, your euphoria evident from your slick sodden pussy, your heavily lidded gaze, your labored gasps for air beneath his hand. Grinning, he pinched two fingers together and closed your nose, and your entire cunt clenched, and Sukuna barely stifled his own groan as he ricocheted into you with renewed vigor. He let go when your eyes began to roll, and it seemed that the flood of oxygen back into your brain combined with the frenzied thrust of his hips had you shattering around him once again.

"Oh my god, look at you," Sukuna choked out lowly, "you're just sucking me in, it's like-"

He was gazing down to where your bodies connected, wonder twinkling behind heavily lidded maroon eyes as he watched your cunt take him still, after already cumming twice and probably so sensitive, still. His heart hammered in his chest, the pressure at the base of his cock getting dizzying, making his mouth run as his brow furrowed, unable to take his eyes away from your drooling slit as he chased his high.

The exam room stank with sex, filled with the wet slaps of his hips and low grunts, your cum drunk mewls broken and pitchy and barely muffled by your spit-soaked gown. It was a wonder you both hadn't been caught yet, but at this point, it just seemed to be Sukuna's lucky day.

"You want me to cum in you, don't you?" Sukuna asked breathlessly, not actually caring for the answer, because this had been the point all along. The entire plan hinged on filling you to the brim with his seed.

"You want my fucking cum, you want to be bred by me and not your stupid fucking husband. You want me to fuck a baby into you, you dirty fucking whore, so shameless," as he spoke, his thrusts began to speed up, his control finally dwindling as he hammered recklessly into your perfect sopping cunt. He was unable to stop himself from reaching down to grind his palm against your clit, adoring the way your walls gripped his shaft, milking his thickness for all he was worth.

"It doesn't matter what you want, m'gonna do it anyway," he hissed, crimson eyes wide and wild and boring down at the pussy he planned to fill with his seed, absolutely deranged with his singularly focused obsession, and the sight had you shuddering around him again, your third orgasm unexpected for the both of you.

Sukuna had no chance against your spasming walls this time, his hand finding your throat and dragging you up for a ruthless, harsh first kiss. More of a mashing tongues before Sukuna cried out with a growl, dropping his head to muffle himself with a bite to your shoulder. Instinct shoved his hips forward, burying his cock as close to your womb as physically possible as he came, flooding you with warmth. His cock jumped inside of you, twitching and sensitive against your fluttering walls, both of you hissing and moaning softly as your hips continued to rock slowly, riding out the overstimulation.

Your chests were pressed skin to skin, Sukuna's head was still tucked in the space between your neck and your shoulder as you both came down from your highs, silent except for the shared panting. Sukuna was the first to speak, chuckling as he lulled his tongue against the mark he had left, kissing the already blossoming redness in a surprising act of tenderness.

"I marked you up pretty bad, doll, between that and my baby, I don't think you're getting away with any of this. What're you gonna tell your man?" Sukuna didn't know if it was pride or jealously twinging his words, but whatever it was, it tasted bitter on his tongue, despite all the blessings he'd received today.

A beat passed before you tried to sit up on your elbows, the angle of the exam table not exactly helping, once hazy eyes now trained on his, absolutely twinkling as you murmured, "Probably nothing, I guess... considering I'm not married." You wriggled beneath him, still pinned beneath his chest as you danced your hips back and forth around his softening length, making cum leak out and down your puffy slit in a proud display.

"What?" His cock hadn't even come out of you yet. You were gonna make him hard again if you kept that up.

You giggled, the sound sparkling with delight as you repeated, "I'm not married. That man isn't my husband."

"He's been here... It's part of our screening process."

"He's just some actor guy I hired. I don't even know him." You didn't even have the nerve to sound embarrassed.

"What does that mean? He gives samples-"

"I give samples on my 'husband's' behalf. Why do you think our treatments haven't worked?" your smile had grown wicked, a twin lopsided grin to the one he usually wore, pupils dilated as you admitted your sins, your pussy even giving a little spasm on his now rapidly hardening cock. You were getting off on this, you little she-devil.

"Then what's even the point in coming to a fucking fertility clinic if you're not-"

"All for this. All for you," your confession both the sweetest and most deranged thing he had ever heard of in his life, and that was saying something, considering... him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Sukuna was pretty sure he was in love with you.

You thought you had finally stunned him. You had, for a moment, like a flash bang. But Sukuna recovered quickly enough, reaching an expert hand down to drag the middle shelf out from the front of the exam table. He stepped his right foot forward before hoisting a knee to plant his left foot firmly on the stool, using the advantage of his palms already under your knees to unceremoniously shove you into deep mating press, no longer constrained by stirrups.

His fat cock could bully against your cervix easily now, and considering he never skipped leg day, his stamina in this position was nothing to be trifled with. He gave an experimental roll of his hips, sinking tip to hilt without any resistance, the movement causing you to shout hoarsely at how quickly his balls pressed against your asshole.

"Oh you fucking slut," Sukuna purred in delight, his condescension sticky sweet, "Since you want my baby so bad, we'll make extra sure it sticks this time, but you gotta be quiet and we gotta be quick." You opened wide as he grabbed a handful of his special black gloves from their box and balling them into your gleefully awaiting mouth. Leaning forward so you were caged against his chest, Sukuna rolled his cock deeply into you again, content with your muffled whine of ecstasy, before setting a brutal pace into your already cum sodden cunt.

"And call me Daddy this time."

#the sideshow spectacular #sukuna x reader #kinktober 2023 #jjk kinktober #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader smut #tss: week one #and with that! i put myself to bed!#writesfm

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 30 days

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Winter's King 24

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: hey hey.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Before you get too far, Bryce appears from the shadows. You don't know if he was listening or if he's only stumbled on you but it hardly matters. He offers only a sullen look, too meek to mention the tension that stands between you. He left you first to King Geralt, then Lord Vesemir; he's more their ally than your own. But what can a maid expect?

"I am to return to the queen's service," you state matter-of-fact.

"So I've been informed," he says grimly. "Perhaps you might quell her restlessness."

You stop along the corridor as your surroundings grow familiar. You’re halt and sway as the soldier scuffs to a stop a few steps ahead of you. He turns to face you as you unclasp the cloak from around your shoulders. You drag it away from your form.

“Sir, will you hold this for me,” you fold it over your arm and offer it to him, “I shouldn’t require it during my work.”

He looks at it and takes it with a frown. He pets the soft fur around the neck as you catch a peek of the wolf’s badge sewn into the lining. You lift your head and look past him.

“I will make sure it is not lost,” he promises.

Your dread mounts with each step. You’re weighed down by the last day and all that’s come to light. You cannot shake the shackles newly clasped around your wrists and the links only draw tighter and tighter. For now, the danger has calmed but it will not dissipate entirely. There is only doom ahead, even if now, it remains obscure.

You will have no safety, not even in the familiar; not even in your duty. How can you keep on in serving when you are at the same deceiving?

Jazlene, once Lady, now Queen, has rarely been easy to calm. You've come to expect her virulent behaviour, never once forsaking her the habits inherited from her mother. Now, you fear her fiery emotions and what wrath she may rain upon you should your betrayal be discovered. It almost seems wiser to confess and be done with it all, yet your fear restrains your guilt.

As you come upon the queen's chamber doors, you give pause, as does the soldier at your side. You share a curious look between you. There are no guards at her door.

"Gods, I beg, do not tell me she has escaped once more," Bryce mutters.

You step ahead of him and go to the door. You turn your ear to it and lean in, dragging your palms along the wood. You ball your hand and rap upon it, certain you hear some sound from within. There is scuffling and the queen's trite voice. She is within.

You peer back over your shoulder at your escort as he squints. The door opens from within and you spin back. It's that orange-haired guard; Gilles. It’s odd and the noise that escapes Bryce’s throat says as much.

“Queen having another tantrum?” The soldier behind you scoffs.

“Eh, she is your queen too,” Gilles accuses, “it is treason to mock your liege.”

“Mocking? No, merely the truth,” Bryce chirps, “let the maid in. She’ll do better work of serving our admirable queen, eh? Tend to her lady needs with a softer hand.”

Gilles grabs your arm and shoves you through the door, “do not worry her--”

“Eh!” You feel another tug and you’re turned back as Bryce tears the guard away from you, “unhand her. She is but a maid. If you need feel big, you might go squash insects in the stables, yea?”

“Be wary of crossing me, king’s pet,” Gilles pushes away the other soldier, “I do not fear any old man, no matter his name.”

“Young twerp like you, I’ve known many,” Bryce stands unflinching, “my name comes from tossing fools like you in the dirt. Don’t think the years have taken that much.”

“The maid is a maid, as you say. She hardly needs a guard herself,” the carrot-headed man rebukes.

“And you hardly need the witness, eh,” the soldier sneers and chortles, “heed your own warning, man, you dance in a pit of snakes.”

“I am the snake,” Gilles makes himself as big as he can but pales against the taller soldier.

Bryce pokes his tongue in his cheek and smirks. He doesn’t reply, instead looking past the younger man, “maid, attend your duty and I’ll attend my own.”

“Sir Bryce,” you utter tremulously.

“Don’t worry for me,” he assures as his gaze returns to the man before him. “I’ve sworn never to draw steel against a man of the crown, and I shan’t, so long as the man in question does not offer doubt to that title. We are allies,” he slaps Gilles’ arm, his other hand on his pommel, “aren’t we, loyal guard?”

Gilles’ gauntlet flinches towards his own sword but does not finish its path. He raises his chin and backs up against the wall.

“In the name of the king and the queen,” the guard proclaims.

Bryce’s eyes linger on the man and he shoos you with a flick of his fingers, “go on, maid. You needn’t worry for the matters of men.”

You quickly flit inside, your heart fraught and your veins flooding with ice. That look in the soldier’s eyes worries you. He is a man of war and the mere scent of conflict seems to enliven him. Certainly, you know, if the guard gives the merest of reasons, there will be blood.

Jazlene is within, abed beneath layers of fur. She lays with a hand against her forehead in a constant state of dismay. The door closes behind you and she sighs.

“I called for a bath ages ago!” She decries, “if I must be imprisoned in this horrid place, I will at least be warm!”

The mention of a bath disarms you. You waver on your feet before you can reclaim your wits. You ignore the memories stirring in the base of your skull. The king’s heat creeps up your back as the sensation of his touch tickles in your sides. You could sob for the way your chest rents.

“Your highness, I will fetch the water,” you acquiesce in a brittle voice.

“Oh, and where have you been?” She bawls, “here I am, with child and miserable and cold, and you are off, a maid, without a care? Abandoning her queen, as my very husband does the same?”

You lower your chin at the mention of the king, “my apologies, I was bid to... other duties.”

The lie is like poison in your mouth. You could gag at your own deceit. You keep your head low. You wish she would rise and pinch or lash or kick you.

“All I wanted was wine,” she babbles at the canopy as she throws her hands up, “and company. He will not allow my own father to see me. He chased him out like some stray dog. The only family I have close and he keeps us apart. I want to play cards and I have no one to win against.” She thumps her fists down on the mattress and kicks her foot, “how can a queen have no power?”

She sits up, her eyes fiery as her curls puff out wildly from her head. Her eyes are sparkling from her tears and pretty features twisted. The blankets fall away from her torso. She mops her face with the sleeves of her gown; they are wrinkled and her bodice is crooked.

“And that Lord Ves... whoever he is, he is a nasty old troll,” she blusters, “I hate him. I hate them all, these winter pests. These animals. Beasts!” She snarls, “how can they live like this? I swear, when we reach the king’s castle, this will not go on. I must have my court. I am a queen and I should be crowned!”

She sneers and shakes her head, closing her eyes as she presses her long fingers to her nose, “why are you just standing there?” She hisses. “I want a bath!”

She pushes the blankets off of her and like a storm, she blows out of bed and towards you. You flinch but do not shield herself. She grabs your shoulders and shakes you. She shoves you away from her and you stagger.

“I will fetch the wat--”

You cannot finish your words as she strikes you across the cheek. You taste blood. The punishment you longed for is not so freeing as you expect. The sear across your face cannot assuage the flames of your guilt.

“Go before I knock your teeth from your stupid head,” she snarls.

You retreat and pull the door inward, letting yourself out. Gilles remains and does not look or comment at you. You rush away, your mouth pooling with blood. You swallow it down as you get to the kitchens, a pair of servants in gray working in the light of the stove.

“Water,” you murmur as you rub your jaw, “please, can I have a pot to boil?”

A woman, slender and silent, moves to fetch the large vessel. She hands it to you and you thank her. She clings to the other handle.

“You will need help,” she declares.

“Yes, thank you,” you flutter your lashes as the sting sticks in your skin.

You know her. She is the same who welcomed in the king’s party to the castle. She helps you carry the pot down a corridor. You feel cold creeping through the air and your teeth chatter. She doesn’t react to the chill and leads you out a door into the frigid outdoors. She stops at a cistern pump and angles the pot beneath it.

She takes a small mallet from next to the spout and beats the lever until it dips, ice falling away from it. She pumps without a word as you watch. You offer to take over but she shakes her head. You linger close by, feeling useless.

“Lift,” she orders as she stills the pump and you grab the handle as she takes the other. You carry the pot together back into the castle.

The act reminds you of another time. The night you and Merinda carried water to the king’s chamber in Debray. The woman across from you is a stranger and as cold as the winds. You raise the vessel over the flames and leave it to boil.

She turns to you and nods, “hard work serving strong men. Best us maids work as one.”

Her words are kind though her tone remains as hard as iron. Your cheeks tense and your lips tremble, “yes, thank you, miss.”

“Same as you,” she dismisses the title you give her, “let me know when it steams.”

You agree and turn to face the pot as it sits above a brazier. You are comforted in knowing that not all is changed in the Hinterlands. That camaraderie among servants has not frozen over like everything else.

As you carry up the first pot of steaming water, the servant offers a name. Ezme. You return your own before you reach the queen’s chamber. You make several trips up and down, between the boil, and fill the large tub nearly to the brim, adding a pot of cool water to mellow the heat.

Ezme leaves with the empty pot as you remain to attend the queen’s bath. As Gilles pulls the door shut, you notice how his eyes search past you. You turn and go to Jazlene as she tugs at her dress. You help unlace the piece of her gown, then her corset, and lift her shift over her head.

She lowers herself into the tub, her dark skin flawless and her figure still as sculpted and firm as ever. She must be early in her state as she has yet to show the effect of her condition. She reclines with her arms over the lip of the wooden tub.

“And what do you suppose the king is about?” She speaks with her eyes closed, frightening you as you stand quietly by the wall. “Hm? Why does he keep my people from me? Not only my father, but those other summer nobles who have accompanied us?”

You don’t speak or move. It’s best to act as if you aren’t there. She speaks to herself; for herself.

“First, he forbade my mother to come. Kept her from seeing me conceive her first grandchild,” she sneers, "and now he has banned my father from my chambers. All because he thought to provide me with a bottle of wine.”

She is back to that. The wine. She is childish in how she latches onto that one grievance and will not let it go.

“Because he would defend his daughter,” she snivels, “well, who else will keep me company as my husband remains errant? Oh, how bound he is to his kingliness. Oh, the hero he is. He has brought his wintry misery to the summer people and cursed us all to his wretched ways.”

You stare at the floor, scalded by the dangerous inference of her complaints. She treads close to those things even a queen should not voice. She might be unhappy but she cannot be so unwise. It is like the game with the dice; she does not think of the turns to come, only what she holds in the moment.

“He must plot against us. It’s what we all believe,” she sits up the water swishing around her.

You try not to react, especially as the king’s command returns to you. ‘...you will watch and you will listen...’

“He has baited us all into his lands, into his snare, and he means to close it on us. He must,” she puts her hands up as if what she says is only the truth. Without a doubt, she must be right, “he speaks of uniting us and yet he means to extinguish us. He will do away with the summer’s blood and invade our lands as he always meant to.” She scoffs and drags her fingertip over the water’s surface, “he gives to all the same empty vows he gave me...”

Silence, the sort where you can hear your own heart beating. You hold your breath. She needs to stop speaking. You want to stop hearing.

“We are not as foolish as he thinks. We will be ready,” she smirks and tilts her head, “and he would not hurt his own prince, would he?” She plunges her hand under the water and rubs her stomach. “Even he cannot deprive his people of their future.”

She hums and the water swishes around her as she lays back again. She snickers and sighs. You tuck your chin down and clutch your hands tightly. In this war of winter and summer, of king and queen, of husband and wife, you will surely be lost.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher #winter's king

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hamsterclaw · 6 months

Text

Black Ice

Bangtan Christmas drabble 7 - read the rest here.

Min Yoongi only cares about three things. The thrill of drifting, his friends, and cars, in that order. Somehow, you've got under his skin. Part of the Drift Kings AU.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Street racer/mechanic! Yoongi, smut

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Min Yoongi knows loneliness. He knows the unrelenting ache of it, the way it permeates every aspect of one’s psyche.

He knows what it feels like to look for a connection that isn’t there.

When he was ten his father took him into work for the first time, and it was then, amongst the smells of engine oil and new paint and pinewood air freshener, that Yoongi discovered his first true love.

He pored over engine diagrams, admired the easy simplicity of every tool falling into its destined purpose, got used to his clothes being stained from tuning up cars all day long.

He’d loved every minute of it, and the truth is, he still does.

Then his cousin Yijin had given him a lift down Mount Samo one day, and 14 year old Yoongi had learned that there was more than one way to soar.

He learned to drive navigating the hairpin bends of Mount Samo, and although he’s perfected the art of drifting up and down it, could do it blindfolded a hundred times over, the thrill of it has never really faded.

He’s picked up a collection of friends over the years, all of whom love the adrenaline of street racing – not knowing what’s round the corner, trusting your own reflexes and instincts to save you when you can barely see for the blood rushing in your veins.

Kim Seokjin, his oldest and closest friend, the chaebol prince who can put together a Supra’s turbo-2JZ engine almost as quickly as Yoongi himself. His sister, a corporate princess who makes Yoongi’s heart soften and the opposite happen to his cock. They’re the two people Yoongi would do anything for, not that he’d ever tell them that.

Jung Hoseok, the gifted mechanic with a heart of gold and the sunniest demeanour Yoongi’s ever been able to tolerate, creature of the night that he is.

Jeon Jungkook, the baby fuckboi of the group, a man with the looks of a god and the persona of a baby deer. Yoongi finds it hard to be anything but endeared by his earnest good nature and anything but amused by his swaggering. Maybe one day the kid will grow into the bad man he so badly wants to be, but Yoongi hopes not. He’s great the way he is.

It’s been a while since Yoongi felt lonely, in fact his life’s pretty good right about now.

And at this exact moment? It’s perfect.

Yoongi’s senses are on overdrive as he swings into a hairpin bend on Mount Samo, tires gripping tarmac sideways. His foot taps the throttle, his hand on the handbrake just in case but he doesn’t need it, he knows the terrain so well his body’s reacting on instinct.

Sideways on he can see Seokjin to his right, composed, barely breaking a sweat as his rear wheels scrape the very edge of the path, inches from the steep drop.

Yoongi catches sight of himself in his own rearview mirror, teeth bared in a feral grin as he shoots out onto the final stretch, so fast there’s nothing to see but black.

He’d normally stop, celebrate his win with a cigarette, but he’s got somewhere to be tonight.

Behind him now, Seokjin’s headlamps flicker in lieu of a goodbye.

Yoongi depresses the horn, a sharp short blast, and then he’s gone.

***

Kang Yubin’s been supplying Yoongi’s father’s garage for years, and Yoongi’s been going to him for car parts since before he knew a spark plug from a catalytic converter.

The Kang warehouse has an unassuming front in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Seoul. Yoongi parks outside the familiar glass door, can see the dim lighting filtering through the tinted glass as he approaches.

He pushes open the door, stops, nonplussed.

Instead of Kang Yubin’s steel-rimmed glasses and grey hair, he’s greeted by you.

Half your face is obscured by a black face mask, your hair up under a baseball cap, but you’re definitely not who he expected to see.

He blinks.

Your eyebrows rise.

‘Are you lost?’ you inquire, an edge to your voice that pulls him out of his surprised reaction and reminds him why he’s here.

‘I was expecting Mr Kang,’ Yoongi replies.

Coming closer to the counter he picks up on a guardedness to your posture, a weariness that you don’t bother to hide.

‘I’m his granddaughter,’ you say, brief. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t just come here to stare at me, what do you want?’

‘Spark plugs – I have a —’ Yoongi breaks off as you get up.

‘I know who you are, and I know what car you drive. Stay here and I’ll get you your stuff.’

You disappear behind a door, return in minutes with a cardboard box.

You pull a box-cutter out of a desk drawer, slit the masking tape, pull the flaps up.

‘Feel free to take a look,’ you say, looking at him.

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to verify that they’re what he needs.

‘How do you know who I am?’ he asks, as he pays.

There’s a faint spark in your eyes, a flicker so quick he wonders if he’s mis-read it.

‘My grandfather said you were due around this time.’

You nudge your shoulder vaguely in the direction of the screen to your left, a view from the camera overlooking the front of the warehouse. ‘Not many people drive a car like that.’

You take his money, nudge the box in his direction.

‘Pleasure doing business, Min Yoongi. I’ll give my grandfather your regards.’

You’re already looking back down at your phone like you’ve dismissed him.

Yoongi picks up the box, casts another glance at you, and leaves.

He’s still thinking about you when he reaches home.

***

Yoongi’s concentrating so hard on the engine in front of him that he barely hears Seokjin approach.

‘Dinner?’ asks Seokjin, eyes flicking over the V configuration of the 8 chrome cylinders in the custom Nissan with interest.

Yoongi leans back, massages the crick in his neck from leaning over.

‘Yeah. Quick though, the client wants a rush on this.’

They exchange a look.

‘More money than sense,’ Seokjin says, critical.

‘Pays the bills,’ Yoongi counters.

They have similar opinions about rich clients who want their supercars tuned up. It’s rare that a client’s got the ability to do justice to the horsepower under the bonnet of the flashy exteriors.

Yoongi shrugs, goes to wash his hands.

‘Is your sister coming?’ he asks.

Seokjin’s still admiring the engine. ‘Not tonight. Jimin’s in town,’ he says. ‘There’s a race later, if you change your mind. I’m meeting Jungkook after dinner.’

‘Is he still sulking over Mijin?’ Yoongi asks, falling into step beside Seokjin.

There’s no need to confirm where they’re going, they always stop at a tiny restaurant run by an elderly woman who seems utterly unimpressed by their good manners but makes the best broth in town.

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but his tone is sympathetic. ‘You know how it is. People never expect him to be as soft as he really is.’

Yoongi nods. ‘Tell him if she can’t appreciate him she’s the one missing out.’

Seokjin snorts. ‘Tell him yourself, he’ll love it. Are you coming to Seulgi’s party?’

It’s rare that Yoongi goes out at night, he’s busy and he does his best work at night time, both in the workshop and on the streets, but he’d promised Seokjin he’d go.

‘Next week?’ he asks.

Seokjin nods, pushes open the door to the restaurant.

‘Yeah, don’t forget.’

***

Seulgi is a friend of Seokjin’s, they’d dated briefly, years back, but it hadn’t worked out.

She greets Seokjin enthusiastically at the door, the pink flush on her cheeks deepening as Seokjin gives her an affectionate hug.

She beams at Yoongi, and he smiles back because he’s not proof against her cheerful nature.

It’s how he became friends with Hoseok, after all.

‘Drinks, let me get you drinks,’ Seulgi cheers, leading them into her kitchen.

Seokjin’s swept away by Seulgi and her friends, he’s always been a popular guy. He shoots Yoongi a look as he’s pulled into the lounge, which Yoongi pretends not to see.

He lifts his cup to his lips, decides to go outside for a bit.

The deck outside has a few scattered people, mostly couples, some groups.

Yoongi leans against the wall, looks around idly. The throbbing bass of the music feels like a heartbeat. The night is cold and crisp, the skies clear, but there aren’t any stars visible in Seulgi’s backyard.

He lets his mind wander to his next project, restoring a classic Toyota for a friend from the circuit. He’ll need parts.

He wonders if you’ll be behind the counter when he next goes to the Kang warehouse. Then he’s straightening up, unsure if he’s manifested you into reality.

He’s never seen your full face, but he’d know your eyes anywhere.

You’re standing across the deck, looking straight at him, coat open over a dress that shows a hell of a lot more than the hoodie and sweats you had on the last time he saw you.

For the first time tonight, Yoongi feels a prickle of interest.

He’d known you’d be beautiful, there’d been something about the way you carried yourself.

You’re still looking at him.

Yoongi walks over.

‘Who’s manning the warehouse?’ he asks, when he gets close enough.

You tilt your head. ‘Are you really so concerned about my family business, Min Yoongi?’

There’s a mocking note in your voice, Yoongi finds he likes it.

‘You have the best quality parts,’ he says.

Your smile blooms over your face, making your eyes bright. ‘I knew there was a reason my grandfather liked you.’

Yoongi nods to your dress. ‘You look pretty.’

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘You look pretty too.’

Yoongi can feel his lips curving. Are you flirting with him? Seems like you are.

He’s all for it.

You’re raising your cup now, taking a sip.

In the night time lighting, your lips glisten with moisture and whatever lipstick you’ve got on, making him wonder what they’d look like around his cock.

You eye him like you know exactly what he’s thinking.

Yoongi says, ‘Do you like cars? Want to see mine?’

***

You’ve got your legs either side of his torso, your ass bouncing in his lap, and Yoongi’s front seat’s reclined all the way to make room for you to ride him.

The lines of your beautiful body are reminiscent of a triumph of masters of Italian design. Long smooth thighs, tightening around him with every rhythmic thrust.

The curves of your breasts, bouncing right in his face.

The long line of your neck, head thrown back, the pulse in your throat fluttering as he holds your hips so he can fuck you back, fuck up into your sweet warmth.

His cock fits inside you like he was made for you, and god fucking damn, you feel so good around him he’s on a hair trigger.

Yoongi cups the back of your head, tugs you down so you’re close. Goosebumps prickle your flesh as he tells you how good you are.

Your eyes close as he kisses your bare neck, flicks his tongue against your skin.

You had been whimpering steadily as your arousal dripped down onto him, soaking his balls, pooling at the base of his cock, and as Yoongi picks up the pace he’s gratified by the hitch in your breathing.

Yoongi’s always been damn good at helping his partners find their pleasure, and he’s sure as hell not going to stop now.

Your breasts are still in his face, half out the low neck of your dress, chest heaving.

Yoongi rubs his thumb over the outline of your hardened nipple, and you cry out, muffled with your mouth against his skin but still loud enough to make his ears ring.

His balls tighten up even more as your walls flutter around him, and Yoongi would know you were coming even if you hadn’t gasped it.

God, you’re so sweet and sexy he’s lost.

He can feel your panting breaths against his neck, the weight of your warm body as it goes lax after your peak, the sweet grip of your cunt taking in everything he has to give you as he releases, a pulse of pleasure so intense it sends shockwaves through his skin.

Yoongi’s floating, and like reaching the summit of Mount Samo, he immediately wants to do it again.

You’re looking at him, lips still so swollen and pretty his spent cock gives a residual throb inside you.

‘Like my car?’ Yoongi asks. It’s stupid, but it makes you laugh and he’ll be as stupid as you like if it makes you sound like that.

Your chin lifts, and you say, ‘It’s all right.’

The flash of merriment in your eyes gives you away.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Maybe next time we can get the car started and I can actually take you somewhere.’

‘I don’t know,’ you tease. ‘Are you a good driver?’

Yoongi reaches out, tucks the lock of hair that’s fallen over your eye behind your ear.

‘Let’s find out,’ he says. ‘Where do you want to go?’

***

Yoongi’s thinking about you the next morning when he wakes up. He’d ended up taking you back to your place, where you’d kissed him sweetly at the door and bid him goodbye like a promise to see him again.

His phone rings and he’s still got you on his mind, so it takes a second for him to regroup.

‘The maknae needs help,’ Seokjin says, no preamble. ‘I’m going to swing by yours, be there in ten.’

Yoongi hangs up, wonders what the hell Jungkook’s got himself into this time.

By the time Seokjin arrives, Yoongi’s had time to bolt coffee and change, but Seokjin still raises a brow as he swings into the passenger seat.

As always, Seokjin’s impeccably dressed, dark hair swept back from his forehead like he’s going to his own fucking wedding instead of about to deal with some shit that’s going down.

Yoongi suppresses a yawn, tugs his beanie down over his brow.

‘What’s going down with JK?’ he asks.

Seokjin cuts off another car so smoothly they’re halfway down the intersection before the irritated horn blares.

‘Remember that race the other day? Jungkook beat Seungho fair and square, I was there.’

Yoongi groans. ‘The fuck. I thought we weren’t going to race that fragile asshole anymore.’

Seokjin glances in the rearview. ‘The maknae was still hurting over Mijin, I thought an easy win might make him feel better.’

‘So what’s Seungho done?’

‘Brought in the big guns,’ Seokjin says grimly. ‘Called in some guys from Hongkong. JK’s with them now.’

Now Yoongi’s fully awake. ‘Should’ve taken my car instead of this piece of shit,’ he says.

Seokjin just laughs. ‘Don’t worry about my car, Yoongi. Maybe think of a way to hide that big–ass hickey on your neck.’

‘Suck my dick,’ Yoongi says, like they’re 16 again.

‘Looks like someone already did,’ Seokjin returns.

***

Yoongi parks up outside the Kang warehouse, pushes open the door.

You look up from your phone. Your face mask is off, so Yoongi has the privilege of seeing the way your lips curve in a smile.

‘There’s been a shipment of fuel injectors,’ you say. ‘Want to take a look?’

Yoongi stops just in front of the wooden half-panel that separates you from him.

He tilts his head.

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Also, I took my friend’s Honda for a spin today, I’ve got a list.’

He smooths out the piece of paper he’s got folded in his pocket, places it on the counter.

You pick it up, get up. ‘I’ve got you.’

Yoongi runs a hand over the hickey over his neck. ‘I’ve been taking shit all day, about this,’ he adds.

‘Yeah?’ you ask, but you don’t seem the least bit contrite. ‘You did your share of marking, Min Yoongi.’

Yoongi asks, ‘What time do you get off?’

You’re about to answer when the door opens.

Yoongi turns and tenses immediately.

Fucking Shin Seungho.

‘You following me?’ he asks mildly.

Seungho scoffs, doesn’t deign to reply.

‘I’m collecting an order,’ he says to you.

Your face mask is back on, your face carefully blank. ‘Sure, what’s the name?’

When you go into the back to collect it Seungho turns to Yoongi.

Yoongi concentrates on the silkscreen of a cat on the wall behind the counter.

He can feel Seungho’s eyes on his face.

Just try it, fucker.

The fact was, he’d pushed Seokjin’s Honda to its limits beating Seungho’s friends today, and although the adrenaline’s ebbed, there’s a thin streak still running through his bloodstream, and he’s a spark away from igniting.

Seungho takes a step closer, and Yoongi turns to face him like he’s got all the time in the world.

You return just as Seungho opens his filthy mouth.

‘Looks like you’ve paid,’ you say, passing the box across the counter to Seungho.

You pull out the box cutter, slit the package, open it up for him to check, but don’t put it down.

‘Am I going to have trouble here, boys?’ you ask.

Seungho barely looks your way, Yoongi’s always known the man lacks vision.

‘Nah,’ Seungho says finally. He picks up the box, sneers at Yoongi.

Yoongi blanks his expression. There’s no way he’s going to start shit with Seungho in front of you.

The asshole’s not worth it.

As soon as the door closes behind Seungho you put down the box cutter.

The next words out of your mouth surprise him.

‘Shit, you’re hot when you’re mad, Yoongi.’

Yoongi stares at you, flummoxed, then he laughs.

‘Just when I’m mad?’ he asks.

You shrug. ‘Take me out on a date and I’ll tell you more.’

‘How about right now?’ Yoongi asks.

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Let’s go.’

***

As your grip on his hair loosens, Yoongi lifts his mouth from your cunt, swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Helps you tug your panties back up, smooths your skirt back down over your thighs.

He notices you’ve still got his cum in the corner of your lips. As he watches, you flick your tongue out, lick delicately.

His cock stirs with interest, and you act like you know it.

‘More later?’ you ask.

‘Yeah. After I win.’

Yoongi reaches over to help you with your seatbelt, arranging it across your chest, between your breasts, securing it.

You lean forward and kiss him as the belt clicks into place.

Yoongi starts the engine, turns the heating back on because he’s noticed your hands get cold easily.

‘I can drop you off at home before the race,’ he offers. ‘Come see you after.’

‘I want to see you drive,’ you say.

Yoongi wouldn’t say it, but he’s pleased. He knows he’ll keep you safe, it’s a circuit through the city outskirts he’s done a million times, and he’s looking forward to you meeting Seokjin and Hoseok and Jungkook.

He flicks on the lights, rolls into oncoming traffic. Heads North.

By the time he pulls up to the starting line there’s the usual crowd gathered. He parks up next to Seokjin and Hoseok.

In his rearview he can see JK surrounded by people. He’s lost the sad puppy air he had for a few weeks whilst he was pining after Mijin. The kid’s going to be all right, not that Yoongi’s ever had any doubt about that.

Engines all around him are starting up, a deafening series of rumbles.

Beside him, Seokjin waves, and Hoseok smiles so brightly it’s blinding.

The flag waves, and Yoongi accelerates.

Checks on you in the rearview, and you’re as pretty as he remembers.

Min Yoongi’s spent a lot of his life looking for connection, and by his reckoning, he’s doing pretty well right about now.

Lights flash by in a blur.

Yoongi drives.

Author note: And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading, hope you've enjoyed, here's to a brighter 2024. This time last year we were saying goodbye to Kim Seokjin, I can't wait to start welcoming the boys back again. Happy holidays to you all!

©hamsterclaw 2023

#bangtan christmas #bangtan christmas 2023 #yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #min yoongi fanfic

541 notes · View notes

jilixthinker · 4 months

Text

blackholes

=͟͟͞♡ jisung × fem!reader

=͟͟͞♡ parallel universes au

word count: 7.4K

synopsis: you can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. but the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. you can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. but when you wake up, jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

content warning: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), angst, depression, mention of suicide, drinking and smoking, sufference, eventual happy ending (?)

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

A drop of crimson red paint is tapping on the ground at a regular rhythm. At first glance, to someone who is not trained to know how to observe, it might even look like blood. The fingertips from which the paint is dripping off are moving slowly over the paper, searching for the weak spot on the canvas. There is always one, where the fabric gives in and the color soaks deeper. The fingers probe its full extent until a small smile of intimate satisfaction appears in your face.

The breaking point is within the body portrayed on the canvas, right in the center of his forehead. It sparkles a little like an Indian diamond, and you dip the tip of your brush in the red paint that previously soiled your fingers. At the bottom corner to the right, near the tapered shape of the feet you have just finished painting, you trace a few words.

pain creates love.

The young man on the canvas is dazzlingly beautiful. His eyes are night onyx, deep as lagoons. His lips are the color of ripe cherries, swollen and tumid. He is portrayed nude, legs spread wide and arms outstretched toward the viewer. He exudes eroticism from every angle, yet he is far from vulgar. A few strands of inky hair hide the pale, flushed skin on his cheekbones. Slender, elegant fingers are stretched out to their full length as if to grasp the air. There is no background. The only foreign element to that body is the canopy on which the boy is slumped. The draped sheets caress his figure enhancing his nakedness without covering it. The only dissonant note in that marvelous sensual work, the only weak point, is the too-hinted blush on his forehead. It's almost not noticeable if you lose yourself in the full beauty of the portrait, but you see it, because you painted it and because it's part of the canvas, part of the subject. And it is singular, as him.

"It's a masterpiece".

The voice is off-screen, as if it's coming from another world. You don't turn to check who it belongs to, but you keep staring at your painting. The sound of small footsteps unravels in the air of the room. The parquet floor creaks at every inch.

"I am not fully satisfied with it".

You run the back of your hand over the fabric, as if the epidermis could erase the color and replace it with a different image. The voice approaches you from behind and blows a crystalline laugh as his shadow reflects off the picture, obscuring the white of the canopy.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. What's wrong with it?"

As you move your gaze from the painting to turn around, the exact copy of the boy portrayed on the canvas stands out in all his glory in front of you. His shower-wet hair frames his ephebic features like a wreath, and a tiny smile illuminates his face in a cascade of light.

"It's not like the original".

The boy shakes his head and time freezes. A few drops of water land on your neck.

"It doesn't have to be".

Sharpened fingers curl around the closed collar of your shirt and begin to loosen it. Button by button, the fabric slips off your figure and the young man in front of you kneels down to slip off your shirt and deposit hundreds of tiny kisses on your hands. When he stands up again, he approaches your body and touches it, appreciating every inch of it and covering it with attention. You lift you face and bite his cheek, losing yourself in the soothing smell of Sunday sex.

Pain creates love, you are quite certain of it. Loving someone who suffers means loving every single portion of their pain and making it your own. It is not easy to desire something so abstract, but there are people who try, with soul, body, bones and sweat. Some succeed, some fail, and some keep trying. You cannot identify yourself in any of these categories. You only knows that you love, unconditionally, without a specific goal. You love so much that the pain is now only the frame to a picture of yours, you love so much that the Indian diamond on the boy's forehead becomes almost invisible to your eyes. Almost.

You can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. But the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. You can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. But when you wake up, Jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You meet Jisung in the twilight of his nineteen years, when he is just a little lump of insecurity and imagination. He clutches a vanilla coffee in his left hand and a briefcase in his right, crammed with story incipits that he will never finish. He dropped out of school to become one of those freelance writers you see on the covers of magazines for intellectuals, the ones who live in unpronounceable French towns and smoke mint cigarettes while sipping aged cognacs. It must not be bad, he thinks, to be envied while basking in your self admiration.

When Jisung sees you, he is leaving creative writing school, and you are leaving art school. You have a white palette under your arm, open apron smeared with oil paints, and nose sniffing the air. In fact, Jisung doesn't really have time to see you, because fate plans to make him trip over you, causing his vanilla coffee to spill all over your pants.

With his face on fire and the excuse of dry cleaning to repay for the damage, you two get acquainted. Jisung discovers that you smoke mint cigarettes, like French writers. No cognac though, you say. You prefer gin. It goes down faster and helps me come up with new ideas for painting.

Jisung asks to see one of your works, but your condition is of him posing as a model for your next portrait assignment, because you had been looking for a face like his for months. Jisung lets you beg for a while, but then he capitulates in front of another coffee.

You live alone in a loft on the fifth floor of a suburban building. The apartment is a hellish mess and it almost looks as if a tornado has swept through the living room, bathroom and kitchen, mixing the different furnishings together. You invite Jisung to sit wherever he wants, assuming he can find a seat.

You silently eat two bowls of instant ramen and then dangle awkwardly in front of each other, thinking about what to say. After a few minutes Jisung breaks the silence and asks you to see your portraits. You dig through the easels piled against the wall before handing him a few palettes.

The portraits are not refined. In fact, that's the reason you are going to art school. You cannot seem to maintain proper proportions between the various body parts you draw. In the first painting you show Jisung, the woman's hands on the canvas are too big and stubby, in the second the eyes are exaggeratedly spaced apart, and in the third the legs are so crooked that they almost seem to belong to two different people. In spite of everything, Jisung fails to give those mistakes the connotation of flaws, because there is something that compels him to stay looking at them without speaking.

While Jisung stares absently at the portraits, you flip through the half-told stories you found in his briefcase and reads fragments of disconnected sentences with a lazy smile on your lips. Jisung reflects for the time of three cigarettes before looking at you and stating that he is ready to be drawn.

When you get up to gather your brushes and paints, out of the corner of your eyes you see the boy becoming pale and widening his eyes. A split second later, the canvas slips from Jisung's hands, crashing to the floor with a reverberating noise.

You don't have time to process what happened because Jisung runs quickly toward the exit, almost crashing against the walls. He runs down the stairs as fast as he can, tripping over his feet, hitting the steps with each step and leaving you, alone in your apartment, one hand extended toward the door, clutching the rarefied air.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You remind me of someone I've seen before".

The second time you and Jisung met, he has the time to hide behind an alley, because it's easier not to be asked questions if you have something to hide. In this case, you happen to turn on that very alley and you find yourself in front of Jisung, curled in a quivering ball of shame. After assuring him more than once that you don't care if he broke the canvas and ruined the portrait, you convince him to have another cup of coffee together because you will never find a face like his for your painting.

You drink unsweetened black espresso, steaming hot to the limits of what is possible to drink. Jisung looks at you with an horrified look as he opens the third sugar packet and melts the grains inside his vanilla drink.

"Who?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure. Your hands".

Jisung glows and hides his flushed face behind his coffee.

"What's wrong with my hands?"

"They are vaguely erotic".

You lazily runs your fingers over Jisung's manicured nails.

"Thank you?"

"I'd like to paint those too. If you want to. You must promise not to run away and leave me alone like an idiot though".

Jisung stares out the coffee shop window and counts the drops that go condensed in the corners of the glass, Your voice is just a shade in the picture in front of him.

"Mh".

"Can I read something you wrote?"

"Didn't you already do that at your house a few weeks ago?"

"Jisung, come on, I want to read something serious".

"I'll pretend I didn't hear".

You smile andd curl your lips around your glass.

"You don't tell me that's all you wrote?"

"No. Of course not".

"Thank God. Those stories were really cheap".

You barely have time to shield your face behind your arms before Jisung's indigned look - along with his fists - dumps a shower of insults on you. It takes him a few minutes before he realizes that, hey I was just kidding, and he stops swearing.

You stand outside of the coffee shop shortly afterward, huddling under a horrible slime colored umbrella. You shove a mint cigarette between your lips and ask Jisung if he wants to try.

Jisung spends the next half hour coughing and cursing in all the languages of the world.

"You're not really suited to be a writer".

Jisung kicks you lightly and chuckles half offended as he watches you prance around on one foot yowling like a wounded puppy. Then you pull him by the hood of his jacket and smother your last words over his mouth. His comment on the kiss is anything but an insult. Jisung bites his lips and thinks that maybe you are right.

He doesn't tell you, though.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"What happened the first time at my house?"

"What are you talking about? "

"The painting".

"I thought we had already talked about that".

"Indeed. I'm not interested in the painting itself".

"It slipped from my hands".

Jisung looks down and you don't believe him for a second. You finish brushing the bluish sky and wipe your hands on the apron. You watch the canvas, but it's useless. You weren't able to paint decently for months.

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't paint anything anyway".

Jisung barely nods and closes his eyes. He squeezes his thighs together and rocks in his chair, absorbing the faint winter rays of light on his skin.

"Do blind people dream?"

You watch Jisung tensing his back like a cat and stretching slowly, making his spine creak.

"It depends. If they are blind from birth maybe they only dream of sounds".

Jisung opens his eye and observes you, illuminated by the light. He looks almost like a beam of the whitest sun, his hair is tousled and his lips chapped by the wind.

"What do you think is worse, being born without sight or losing it over time?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I don't know".

You twist your mouth because Jisung tells that he doesn't know to a lot of things and you can never figure out if it's because he doesn't want to answer or because he really doesn't know. You pretend to be mad at it, but the facade doesn't even last two seconds. Jisung is like that anyway. You love his everything or you don't love anything at all.

"I think it's worse to never have the chance to see colors, or the sun".

He gets up from the stool and sits in your lap, staring at an indefinite spot on your face. You stand still for several minutes without speaking, then Jisung rubs his forehead against your cheek.

"If I couldn't see, what would you do?"

"I'd be painting with words".

Jisung kisses you and you end up flying outside the universe, navigating purple galaxies in the space constellation, running through the Milky Way and on a bridge leading to the end of the world.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"I don't feel like playing anymore".

Jisung, sitting on the wooden chair, looks at the window in an absorbed manner. He crosses his ankles and wrinkles his nose as if to chase away an annoying thought.

"I am bored. I've been sitting in this position for almost two hours".

You let out a soft grunt as you pick up a multitude of dried up tubes of paint from a ceramic jar.

"You are just being bratty", you comment, resting the brush on the coffee table and rubbing your hands against each other to scrape off the remnants of color on your nails.

"What do you feel like doing?" you ask as you look up at him.

Jisung smiles and gets up from his small chair by sliding down part of the sheet that covered his hips.

"You are dirty", he says, beginning to absentmindedly touch his lower lip with his fingers.

"I will take a shower after this".

Jisung shakes his head slowly. He moistens his index and middle fingers with his pink tongue, sticking out of his mouth.

"I don't think so".

Another handful of small steps and he is in front of you, already crushed against the bones of you pelvis. With his hands he brings your neck close to his face and licks the skin exposed by your shirt, from your ear down to the collarbones. There he stops and sucks just enough to leave you with a red bruise.

"I'll clean you up", he moans, biting the patch of skin at the nape of your neck, near your hairline.

You scramble to the kitchen chair, pushed by Jisung's hands that are slipping off your shirt, and it's pointless to tell him that I can't be dirty there because he is wetting a path of bare skin down to your belly button. He sticks his tongue out and he swirls it slowly inside of it, then continues on the dimples above your hip bone.

You feel your leg muscles contracting and you clasp your hands around Jisung's shoulders, pushing him down and allowing him to curl up on the floor, a hungry expression on his face.

Jisung spreads his legs and you let your head loll against the wall behind you as he bites your skin and removes your pants. You feel a tender, raspy tongue lazily sucking on the inside of your thighs and nibbling at them slowly. His fingers cup your already sopping cunt and start moving, circling your entrance and smearing the slick on the skin around it.

Jisung's mouth is searing and his black eyes bottomless. His saliva seethes on your flesh as you tense your legs with tiny spasms each time you feel him biting closer and closer to your aching pussy. Maybe he is sucking away something else, buried deeper somewhere inside you as well, but you have no strength to think about it when Jisung finally makes up his mind and sucks your clit in between his lips.

You hold your breath and all of your blood drains from your brain to focus lower, warming where the other's mouth failed. The wet sound is obscenely filthy as his lips slide up and down along your drenching pussy, lapping at the thin, swollen skin of your lips.

Jisung alternates between spitting dribbles of saliva on your cunt and sliding his fingers inside of you, massaging your aching walls for a long time. When he harshly sucks your clit inside his mouth, he lets out a satisfied meow and closes his eyes, completely enraptured by his own ego, fulfilled while listening to your moans. His fingers grab the tender flesh of your butt and he sinks his nose into your cunt, sucking as vigorously as possible on your puffy clit.

When he feels the walls of your pussy contract around his fingers, he starts to thrust them slowly and takes his time to give kitten licks at your hardened nub, sucking only the tip of it with undulating motions.

You squint your eyes, press your hands on the back of Jisung's neck and you finally cum with a dull gasp. Jisung presses his thumb against his own lips, smearing your release on them. He stares at you with vicious eyes and swallows slowly, wiping his crimson lips with his fingertips.

"You are clean now".

You kiss him, biting hard on his lips and licking his chin and cheeks to remove all of the traces of your slick from his face. When you inhale the smell of his skin, you thank whoever is above or below for allowing you to possess him.

"You are my masterpiece".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The spring of Jisung's twentieth year has the dull, bland taste of rain. It rains all the time, every day. Flowers fail to sprout and the few that succeed, eventually rot.

Jisung began to smoke, even though he gave up on his writing career. It wasn't really suitable, all things considered. He smokes your mint cigarettes and lets the fresh flavor fill his mouth before blowing away the residue. When he looks out from behind the window glass at the water drops tapping on the puddles, he sighs sadly.

You are splayed on the sofa with your legs curled on the floor. You snort, and your voice is hoarse as if you had just woken up.

"Would you like some tea?".

"Uh".

Jisung throws the cigarette in a jar filled with soil. He clicks his tongue against his palate and heads to the kitchen to boil tap water in the pot. He looks for the fruit tea filters behind the pantry doors when he stops all of a sudden, feeling the flesh under his skin instantly freezing. He tries to focus on something, anything. He stares at the wall, he opens his lips and, instead of a cry, what comes out is a whisper.

"Baby".

Jisung trembles and stretches a hand out in front of him. His eyes water and overflow like rain. He squeezes the air with his fingers and his veins swell on his wrists, pulsing his blood down.

"Baby", he slurs again.

You lift your head from the back of the sofa and look at your boyfriend's shoulders hunched forward.

"What's the matter?"

Jisung crinkles his eyes even more and doesn't hold back a tear that lines his cheeks and wrinkles his round chin. He squints, and thousands shades of colors disappear. His muscles relax involuntarily, and he hears the sound of shattering shards as if his brain had detached from his own skullcap to navigate inside of the the cerebral fluid.

"Baby, where am I?"

You sprint to your feet at lightning speed and you hold up Jisung before he can crash to the floor. His head, as an unconditional reflex, lunges forward and slams back against your forehead.

"Where are you?"

Jisung thrashes against your chest and continues to shake with convulsive spasms. He grits his teeth and tries to slip out of your tight embrace.

I love you say I love you and you see me I see you tell me.

"I am here. I am behind you. I won't leave you", you try to soothe him.

He turns around in deluded strength and fumbles with his fingers in search of you face. He taps lips, eyes, hair, cheekbones, squeezes knuckles and bites his own tongue.

"I don't see you".

Jisung's voice trembles. He opens his mouth two or three times, but his words dry up like a desert. A breath of wind, and he speaks feebly.

"I see nothing".

no no no no no no no

"The painting too. I couldn't see it anymore. It didn't slipped from my hands".

Jisung is gushing like a raging river and in a split second he becomes aware of herself, of you, of everything floating in his mind.

"It wasn't there".

say I'm there and you see me because I'm here and I won't leave you say that-.

"It was just a black hole".

please

"I lied to you".

I don't want to

"I never told you how my mother died".

"Jisung".

"No. You have to listen to me".

You feel your throat burning as if someone was smoking inside your stomach. You can feel the aftertaste of ash in the mouth of your esophagus and you try to swallow. But nothing goes down.

"Do you know what glaucoma is?"

"I don't think I want to know".

"It's a disease that affects eyesight. Your eyes accumulate water until the internal pressure is too much. You can't feel pain. That's why it is diagnosed too late. It's like your eyes are drowning in tears".

You die a little with each word, as if Jisung is spewing ink, and you are an inkwell collecting phantom waste.

"She couldn't stand the idea of not being able to see anymore".

"You could not have-"

"I have it".

You feel like falling. You stumble and fall. You fall for an endless time, and you fall into a dark well. You don't touch the bottom and keep falling into the cold. You try to scream but that requires oxygen, and your lungs contract, spitting out carbon dioxide because there is no more oxygen in you. So you cling to the walls, crawl your fingers and flay you skin. A cry rumbles out, but the voice is not yours.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The first time you make love, Jisung feels broken. Not in the external sense of the act itself. He feels broken in a deeper place, where you cannot touch and where he didn't even know he could feel something. This is the reason why, in the middle of the intercourse, he starts crying and wets the sheets with salty tears. He cries so quietly that you don't even realize it.

"Paint me".

"What?"

Jisung rolls up between the covers and straddles you.

"I wish you would paint all the colors of the world on me".

He moans and rubs his nose against the protruding bones of your neck. Tears dry on the skin of his cheeks. When you taste the salt on your tongue, you softly bite his chin.

"Paint is bad for your skin, you know that?".

Jisung bursts out laughing, and you laugh too in response.

"I know, but I would like a sun on my stomach. Or on my back".

You clasp Jisung's hips in your hands, anchoring him to your waist.

"You are bright already".

"And a meadow, too, all over my arms. And light, everywhere. Beams of light all over my face. I want to shine in the night".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You'll be there right? After".

"Where?"

"On the other side".

You slide the brush over Jisung's shoulders, lying on the floor with goose bumps caused from the cold tiles.

"Don't move".

There are empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor, with a bittersweet smell lingering in the room and permeating the walls. No light. Many unlit cigarette everywhere, a few blood stains - or perhaps paint - on Jisung's feet. You keep painting without seeing where you are passing the brush.

"I will follow you everywhere, if I can".

"You know that it won't be possible for you".

"I know".

You kiss the colors on his skin and Jisung tastes like sweat and burnt wood.

"But maybe it's better this way".

Jisung reaches out his arm and tentatively finds the neck of a bottle, brings it to his lips and drinks the clear liquid, letting a few drops slide down his chin to his nodular neck. Jisung picks up the alcohol with his fingertips and brings it to his eyes, pressing a little. It stings at first, but then he begins to see stars in front of him, so close he thinks he can gather them in the palm of his hand.

"Do you want me to open the window?" you ask.

Jisung shakes his head and pushes you against him, causing the brushes to fall from your hands. He clings to your back and pet your hair, smelling it and tasting it with his tongue.

"Did you take your medicine?"

Jisung shakes his head and searches for cigarettes inside his pants. He manages to find one and places it between your lips.

"It won't be so bad".

You inhale the smoke and blow it out somewhere in the darkness of the room. You rest your lips on Jisung's without kissing him, the dry taste of tobacco invades his throat and he smiles with the corners of his mouth.

"I have to take you to the sea, near the cliffs. I can paint the waves on your cheeks. We can even jump from very high if you want. Or you can sleep on the sand and taste the water".

Jisung pulls the smoking stick from your fingers and takes a wide puff of smoke, holding it inside himself as much as possible, then pulls you against him and opens his mouth, breathing into you.

"It will be fine, Jisung".

Jisung laughs and feels his throat tighten in a thorny grip. He gasps and pushes the lit cigarette on the back of his hand. He grits his teeth.

"How come I'm not sure?"

You take his lips in between your fingers and squeeze them until they open wide, then you move closer and whisper everything to him. You whisper the world and the universe.

you are light you are white and red you are scarlet you are perfect you are alive alive alive you are not the rain because it keeps raining and I will always wait for you on the other side always because you are alive and you are here it will be okay

And it should be okay, it should be right. Jisung would have kissed you and said it's true, it's always okay when you're here. But no, he pushes you on the chest and shrugs, his eyes blazing and his lips frozen.

"Listen to me. Outside, somewhere in this infinite universe, there is a parallel world. I know for a fact that it exists, just as I know that in that world everything is right, as it should be here. There is a Jisung running across the grass on a sunny day, and you are chasing after him and falling down in an attempt to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. This world really exists, and it's beautiful. But what you have to understand - what I want you to understand - is that this world, this one, it's not that. This is the reality that hurts, the one where you have to pay a price for your life. We can't run across a meadow here, because you picked me and adopted me out of pity. You even managed to fall in love with me, and that's the wrongest thing you could have done. Because you could really be bright, you could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me. And this is not the world in which everything is right. This is the world in which I am fading, the world in which I am losing the color that you are so desperately trying to put on me. But look what happen, look".

Jisung gets up and you can feel his small body clawing in the dark inside the room to open the balcony door and go outside. The apartment is suddenly pervaded with a gray light, reflecting the color of the sky. You look at Jisung, naked, stiff and trembling under the raindrops falling from above.

Jisung pulls his lips up in a distorted smile.

"See?"

Water runs down his back and the paint drips on the soles of his feet, sliding down to his short, pink nails.

"The color melts under the rain. It only lasts a few seconds before I come back to be as transparent as your canvas. And this is not the world where the sun shines. These are blackholes. Life, light, nature, they are all projections in my head. But you. You can still make it. You don't have to follow me. Don't follow my selfishness".

"Jisung, I have to".

Jisung trembles and the water rushes over him. The reality mocks him and everything he can love.

"No, you want to".

don't come with me you are my love

"Don't follow me to the other side. You will fade too".

You clench your fists and watch the drops wetting the ephebic figure in front of you. Jisung comes to you and blows desolate words into your face.

"When I ask you to paint me, don't. When I ask you to pity me, don't. When I beg you to come with me, please, don't".

"No. I must follow you. Everywhere. As long as there are black holes, I will be behind you. As long as this world sucks. As long as I breathe".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

One night you close your eyes and, instead of the sea, you see boundless steppes and barren grasslands. After what seems like miles and miles of dry lands, inside a small depression - almost a pit - you see Jisung, curled onto himself, all naked and with his limbs tangled together, hidden from the world. You don't ask yourself why you can see such a small body at such a distance, but your muscles set into autonomous motion and you find yourself running in that direction.

After endless minutes, you reach what seems to be the final destination, but the pit gradually moves away from you. However, for some reason, you can still see Jisung swinging himself with his face pressed into the dry earth.

You speed up your run and you begin to feel your throat tightening as the first drops of sweat make their way onto your forehead. Shadows cast themselves in the barren ground, but they are distorted by the shadow of your own body and of the dim, suffocating light of the sun. The image of Jisung blurs for a few seconds, and when it becomes clear again, those same shadows are catapulted onto him as well. You lift your head and you see dozens, hundreds, thousands of hawks flying in circles over Jisung's ditch, which tightens and lengthens as it becomes deeper.

The last steps of your run are slow, while the first hawk descends in slow motion on Jisung's soft face and begins to do something to his cheeks. You see Jisung's cheekbones become parched, almost to the point you fear that a gust of wind will blow them away. The second hawk glides beside the other, and you cannot get the soles of your feet off the dusty ground as it begins, slowly, as if it was foretasting a feast, to peck at Jisung's moist eyes.

Soft tears continue to gush, tiny raindrops that can nothing against the infecundity of the place where they stand. The thousands of hawks fly inside the pit and peck at the remnants of that dead body, tearing it apart with their hooked beaks. They chew the skin and swallow Jisung's life, paralyzed in his grave.

After what seems like centuries, they soar together in their cruel dance of farewell. Your feet finally unclench, but it's no longer necessary, because Jisung now stands in front of you, perfect. The tender, rosy flesh barely flushed on his cheeks and the slender, trembling body almost hairless, beautiful.

without

eyes.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Jisung is tired. June is an agony of dampness spent under the sheets, and you spend countless nights hoping that Jisung's sobs will cease and he will finally sleep. July is no better. The heat is starting to get unbearable and Jisung wants to keep the windows closed, hooked shut, so that not a single draft of clean air can penetrate into the apartments. Along with that, he stops drinking.

You keep opening the windows, even if Jisung screams and cries like a baby, and you force his lips open with the help of your fingers, making him swallow some liquids. August is definitely a torture when he stops taking his painkillers and his stomach turns over, forcing him to vomit all day and all night.

There is no turning back now.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"Tell me".

There is so much smoke inside the room that even if it wasn't that dark, it would be impossible to see more than an inch away from your face. You are lying half on the floor, half on Jisung's sticky thighs, smoking a cigarette that seems to be his only remaining foothold in his earthly existence.

"What?"

Jisung's voice is hoarse and distressing. It has changed exponentially in the past two weeks, since he refused to let you go outside to buy something to eat. You fighted against it, and he bit your hand viciously before starting to cry in shame.

"When you want to leave, tell me".

"You can't come with me. We've already discussed it".

"No, you have already discussed it. By yourself. You don't listen to what I say".

Jisung opens his lips and raises a graceful hand as if he was trying to slap you in the face. Eventually, the hand sags and the slap becomes a trembling caress.

"Jisung, please", you become pleading, tired and desperate. With your bandaged fingers you caress Jisung's thin knuckles, one by one.

"Just tell me. I won't follow you, I promise".

Jisung laughs. His head rests against the wall.

"You will follow me".

"Please".

Your lips meet in the compact darkness and they rub, dry, against each other in the memory of an old, worn-out passion.

"I love you, and you are a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

When you manage to drag Jisung out of the house in September, you almost gave up. You don't know if it is because of the faint light or the clouds, but Jisung's once tan skin is now grayish, and it makes his figure looks unhealthy and contagious at the mere sight. You also brought out brushes, hundreds of them, and half-squeezed tubes of color.

"Why did you bring me here?"

The grass under Jisung's shoes rustles in response. You are in a park just outside the city, a destination for a few couples and students with nothing to do.

"You asked me to paint you".

"That was a long time ago".

You pick up the brushes from your bag and pull a forced smile between you lips.

"And you, quite a long time ago, told me you wanted to shine. Here, then".

The tube of yellow paint curls against the wooden palette and the brush bristles wet in contact.

"Lay down".

Jisung tries to deny it, but then he seems to see in you the edge of a precipice, and maybe he feels a rush of pity and compassion for both of you. He wonders how it is possible to have reached that point without someone having the heart to save you both. Or save at least you.

With an awkward movement he leans over the lawn and lies on his back, shivering from the drops of water trapped between the blades of grass. You kneel beside him and barely lift the edges of his shirt, uncovering his belly and round hips. Jisung closes his eyes and trembles when he feels your open mouth kissing the flesh near his navel. You begin to trace marks near that spot, dipping your brush occasionally into the color. When you finish that first step, you keep painting all around radially, as if the first object was the focal point of the entire image. With your fingers you caress his petite chest, the spots uncovered by the color, the skinny hips, and as much of Jisung as you can.

Once you are done, you lean forward. Jisung reaches out and gently touches your hair, entwining it between his index fingers and anchoring you to him. Jisung's entire chest is a cerulean expanse of sky. There is sky everywhere, interspersed with green tree foliage intertwining on the sides. Down, just above his pelvis, a clear sea joins the sky in a blue line of horizon. And in that small, hidden spot of the kiss, you painted a sun.

"Do you like it?"

Jisung opens his eyes and instead of your face he sees a black universe. He feels two tears sting and run down his cheeks, his chin and to his chest, wetting his lips folded into a smile.

"It's perfect".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It's December when you think you feel Jisung moving on the bed and kicking off the covers. You also think you can feel his lips kissing you softly and his arms wrapping around your neck before sinking into the oblivion of sleep with his words in your mind.

remember you promised

But when you wake up, Jisung is not really there. The mattress is empty next to you and the sheets are tangled at the bottom of the bed. You snap to your feet, ignoring the dizziness and the fact that the room seems to be moving in circles around you.

"Jisung?"

You call him in a choked, shrill voice, a knot forming in your throat. You hear a ringing noise in you ears and you begin to search everywhere inside the apartment. You want to hope, you really do, that he just went out, but you cannot force yourself to believe in it because Jisung, by now, hasn't been out alone for months.

"Jisung?".

You look again, inside the shower stall, in the small balcony, under the couch, in the closet where you keep you painting canvas, inside the closet in the bedroom. But it's just when you are about to leave the house that you see it. On the living room table, between the keys and the fruit basket. A farewell letter.

You don't even understand how you actually got to pick it up, unfold it, and start reading it, that you tear it in two in your hands, teeth gritted and tears beginning to overflow from your eyes.

"Jisung".

You run outside without even closing the front door, engulfing the steps in trembling, messy strides. You reach the street and the only thing that you can think about is that I promised you, but you should have told me when you were about to go, you should have told me. You run on the road, crossing the roadway, risking getting run over, running on the sidewalks, running over people, running for hours. Until you see him.

For a moment you don't even notice him, caught up in the heat of your research. Yet it's him, standing in front of you. Perfect and naked, with a red dot on his forehead, like in your painting. Beautiful and full of life. As he has never been. As in an iconographic image branded in your head. And it's so perfect, and beautiful and full of life that you give in.

and yet you promised not to follow me

You close your eyes and take one step in his direction. Jisung smiles and spreads his arms wide, and so do you. An inch apart, and Jisung kisses you.

I love you.

You push back your tears.

"I am ready".

and you follow him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You are 23 years old when you die. You are found in your apartment, lying on the floor, completely naked and smeared with paint. That's suicide, it is obvious, but nobody take a guess on why you decided to end your life.

When they take your body away, a dirty brush of yellow paint slips from your hand and ends up stepped on by the coroner.

Nobody finds dozens and dozens of canvases depicting the same boy. Nobody finds intact packages of painkillers. Nobody finds mint cigarettes and bottles of gin. Nobody finds a shredded letter saying "I am going". Nobody.

"You said you wouldn't follow me".

"You knew I would".

"I love you, and you're a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Outside, somewhere in the infinite universe, there is a parallel world. There's a Jisung running on the grass on a sunny day, and you are running after him and falling down trying to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. You could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me.

You chose me.

©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

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another-lost-mc · 1 year

Text

Truancy

Your demon friends think Solomon is a bad influence on you. If they only knew the truth.

SOLOMON x afab!Reader 1.7k words | NSFW | Smut | Some Fluff | Established Relationship Content warnings: Horny thoughts, pet names, explicit sexual content. f!Reader has a high sex drive. Reader uses gn!pronouns. Insatiable AU: [Part 2] [Part 3]

It’s not a complete surprise when the two humans in RAD’s student exchange program start dating. Some might even call it romantic that you both found friendship and love in a place like the Devildom. What does surprise your demon and angel friends is the enthusiasm you two have for each other.

Your friends notice when you and Solomon disappear from a classroom, or a meeting, or a party, without so much as a warning. You use any available surface when the mood suits you, defiling it with your hastily-removed clothing and your sweat and cum and sometimes blood and tears. Even though Solomon removes all traces of your activities with magic afterwards, your friends know you were up to something behind closed doors.

The only misunderstanding is that they believe Solomon is the instigator, using his silk-smooth tongue and sorcerous ways to seduce you.

But they would be wrong.

Solomon basks in the warmth of your affection while you tempt him with your insatiable appetite to be close, to have him near you and inside you as much as possible. He protects you from everything in the world that would cause you pain, and he gives you everything he possibly can to make you happy and make you feel good. In return, you love him fiercely and passionately and give his long, lonely life new purpose.

When you arrive at RAD early in the mornings, your first class of the day is usually tolerable; the craving you feel for him isn’t too overwhelming yet. Solomon knows how to start your day to make it easier: first he wakes you up with cuddles, and then you share lots of sweet, playful kisses, and finally he rolls on top of you and brings you to orgasm with some warm, sleepy sex.

This morning was a bit different. He had to get up early to run an errand in the human world before school; he mumbled his apologies to you when his alarm woke you both up at some ungodly hour.

Before he left to do whatever it was, he slid under the sheets and sucked your nipples through the thin fabric of your nightgown. It doesn’t matter that he kept moving down your body until he could trace his name into your slick folds with his tongue, or that he sucked on your clit until your voice went hoarse and his mouth and chin were wet and glistening with your slick.

That’s not the point.

The point is, it’s been hours since you’ve felt his body against yours and even longer since you’ve had his fingers or his cock inside you. You’re squirming uncomfortably in your seat while you pretend to pay attention to whatever the professor is talking about.

If you cross your legs and press your thighs together just right, you can almost tease yourself with the friction you crave - but it’s not enough.

It’s never enough.

The professors at RAD figure out quickly that working in close quarters is too distracting for both of you. Their solutions are simple: assigned seating and pairing you off with other students for practical demonstrations or group work. It feels juvenile, but sometimes it helps. Other times, the forced separation adds fuel to the fire while you wait to see whose resolve will break first.

When the professor instructs everyone to pair off to begin today’s lesson - brewing some obscure elixir you don’t think you’ll ever use - Solomon and his partner are setting up nearby while you help Leviathan organize your own materials.

Solomon has his back to you while he slips his lab coat over top of his clothes, but he turns his head enough so he can wink at you while he puts his safety glasses on.

“Can’t be too careful,” he says, his voice laced with poorly concealed amusement.

You fold your arms over your chest and glare at him. You are absolutely not pouting.

When Solomon wears his glasses, he knows exactly what he’s doing. It doesn’t matter if he’s wearing safety glasses in the alchemy lab or when he claims he can’t read the blackboard properly - he puts them on deliberately, with intent. He holds your smoldering gaze with his own, a smug grin on his stupidly handsome face, until one of you (usually you) looks away.

Right now you want nothing more than to rip his glasses off and pull him to the floor and grind against his face. Judging by the way he licks his lips, and the way he smirks when your desperate gaze tracks the movement, he wants you to do that, too.

His eyes suddenly light up with mischief, and you know his torment isn’t over yet.

“Let me help you with your coat, my darling,” he offers when he steps into your space. He slips the long, white coat onto your shoulders and his palms glide over your breasts while he smooths down the front. His fingers brush against you while he fastens the buttons with his nimble fingers.

“All better,” he murmurs quietly, his warm gaze looking you over appreciatively.

He might be in the mood to tease, but you’re not - not anymore. Your underwear is damp with your arousal and the throbbing need between your legs is making your belly cramp with how fucking empty you feel when you clench around nothing. You want to bend over the nearest surface and beg him to fuck your brains out, and even though voyeurism usually isn’t your thing, right now you don’t care who else watches.

You blink back frustrated tears. “I need you,” the words fall from your lips in a hoarse whisper, your final plea for mercy. You don’t trust yourself to say anything else.

His thumb wipes away the tears you couldn’t stop from falling. He smiles gently and you know he understands. He brushes his lips across your forehead.

“Soon,” is the only promise he can make before the professor instructs you both to go back to work.

The rest of the class goes by in a blur. Your mind is hazy with your growing need to fuck or be fucked and your lover is out of arms reach and wearing far too many clothes for your liking. You do your best to concentrate on your assignment and hand Levi the ingredients he asks for.

Poor Levi - he tries so hard to be a good friend but he doesn't know how to help you. He shoots you worried glances when he notices how distracted you are, how you almost look like you're in pain. He blames Solomon - whatever's wrong must be his fault.

When Levi asks you quietly if you're alright, you lie and mumble that you're fine. You hope he doesn't notice the sweat beading along your hairline, or the way you rub your thighs together under your skirt.

The bell finally rings and before you know what's happening, Solomon grabs your hand and leads you from the classroom without saying a word. You can barely focus on more than putting one foot in front of the other, but his grip is firm as he moves through the bustling hallway with single-minded purpose.

He promised to take care of you, after all.

When you stop walking, you realize he’s pulled you into some sort of storage room. The walls are lined with shelves and there’s unused furniture stacked in the cramped space. It’s dark and a bit dusty, but he whispers charms under his breath that will deter any potential interruptions, just in case.

He’s already reaching for your skirt and hitching it up your legs as he walks you backwards until you bump against something. He helps lift you onto the desk and his hands slide up your thighs until your skirt is bunched around your waist. He bends his head low and even in the dim lighting, you can see his eyes darken when he realizes how utterly drenched you are.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tilt your head back with a sigh when he mouths against your folds through your soaked underwear. He groans when he allows himself a little taste, teasing the entrance of your hole with his tongue with only the flimsy cotton material between you.

He grabs the waistband and yanks your underwear down your legs. He smirks when he shoves them into his pocket for later, and he starts unbuckling his belt. The front of his pants are tented obscenely and you whine with anticipation when he finally frees his cock.

You lay back against the desk and he grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him. You rest your legs on his shoulders and your fingers grip the edge of the desk to brace yourself. When he leans forward and buries himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust, your slick guides him inside easily and a satisfied cry rips from your throat.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust when he starts to fuck you, his hands guiding your hips so he can pull you onto his cock with each hard, perfect thrust. The pleas that falls from your lips compel him to give you more, to give it to you harder and faster, to fill you up so you never feel empty again. He obliges until you’re screaming his name, and he pumps himself into you until your walls milk his cock and he has nothing more to give.

When you’re both finally satisfied and you’ve gotten what you were desperate for - his cum trickling out of your hole and down your thighs, your skin damp with sweat and sweet with the scent of his musk - you limp out of the closet on trembling legs. He wraps his arm around your waist to keep you steady.

“We’ve already missed half of our next class,” he says quietly while he nuzzles your temple. “Should we go clean up?”

As much as you both enjoy the messy afterglow, he knows you’re not comfortable being seen like this in front of the others - and he’s not keen on letting the demons or angels see you this way, either.

“A shower would be nice,” you admit. But then you bite your lip and glance at him with renewed interest. “And I wouldn’t mind some company.”

#series: insatiable #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #solomon x reader #solomon smut #obey me solomon x mc #solomon x mc #obey me solomon x you #solomon x you #obey me smut #omswd smut #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #afab!reader

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hauntingrabbits · 19 days

Text

Batman my little pony AU. Part 2 here

More info on these under the cut!

1. Sundown Mane/Batpony (Bruce Wayne)

His backstory & general situation is pretty much identical to every other batman out there so I wont get into it.

Other notes:

-His cutie mark is a masquerade mask that I tried to make vaguely bat-shaped. The general public sees his Cutie Mark through the lense of his reputation, and he leans into it heavily to obscure the truth. In interviews, he presents it as being tied to hosting galas (it’s the reason he started hosting those huge masquerade balls in the first place) and/or his fashionable looks, but in truth it’s far more representative of his stealth and disguise capabilities, as well as his masked night time hobbies as a whole.

-He’s not an actual bat-pony in any way, the bat wing appearance is just the costume (intentionally designed that way for intimidation, battle, and obscuring his identity further). Though most citizens assume he’s a true bat-pony, other rumors range from him being a vampire, to an Earth pony with false tech-based wings, to a magically disguised alicorn, to a spirit of the night.

-If Batman were actually to be a pony I think he’d 100% be an earth pony, because his big thing is relying on skill and tech rather than power and he has the whole “normal guy amongst gods” thing going on. HOWEVER. There are actual bat ponies in this show. How am I not supposed to utilize that somehow for the guy whose name is BATMAN? Also with Sundown I think being a Pegasus just fits the playboy personality front he puts up. I don’t know why, its just vibes.

-I think he just doesn’t fly much while patrolling as batpony, instead using his wings for extra jump or for intimidation and cover like with his cape. They’re probably steel-tipped or something too. He doesn’t rely on flight for advantage and trains entirely grounded because he doesn’t want to be dependent on flight and find himself lost if his wings are ever incapacitated.

2. Apollo Honeyscales/Two-Face (Harvey Dent)

Fascinated by the Equestrian legal system and craving a more organized society than what was offered by his generally disorderly and solitary fellow Chimeras, Apollo moved to Gotham to pursue higher education. Unfortunately, ponies are often intimidated by, if not downright terrified of Chimeras, so though Chimera cultures usually give each head equal social weight and three individual names, Apollo quickly adapted to instead try to present himself as pony-like as possible. He used a singular name and pronoun for his whole body, presented the less intimidating, herbivorous-looking goat as his “main” head, and eventually even took to having a faux Cutie Mark applied for media and court appearances. Prior to the attack, the lion and the snake head were never seen talking in public, and even in private the only ponies to have heard them speak were his close friends Sundown Mane and Glider Gold.

After being attacked with acid in court, Scales succumbed to injury and had to be amputated, while Honeybite was left alive but severely scarred. With this event, Apollo’s and Honeybite’s already fragile mental states from years of pony society othering them, the weight of their job, and personal repression finally snapped in their grief and anger, leading Honeybite to fully take the reins and create the criminal persona of Two-Face. Attempts from both Sundown and Glider and to reach out since have been unsuccessful.

Other Notes:

-According to the wiki only one chimera shows up in the whole show so. I made stuff up. -Chimeras typically being solitary is based on the fact we only ever see one in the show. This solitary nature would make it hard for them to have a widespread legal system at all, let alone to enforce it; thus Apollo’s original fascination with the foreign pony legal system. The Chimera in the show also has individual names for each head, each with a slightly different style (the goat following pony name conventions with the name Pumpkin Cake, the tiger following a slightly more violent version of pony name conventions with the name Sweetkill, and the Snake bluntly just being named Snakey). I tried to follow similar conventions for Apollo. I was most happy with the name Scales, because it followed the blunt snake naming convention while also sort of doubling as a scales of justice reference. Apollo is just a reference to Harvey’s nickname in some of the comics, and Honeybite is just for fun.

-His perfectly split coat is unique even among other chimeras, and as Apollo he was generally considered attractive and “exotic” by Equestrian media outlets.

-The temporary Cutie Mark application was done professionally. (Surely ponies have perfected this art, right? Like this has to be something pony society does and has services for, right? Ponies covering up embarrassing Cutie Marks, blank flanks covering up an embarrassing lack of a Curie Mark, Ponies getting Cutie Marks done for costumes, theater, movies, etc… you get it.) Apollo’s choice of a faux Cutie Mark is meant to serve as both a way of further integrating himself into pony society and a proclamation of his legal skills.

-Apollo was a genuinely great lawyer. Ponies on defense were often so preoccupied at the terror of having a lion and a snake silently stare them down that they wouldn’t realize it was actually the goat they should’ve really been afraid of until their entire case had already been ruthlessly torn to shreds.

3. Glider Gold (Gilda Gold)

Even prior to their relationship and subsequent engagement, Glider had long been Apollo’s closest friend and confidant. She saw the way his job and keeping up his image was tearing him apart long before the acid attack, and she deeply regrets not trying harder to get him the help he needed before it was too late. Multiple news outlets have been trying to get an interview with her and their efforts only increase every time Two-Face shows up in the news (despite Sundown’s efforts to dissuade them). She hasn’t been the same since the attack and Apollo’s disappearance, losing interest in her work and finding her friendship with Sundown heavily strained as they both feel the weight of Apollo’s absence.

Other notes:

-I wasn’t even going to draw Gilda originally because she’s such a minor character in Batman stuff but as I was writing out Apollo’s background she nudged her way back in. I like her too much.

-This version is based on her very first iteration where she was a sculptor. Her green coat is a reference to that version’s accompanying Two-Face (also his first iteration), who had green scarring.

- The choice for her to be a pegasus was mainly just to go with her silly name, but I do think being a pegasus would be beneficial to a sculptor. No ladder required to work on high details just fly up there.

-I am not immune to the bruce/harvey/gilda agenda

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starclast · 10 months

Text

Some little *Obscure Truth* pics 😄

#scooby doo fanart #scooby doo #shaggy rogers #shaggy x velma #velma dinkley #shelma #traditional drawing #scooby doo au #obscure truth au #love hate relationship #different personalities

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dareduffie · 2 months

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arthureames university au.

they live in dorms. they are roommates. arthur wants to graduate summa cum laude. eames wants to have sex with his roommate. these are both very difficult goals to achieve.

eames is majoring in anthropology and minoring in sociology

all of his electives are languages

arthur is majoring in something awful like finance or business

or perhaps Computer Information Systems which is apparently something that exists

arthur assumes eames is a slacker because he's always lounging around their dorm but eames has a 4.0 gpa

eames assumes lots of things about arthur every single day and he tells arthur about each and every one of them

which is annoying not only because it's hard to study with eames yapping in his ear but also because eames is always correct

eames makes it a personal goal to sleep with arthur before arthur graduates (he is set to graduate two years early)

arthur of course decides to kiss eames the moment his commencement ceremony is over

but really. the guy was taking like 8 courses a semester. how was he supposed to have a sex life in those conditions

arthur liked eames from day 1 but he actively chose not to because if he started sleeping with his roommate he would never get anything done

eames meanwhile flirts with arthur for an entire semester before realizing he genuinely has a crush on the guy

shortly after moving in with each other, eames makes some off-hand reference to some obscure art movement, effortlessly and correctly relating it to a book he read recently

arthur nearly breaks his pencil from the strain of not walking over, sitting on eames' lap, and tearing his clothes off

eames thinks arthur hates him but the truth is that arthur is shoving his feelings down so hard that the man is vibrating on a constant basis

#to think this au started with me just thinking This Arthur With This Eames #i spiralled #more oblivious eames in fics please #inception #arthur and eames #arthureames #arthur/eames #eathur #dream husbands #arthur #eames

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heartcereql · 13 days

Text

playing dangerous

dodge mason x fem!reader [triwizard tournament au ]

cw: minor cursing, sappiest shi ever lmao

ever since his name was sprouted out of the glowing cup, you hadn't left dodge's side. you were there, by him, as soon as the task ended; helping him prepare; carding your fingers through his hair when he couldn't sleep.

which is why he was panicking now. he had to be by hogwart's lake in an hour, and you were nowhere to be seen. dodge hadn't seen you in all morning, which made anxiety gnaw at his insides.

you were nowhere to be seen. heather, natalie and your other friends were as clueless as him. dodge had asked them. multiple times.

it was bishop who came looking for him, finding him on the point of pulling his hair out.

"hey, man. you should get going. everyone's almost there and-"

"no. i can't," dodge interrupted bishop. "not until i find her."

just where the fuck were you? he just needed you there, by his side, like you always were. 'his lucky charm', he'd joked once. dodge was starting to believe there was more truth in his words than he'd thought.

"i'm sure she's on her way there, if not already waiting for you," bishop reassured, in an attempt to calm dodge.

he ran his fingers through his hair one last time, almost wishing they were yours, before nodding. "yeah, yeah, you're probably right.."

dodge didn't look the least bit convinced, but before he could rethink anything, bishop held him by his arm, starting the walk to the lake.

"look, y/n cares a lot about you," bishop sighed. dodge intimidated him, but he was able to swallow it. he was dragging him after all. "and she knows how much it means to you that she's there. i'm sure she'll be there."

dodge only nodded, absentmindedly. you probably had a good reason why he hadn't seen you all morning. and you'd most certainly be there, cheering for him and taking him in your arms as soon as he was done.

in spite of his best efforts to stay calm and concentrate on his bubble-head charm, once in the platform, dodge's eyes kept looking for you. a passing face, or a familiar tone of hair, but it wasn't you.

he was barely paying any attention, and it was only seconds before the magical sign that heather nudged his side.

and then dodge dove in.

the water was chilly enough to make goosebumps appear all over his figure. for an instant, all he saw, and felt, and processed, was a big mass of greenish blue liquid. quiet, fresh, almost consuming.

then, fortunate but disgustingly, he felt something touch his foot, which brought him back to reality. dodge casted the bubble-head charm. his mouth and nostrils became engulfed by a globule of air. he set motion, not wasting any other second. he swam deeper, the lights becoming dimmer as he did, turning the lake into a shadowy labyrinth of thick, swaying kelp forests.

if he wasn't so occupied trying to find the merepeople, dodge would have taken his time to curiously investigate the lake's depths. but the urgency was itching him.

the tall plants obscured his vision, making it difficult to see a few feet ahead. he pushed through, mind focused on emerging back and finding your arms again.

fuck.

a sharp, sudden prick around his ankle made him dart his eyes down. shallow eyes met his own. the grindylow's green and sinewy body lurked around his foot, a claw already clinging from it. the creature hissed at dodge, flowing its tentacles around, but dodge managed to kick it strong enough to detach it from him, and stunning him with a spell muttered under his breath. he clutched his wand tighter before he carried on.

at last, the kelp seemed to dissolve, spacing out a clearer area, where coral and stone structures resembling ancient ruins could be seen. merpeople village.

the constructions captivated him for a moment. if he paid enough attention and stood very still, he could discern glimpses of slim, grey bodies and sharp, prying eyes that studied him closely. merpeople.

dodge looked around. there was no sign of any other champion. he swam carefully, attentive not to provoke the water creatures that lived beneath him. he slowly set aside a kelp that obstructed his way, and then, just like that, his whole world stopped. before it came back to him in a heartbeat.

you.

tied to a stone pillar, you swayed ever so lightly along with the water. your gaze was serene, like you were having the most peaceful sleep. besides you were another girl that must have been your age, and a blond boy who couldn't have been older than 12 and looked an awful lot like the durmstrang champion. they also wore utterly calm expressions.

something dear.

that was what the fucking clue meant. that was why there has been no sign of you all morning.

a hundred thoughts passed dodge’s mind in a fraction of a second. how had you gotten there? were you hurt? were you alive? but he pulled himself out of the spiral of worry when he noticed movement behind him. the durmstrang champion swam his way with unbeatable determination.

clenching his jaw, he resumed his way to you. treading water fiercely, he managed to sink down to the stone pillar that held you still. dodge tried to untie the knot, but the rope was slippery in his hands. he cursed beneath his breath, desperately scratching, clinging, clutching.

the durmstrang champion was almost by his side. dodge could not lose any other second. you needed him. pulling his wand from where it was tucked in the waistband of his swimsuit. he muttered a spell that snapped the rope. he was quick to get ahold of you, pulling you close to him.

swimming to the platforms as fast as he could, his touch remained gentle on you. his fingers found your pulse, head leaned against your chest, trying, hoping, to hear or feel any sign of life. of you.

thud-thud. thud-thud. thud-thud.

the mere beating of your heart was enough to dissipate all his fear. even more, it encouraged dodge to dive faster, the platforms now a few feet away. dodge could feel the bubble-head charm dissolving. just in time.

with one last tread, he pushed you both to the surface.

the cool air hit his wet skin as he emerged from the water. cheers erupted all over the platforms; clapping and whistling, along with some victory music from the band and someone announcing ‘dodge mason, hogwarts champion’ as ‘the winner of the second task, and therefore the leading champion!’

but despite the noises and cheering, dodge had only eyes and mind for you. he watched you resurface, gasping for air like it was the first time you breathed. you were completely clueless, astounded. but then your eyes met his. and you could’ve sworn you could have cried just from seeing the tears forming in dodge’s eyes as he looked at you, gaze still painted with worry, but mostly relief and joy.

you didn’t care that you were still in the water, or that you were shivering, or that you wouldn’t be able to stay afloat if you clung to him. dodge didn’t care either. you wrapped your arms around his neck as he embraced you while trying not to sink. you fit perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle.

dodge nuzzled closer. you were okay. you were okay, and you were there, and you were with him. and that was all that mattered.

“alright, you two lovebirds, time to get out,” alastor moody’s voice pulled you out of the hug.

now a flustered mess, the both of you gladly took the hands that reached out, pulling you out of the lake. your skin didn’t precisely welcome the chilly temperature of the foggy morning. as soon as you each got a blanket around you, you rejoined again; dodge’s arm around your shoulder, your head on his chest.

“are you okay?” he constantly mumbled, tucking strands of damp hair behind your ears.

“i’m fine now,” you smiled, lips trembling as you stood on your tip toes to peck his lips, hand moving to cup his face.

dodge didn’t let you go all day, which you were more than happy to oblige. hand in hand, arm draped around your shoulder or slinging around your waist, you clinging to his bicep. never leaving the other’s side. which was exactly what you both needed.

and this time, once you’d snuck into his dorm, it was his fingers that gently massaged your scalp, helping you rest at ease.

#dodge mason x reader #dodge mason #dodge mason x you #mike faist x reader #panic #dodge mason panic #heartcereql

112 notes · View notes

stellar-constellations · 4 months

Note

Uppermoon trio + Muzan x female reader watching a horror movie headcanons? ;)

Muzan + Upper Moon Trio (separately) x Fem! Reader Watching Horror Movies

Modern AU (they're still demons and reader is a female human!)

Muzan:

It's hard finding a movie for Muzan to genuinely watch. He's so nitpicky about them. What's the point of watching fake gore if he can just go outside, kill someone, and create his own horror movie?

Muzan glares at the screen if the gore is inaccurate or there's too much blood (or too little). Why lie? Where's the real stuff?

Muzan probably likes torture gore movies but still wants plot.

Muzan likes Silent Hill (2006), the Saw series, Silence of the lambs (1991), Truth or Dare (2018). He likes all the gore and the plot makes up for the inaccuracy of the gore (he likes Truth or Dare simply because the idea of controlling human's minds and bodies are amusing to him)

It's hard to make Muzan sit down and watch a movie with you since he'd rather do other things instead such as work, but once in a blue moon you can convince him.

Muzan rarely ever cuddles you when watching movies, but if he notices you're scared, he'd pull you close by your waist so you're hugging his side. He acts like it isn't a big deal, but it obviously is considering Muzan's dislike for humans and their weakness. He doesn't bother trying to tease you about your fear, you're already scared and you both know this, and scary movies are supposed to ignite that sort of fear (he also might be engrossed in the movie you put on, but he'll never let you know that satisfaction).

Douma:

Douma loves gory movies.

Douma talks to the TV like it can hear him. Will tell the characters to calmly run, makes remarks about them being too slow or how the killer is catching up (he might be fantasizing about being the one chasing them).

Douma laughs at every joke in the script like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. He even laughs when background characters laugh (that's how you know he's a fake one).

Douma likes obscure movies such as the Circle (2015), Last Shift (2014), the Final Destinations, and Wolf Creek (2005). Probably likes Human Centipede (2009) and laughs at the grossest scenes.

Douma forces you to keep your eyes open, like physically holds them open.

Douma laughs at your fear, he finds amusement in it. It's real genuine fear compared to the fake acting on TV.

Douma will only comfort you if you cry or if you walk out on the movie to get away from him. He'll apologize profusely (mainly because he doesn't want to sleep alone on the couch).

Kokushibo:

Kokushibo doesn't care much for them. He prefers thrillers or mysteries instead.

Kokukshibo is genuinely a little bit freaked out of Scream (1996) because of the guessing who is the killer element, along with the technology of phones (he's traditional, refuses to use anything except letters or email). It was a fight to get him to use router phones.

Kokushibo likes storytelling movies, or movies with multiple protagonists, or movies where you guess the killer.

Kokushibo likes movies such as Trick ‘R Treat (2007), the Tales from the Crypt series (1989), Stephen King's 1922 (from 2017), Psycho (1960). Nothing too graphic. Gore does not equal horror in his book. He watched M3gan (2022) and was uncomfortable of the advanced technology.

Kokushibo will reassure you if you're scared. He'll tell you that the movie is fake and will turn the movie off if that's what you want, he'd rather read or do something else instead. If you want to continue watching the movie, he'll give you a blanket so you can hide your face when you get scared, or hide it in his chest, he doesn't mind that either. He finds it comforting that you turn to him when you're scared.

Akaza:

Akaza is someone who yells at the TV. He'll be one to yell "Run lady run!" whenever the victim trips. Akaza understands final girls cannot punch a hole through their stomaches like how he can, so he just screams at them.

Akaza loves watching movies involving final girls such as the classic 80's and 90's movies with the most final girls. He likes seeing the women kick evil men's asses because the killer had the audacity to prey on someone they believed were weak.

Akaza likes the first Halloween (1978). He walks you home so you don't get stalked like Laurie Strode did. He also likes the Nightmare on Elm Street series (and watches you when you sleep to make sure Freddy Krueger isn't getting you). He likes Joy Ride 1 (2001) and Joy Ride 2 (2008) [though, he likes the second one way better], and Unfriended: Dark Web (2017). Unfriended made him genuinely uncomfortable because of the invisible paranormal force killing the victims off. How can you fight if you can't see it?

Akaza notices the second you show discomfort or fear, he asks if you want to have the movie turned off. If you don't, he'll put his arm around your shoulder and pull you close to him. He likes when you hide your face in his shoulder or chest, he likes that you turn to him to protect you (because he obviously will).

I apologize sincerely for the huge delay! I had little time to write due to work so the only time I had to write was when I was supposed to be sleeping or relaxing, but I finally got this done! Better late than never!

Want more Muzan content? Check out the Muzan masterlist!

Want more Kokushibo content? Check out the Kokushibo masterlist!

Want more Douma content? Check out the Douma

masterlist!

Want more Akaza content? Check out the Akaza masterlist!

At the moment my requests are temporarily closed, I'm working on other requests (that are months old...), but once I finally clear those up, I'll be accepting more requests!

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princessleechan · 4 months

Text

“Choi Seungcheol must die” Chapter 37 + Written Chapter

Masterlist

📌chapter tags: SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, written chapter (3.9K w.c), THE TRUTH FINALLY COMES OUT, some more closure and lots of it, some revenge that doesn’t have to do with seungcheol, tenderness, kissing, and who knows???????

taglist: @silvsie @christinewithluv @stayinhellevator @aiforyuu @2youngsworld @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @asyre @simpxxstan @anzellll @hipsdofangirl @plskillme22 @lirtha97 @lixiel0ver @notevenheretbh1 @leah-rose03 @woozarts @expensive-idiot @doveblackboat @the-boy-meets-evil @tamakis-bbyy @freshdetectivenight @mrsdacherry @smilechannie @alltheshineofthestars-blog @ocyeanicc @horanghaezone @wonuqrtz @leewonkyeom @horangboosadan @kkooongie @myghobi @wonunuwoo @wonwootakemyheart @shuasunshine @dinonuguaegi @ckline35 @miriamxsworld @itsokaytobedumb00 @seokgyuu @nishloves @bmkgemz @conwunder @kawaiimusiccollection @humankimbap @ashes23 @writingbarnes @strawberryya

Nestled at a table in the café where you once plied your trade, you relish a refreshing vanilla cold brew, your contemplative thoughts weaving a delicate tapestry as you anticipate his arrival. Your fingers trace patterns on the table, and a deep exhale signals your nervous anticipation.

The entrance chimes echo through the space as he enters, concealed beneath a dark hoodie. A subtle smile plays on his lips as he allows the door to close behind him. You offer a wave, inviting him to join you.

His steps, obscured beneath the loose ends of his dark hoodie, carried him to the table. "Good to see you didn't back out, Seungcheol," you greet, observing a hint of vulnerability in his lowered gaze.

The hood is removed, revealing his face, complexion tired but still unbearably attractive as always—if not more with the rugged 5 o’clock shadow kicking in. "You want to talk; let's talk," he responds, a mixture of determination and uncertainty in his tone, taking a seat.

You push his pre-ordered drink towards him, the Cherry Chocolate Chip Frappuccino. Tapping against the plastic cap, you remark, "Your usual, right?" He accepts it with shaky hands, the tip of the straw meeting his lips as he consumes the drink. A small sigh escapes him, and you can see relief washing over him, as if the concoction holds the solace he needs for the day.

"Fuck, I haven’t had one of these in a while."

Your fingers tap rhythmically against the worn wooden surface of the table, creating a subtle percussion that echoes your internal restlessness as you look expectantly in his direction. The soft hum of conversations around the café becomes a distant backdrop to the tension building between you.

Seungcheol sighs, a heavy exhalation that seems to carry the weight of unspoken emotions. He sets his drink aside, the condensation forming a small pool beneath it, out of view. His gaze fixates on you, and there's a subtle darkness in his eyes, a shadow that lingers, hinting at a mix of disappointment and distaste that you could only discern through the piercing intensity of his stare. The unspoken words seem to hang in the air, adding an extra layer of complexity to the already charged atmosphere.

"You moved on really quickly," he finally utters, the words landing with a weight that hints at a sea of emotions beneath the surface. The air thickens as the unspoken history between you both comes to the forefront, and the café's ambiance seems to fade, giving space to the brewing confrontation.

Softly scoffing, you take a sip. "As far as you know, I did."

"You made me look like an idiot.”

You nod, a subtle smile on your face and a glint of mischief in your eyes. "That I did."

"Sounds like it was on purpose? Was it?" he questions, leaning in slightly.

"Yes. That’s what I fully intended," you reply with unwavering confidence, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Why? What did I do to you?"

"It didn’t matter what you did to me," you assert, a spark of defiance in your eyes. Leaning forward, you continue, "It’s what you’ve done to probably hundreds of girls on campus and off. You treated them like they were disposable. You made them feel like shit."

As your words spill forth, your fingers assertively drum a rhythmic beat on the table, accentuating the gravity of your confession. The air between you crackles with tension, a deafening silence that reverberates through the intimate space, subtly underscored by the muted notes of the mood music playing in the background.

He eases into the weight of your words, a subtle surrender reflected in the tightening of his grip. Each word you've uttered sinking into the space between you two and festering in to his flustered heat. Finally, his physical response becomes a silent acknowledgment, expelling a light sigh.

"So I was made to make you feel like shit,” you conclude. “Looks like it worked."

He nods briefly, his demeanor now carrying a hint of despondency. "So. You banded with a bunch of heartbroken girls to humiliate me?"

"No, but I did band up with some of their brothers and friends." You lean in, your expression carrying a mix of resolve and an edge of warning. "You're lucky you ended up this way; they wanted to beat the shit out of you."

"Fair enough…" He leans back, a subtle admission of defeat. "What were you supposed to get out of this?"

"...Not the point. What matters is that you got a taste of your own medicine."

"Okay, let me know this. At any point, did you ever have feelings for me? Even for a second?"

You chuckle, a cynical smile playing on your lips. "Maybe a second...then I came to my senses." The air thickens with the weight of unspoken emotions as you hold his gaze, a silent challenge in your eyes.

The corners of his mouth curl into a smile, carrying a hint of pride. "I knew I still had it in me."

You roll your eyes, a dismissive gesture, as you were crossing your arms. "For the briefest second, until I learned about Haru."

Seungcheol's eyebrows furrow as he leans forward, a quizzical expression on his face. "You knew about Haru?"

"You broke her heart, gave her false hope just to get her in bed again, all while trying to get with me."

"Wait, while pursuing you? My eyes were only on you the entire time we've known each other.”

The look in your eyes shifts, a subtle skepticism emerging, as you tighten your arm cross. "Sure. And I should believe that why?"

He scoffs proudly and retrieves his phone, fingers tapping on the screen to bring up undeniable proof. The dates of his last contact with Haru unfold before you, and a puzzled expression crosses your face realizing the validity of his words. The timeline presented predates the commencement of this scheme, each dating back to a time before you’ve ever came across one another, solidifying his case.

You scoff, leaning back into your chair. "Alright, I'll give you that, but it doesn't erase what you did. Not just to Haru."

"Okay, so I'm a piece of shit that doesn't deserve happiness, is that it?"

A wry smile plays on your lips. "You said it, not me."

He slouches in his seat, tucking his phone back in his pocket, while a weariness settling into his posture. Bringing a hand over his eyes, he shields them from the harsh café lighting. "Okay, I can accept a loss," he concedes, the words laced with a touch of vulnerability.

He asserts his attention back to you, determination oozing out of his eyes. "It won't change the fact that I developed feelings for you. That I've liked you since the first time I met you," he admits, speaking, with almost with what almost sounds like a lump in his throat, "or the fact that you had this chokehold on me.”

The admission hangs in the air, a raw and unguarded glimpse into his subconscious and pity seeps out of you. It takes you a few moments to realize behind this overly confident man is a person filled with hope, simply blinded with the luxury of option, now taking it upon himself to take upon his own hands—not the offers of the world—to forge his own path, using sheer audacity.

“Oh, Seungcheol…that wasn’t me,” you say blatantly. “That girl didn’t exist. She was a fake with the only purpose to fool you. I wasn't anybody before this. Just any average college student,” you shrug. “Sorry to break it to you but you fell for a facade. It’s time to let that go and get a move on with your life.”

"But she did exist,” he insists, disbelieving your dismissal, “that girl was you. Everything you told me to make me fall for you all came from your mouth, your attitude, your cadence. It was all you. If that wasn't you, it was a version of you.”

“Because I played a part. I was seducing you to hurt you,” you emphasize.

“And it worked! You could get anyone you want if you tried. That's what's similar about us.”

His words take you by surprise, settling in your system like a big pill, hard to swallow.

“But,” he adds noticing your disgusted expression, “I guess instead of being someone like me, use the influence on the person you really want. I may be just some big dumb jock to you, but I can’t deny my feelings no matter how hurt I felt. I was only hurt like that because it came from you, someone I wanted to earn respect from. So, if you can help it, make it possible with whoever it is you have in mind.”

For the first time, a nuanced vulnerability graces his demeanor, and your defenses yield to this subtle unveiling of humanity beneath his big ego. Your gaze, now keenly observant, reflects a tempered curiosity as you pose the question, "Why aren’t you like this with anyone else?”

He smiles warmly, cheesingly tucking his bed hair behind his ears. "Because I haven't felt for anyone else the way I felt for you...or maybe I'm saying all this because that's how badly I want—"

"Shut up." you rudely interrupt with an underlying chuckle. “I already know what you’re about to do. Nice try.”

He lets out a hearty laugh, undeterred. "Fine. At least I got my closure. Just…do what’s right for you, even if it's my brother."

"Your brother?"

"You know. Chan."

"Hey! I didn't know you were coming."

"Chan, you dick!" The words burst out, and you toss your tote bag in his direction. He catches it effortlessly, eyes as big as saucers, startled like a deer in headlights. "Woah, what did I do?"

"Um, I don't know," you say, exaggeratedly shrugging, a touch of sarcasm in your tone, "maybe keep something as big as 'YOU'RE SEUNGCHEOL'S BROTHER' a secret?"

Chan blinks, a flicker of realization crossing his face. "You found out. Well, shit."

"Well, Chan, you owe me an explanation." Crossing your arms, you tap your feet impatiently.

Chan lets the door shut behind him, his approach measured and expression unamused. He prepares himself for the rehearsed spiel, his narrative he's recited too many times to count whenever someone does happen to find out the so-called thing that should be trivial. "We're half-brothers. It all started when his mom married my dad. It was after a messy divorce, but being too young to understand things, Seungcheol followed his mom everywhere, and then I was born—"

"Skip to the present,” you said waving your hands before he could finish his tangent. “Please. How could you not tell me that he was your brother–did they all know? Was I—"

"No. No one knows," Chan's eyes dim as he walks away, claiming a spot on the couch, "except Haru, now you." The revelation hangs in the air, casting a somber tone over the room.

You follow suit, occupying the space beside him. Your eyes lock onto his, a subtle hint of betrayal in your gaze. "But you kept it from everyone. Even me?"

"Especially you." He meets your gaze, responding before glancing away briefly. His fingers fidget with a loose thread on hisshirt, a physical manifestation of the internal turmoil. "It's like throwing fire on fire."

"Fuel to the fire."

"Not the point."

"But so utterly wrong." You inject a hint of wry humor into the words, a subtle acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation. The room, previously heavy with tension, lightens momentarily in your comedic timing.

"No one needed to know. I liked it that way. I wouldn’t have to follow under my big brother's shadow all the time—the athlete, the scholarship guy, the golden child. We were already plotting our revenge against him. I wanted to get back at him just as much as you guys. I didn't need you all walking on eggshells around me just because we're related."

You plant a palm against your chest. "I wouldn't have. I would've wanted to understand you. And the girlfriend, that's supposed to be Haru, isn't it?"

He laughs bitterly, wallowing in self pity. "One of the few things many people were wrong about. I get it, though. I pretty much followed her everywhere like a puppy. Easy to misunderstand."

"…And you still like her?"

He grins. "Liked, yeah. It broke my heart when I found out they got together, but she seemed happy. I only ever wanted to make her happy, and if that meant my brother, then okay. At least I'd still get to see her…When she found out about the cheating, she distanced herself, and it was harder to see her.” He speaks solemnly, reliving the memories as if they were yesterday. “Even if we look nothing alike, I'm sure I reminded her of him."

A pause hangs in the air, and you seize the moment to gather your thoughts. "You are so much more than your brother," you assert, your gaze unwavering and resolute.

"I know that now," he says, his fingers intertwining with yours, caressing over your knuckles. The touch is gentle, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort in your presence. "You helped with that. And I couldn't be more grateful."

You laid your other hand over his. "I'm glad you're better. Genuinely."

His eyes trace over your face, gently admiring your features, particularly your sincere smile that never fails to flatter you. A sense of happiness washes over him as he realizes how fortunate he is to have met someone like you. "I know you are.”

Pulling you into a warm embrace—the kind that conveys unspoken sentiments/-your hair nuzzles against his warm cheeks. "Which is why you deserve the best right now. Especially with what you're about to have on your plate."

Your brow furrows, not taking away from your return of the gesture. "What is that supposed to mean?"

“Nothing.” He chuckles, the rich sound resonating against your ear like a subtle melody. He pulls away form the embrace to direct you to the door, but not without your resistance against the tiles. “God, go before I can't take it anymore. Leave before I kiss you, please."

"Haha. Very funny. You haven't kissed me in what–a week? You think you’ll—"

Before you can finish, he interrupts your words with a spoken promise and you succumb, melting on the spot. Moving against you like fresh water down a stream, his hand cradles your cheek, teeth grazing the bottom of your lip. It's a moment reminiscent of everything you've experienced together for the first time yet distinctly different, a silent acknowledgment that this would be the last time he’s be able to kiss you like this. Warmth, care, a profound sense of gratitude—layers upon layers melded into the union of your lips, forming a rich mosaic of emotions that only the two of you could truly comprehend in this singular moment.

Finally, he releases you, gently guiding you towards the exit. Leaning against the door frame, his eyes sweep over you, a sly grin playing on his lips. He teasingly sinks his teeth into the cushion of his kiss-swollen lips. "Yeah, I do. Now go."

Rolling your eyes, the playful banter still dances in the air, leaving you slightly light-headed from the lingering effects of the earlier liplock. "Fine. I'll see you next week."

He nods, finally letting you go.

The door closes with a soft click, its resonance fading into the room, leaving behind an atmosphere charged with a delicate blend of ease and contentment. As it seals shut, Chan discerns your gentle withdrawal, the remnants of the tender moment clinging to him like a poignant tableau preserved within the confines of a closed locket, a crystalline portrayal of shared emotions eternally sealed in the cavities of his memory.

"This is good, Chan," he murmurs to himself in reassurance. The room, now a haven of quiet contemplation, bears the lingerance of your history of your warm–and at times scorching–alliance, each detail etched into the fabric of furniture or plastered against these thin walls. “We did the right thing.”

Chan's declaration gains further clarity as you peruse your unread messages, deciphering the unspoken messages buried between the lines of the texts from the remnants of your former scheming team. Uncertain of how to navigate through their words, you can't help but notice the eerily close timing of their delivery, how impeccable they were.

Despite the initial confusion, you manage to piece it together, promptly responding to each message before making your way home.

As the appointed meeting time looms nearer, you meticulously dress, each step carrying a weighted sense, your nerves palpable in the charged atmosphere. The ticking of the clock becomes an almost rhythmic backdrop, a constant reminder of the impending event. Repeatedly checking the time transforms into a subconscious coping mechanism, each glance at the clock inching you forward in anticipation of the approaching footsteps that will soon reach the door, setting the stage for your path to the designated seat. Each second feels like an eternity, the quiet room amplifying the subtle sounds of your anticipation.

Finally, the door swings open, the subtle creaking sound echoing in the room as it reveals a solitary pair of approaching steps before came another, their distinct resonance filling the space. Seokmin and Mingyu exchange glances filled with a mix of confusion and bewilderment, their expressions mirroring the unspoken curiosity lingering in the air. Their gazes then gravitate toward you, and in that brief moment, the weight of anticipation is clear as crystal. Without hesitation, both Seokmin and Mingyu swiftly traverse the distance to your side, their movements synchronized like a carefully choreographed dance. The atmosphere thickens with the unspoken tension and anticipation, creating a moment suspended in time.

"Y/n?" Seokmin begins, a questioning note in his voice. "What's going on?"

"Yeah. I thought it'd just be the two of us," Mingyu interjects, "Like we planned?"

"Okay," you declare, clapping your hands together. "Clearly, something is going on that both of you are feuding over, and I'm here to settle it in person, right in front of both of you."

Seokmin awkwardly smiles. "Are we that obvious?"

"I'm sure she figured it out when you decided to go P-E-to the-T-T-Y on me."

"Do not use a catchy song to attack me."

"Shush," you interrupt them with a stern gesture, like a kindergarten teacher silencing unruly children. Your gaze pierces through the air, demanding attention. "Okay, fess up. Why are you both attempting to bribe me with these elaborate outings? What do you both want?"

Mingyu blinks. "Uh, Y/n?"

"Mingyu, don't act all confused," you assert, "I will not be caught in the middle again. This time I will mediate. Literally, what's up? What are you guys even trying—"

"Y/n," Seokmin intervenes cautiously, closing the distance between you. "We like you. We both have feelings for you."

"…what?”

They both chuckle, savoring the utter shock on your face. Mingyu nods, a subtle agreement in his eyes. "That's why we both called you out, to talk this out with you to see if you felt the same for either one of us."

"…So, you're telling me you want to send me into cardiac arrest?"

They both are taken aback, displaying grand gestures of defense. "No, no," Seokmin assures, his voice calming. "Take your time; we can wait. I'm sure this is a lot."

"We just thought to lay it out there, thought it was better than keeping it from you."

You suck in your breath. "You guys know this timing is insane, right?"

"We noticed," they answer simultaneously, guilt washing over them.

"But I can just give my answer right? Like right now?"

They're both pleasantly surprised and equally concerned by your response, observing how swiftly you adapt to the dual professions of interest. "I mean if you want—"

"—But there's no pressure."

You rapidly blink, assimilating into the unexpected situation thrust upon you. "Oh, but I do. So, uh. I guess—"

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drunken-ender-art · 1 month

Text

"When the Red Moon hangs lows"

The Blood Coven will stop at nothing to achieve their unspeakable goal... what's a cursed life for infinite knowledge, after all?

"The line between witch and beast is blurred."

The Titans consciousness ascend after they die, while their bodies serve as nourishment for the world. Should the cicle be broken by any means, would incur in the boundless rage of the Titan.

"And when the Great Ones descend..."

The Archivists, are one of the many inhabitants of the Cosmos.

Formless creatures of unfathomable nature... the proof that the Eldritch Truth and the Arcane are truely something to be pursued... question is... would one pay the price?

"...a womb will be blessed with Child."

The Child of the Star seeks the blood too... his promised companion, once stolen and now obscured by all sight, even from those with eyes on the inside...

"Drip drop, plin plon"

The Secret Runes of the Blood Coven.

While Glyphs do exist, rapresenting the physical elements of the world, these Runes are the words manifested of eldritch knowledge passed on from the Great Ones, transcribed by the skilled witches of the Bard Coven... for the most part.

"Hunt"

Lenghty (and pretty meaty if I say so myself...) post, rolling harder than ever the Owlborne AU, this time with a dive into the darker and most disturbing aspect of Bloodborne: the Great Ones.

Or rather... what humanity did in order to come closer to them...

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blissfulip · 2 months

Text

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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III.

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him?

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him.

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who…what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear.

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s.

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory.

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them.

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?”

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention?

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen.

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature.

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile.

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms.

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony.

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch.

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing.

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back.

For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

#viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #arcane viktor #legion

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vasito-de-leche · 1 month

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I was wondering... I've been reading the self-aware au and I wonder if Manus Vindictae is also aware of the player— How does Forget Me Not even react to the concept of the player too if he's ever self-aware of it? A human who calls the shots on the story progressing (clearing levels) and also the one who beats his ass in battle (i had to insight 2 level 20 my arcanists to beat him under 10 turns in hard mode)

Can he hear the player? Can he see them? (I tend to gush over him whenever he speaks, I repeat the scenes he's in 😭 i miss him sm in the story) sorry for all these questions!!! Im so curious of self-aware aus and how they work and yours particularly was REALLY good

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - Self Aware AU

Headcanons about Forget Me Not within the Self Aware AU.

this is a very good opportunity to think about non-playable characters within the game, actually! ty for the ask o7

there was someone who commented on one of my self-aware posts saying it was kind of like analog horror and I agree lolol

I vaguely remember mentioning that the requirements needed in order to be aware of the Player's existence were to either reach a 100% bond and/or to be exposed to Vertin's constant presence.

Forget Me Not, as an NPC with little to no actual relevant weight in the grand scheme of things (he is only relevant during the 1929 arc as of now) doesn't meet any of these requirements, so I don't think he'd be aware of the player!

His self-awareness is limited to knowing the world around him is fake, which fuels his self-deprecating and self-defeating, deranged, depressing mindset. I like to imagine Forget Me Not doesn't even understand that the world he lives in is a game, he just knows it's fake and that no matter what he does or says, no one will truly remember. Things will inexplicably reset or loop, and even so, he's not aware of the many times he's been forced to battle Vertin and the others because the Player had to grind specific materials. And so on and so forth. In his eyes, the "high power" that could attempt to control this empty world would be Arcana and no one else--after all, she's the one who opened his eyes to the truth through indoctrination.

When it comes to the figure of the Player, I wanted to portray an extremely obscure and detached figure. Vertin herself can't even fully wrap her head around the Player's existence, she doesn't even know if you're human--if the protagonist, the character "closest" to the Player is still left in the dark about these aspects, imagine how it is for other characters who don't have the privilege of acting your will, of being your hands and eyes. Sonetto can't even get a proper look at the Player, she still needs an insane amount of time lingering around Vertin to become more attuned to this somewhat eldritch entity tied to her. Characters of "equal" importance to Vertin, such as Arcana, may be able to perceive the Player in their own unique ways just like her, but everyone else? They need these special cases to even notice such a presence. Vertin is your only link to this world. You're the one looking in, this is a one-way mirror and only a very select few can look into the abyss and realize that something -someone else- is out there, staring back.

Like, of course I'll make exceptions or bend the rules if people request direct interactions between a character and the Player, but if we're talking about the setting as it is, then this is how I picture it.

Can he hear or see the Player? Nope. He doesn't have the means to. He doesn't even know they exist.

Forget Me Not feels superior with his self-awareness, gloating about how he's not like the common rubble who goes on about their day, entirely blind to the horrors. And yet, he's not aware of his limited perception of the world. It's very ironic, the way he looks down on others for the very same crime he's guilty of: obliviousness. Forget Me Not believes everyone outside of Manus Vindictae is too dumb, too unworthy of the freedom that comes with self-awareness. But really, this is just the blind leading the blind at the end of the day. Within Manus Vindictae, we only have Arcana and Forget Me Not as important characters, so it's hard for me to make a proper frame of reference, but overall I think that only Arcana is fully self-aware. Everyone else's perception of reality are equal or slightly inferior to Forget Me Not.

I think this falls in line with his modus operandi, so to speak! The way he believes he truly understands how things are, while turning his back on reality at the same time because he can't take it. He's too delusional, too unstable and frail to acknowledge that he may not be right, that he may be just as lost as when he first opened his eyes, that Vertin, someone so utterly disconnected from his ideals and morals and views, is the "chosen one."

As usual, Forget Me Not prefers to live a lie an double down on his usual habits than realize he always had the chance to change for the better and he just never had the courage to take that road.

How would he react upon finding out the Player's existence and their opinion on him?

I don't know the specifics around how exactly he finds out this piece of information, but either way, Forget Me Not would probably be shaken to his core! This isn't an easy pill to swallow in the slightest. You have to understand that every single time you beat him in battle, he 100% believed it was all Vertin's prowess.

How was he supposed to know she had someone guiding her? How was any of this fair?

Essentially, Forget Me Not has to confront the fact that all of his struggles, all the constant fighting and every conscious choice he's made to further ruin his life, were predetermined, already set in stone by forces beyond his comprehension. It's both freeing and claustrophobic, especially for a character like him who revels in misery and his status as an underdog earning his vengeance. He's done so much, he's worked so hard to get to where he is, and sure, his life is far from ideal, he's still the same self-destructive man, but now you're telling him that this was what the world planned from the very beginning? He had no say in anything? Someone out there decided that he was meant to be like this, and even after gaining self-awareness, he wasn't good or strong enough to break away from the script--in fact, he played right into someone else's trap.

I feel like Forget Me Not, at this point, would continue to do the only thing he knows: he doubles down. He redirects all of his hatred and all of his feelings towards the figure of the Player, if only to justify his existence--he can't live as a free man, he can't be seen as a living being worthy of respect because the plot commands it, he doesn't know where his own conscience begins and where the script and dialogue he's meant to say ends. So he might as well keep digging his own grave.

He loathes the Player more than anything else, because if there was no one to play this game, none of this would've happened in the first place. He fully blames you for every single thing, no matter how big or small. Everything that is wrong with his life can be traced to the person booting up this goddamn game every single day.

And if he learns that you replay each cutscene that he's in, he takes that as an offense.

This is just cruel mockery to Forget Me Not--not only you're the reason he's turned into such a miserable excuse of a man, but now you've turned him into your personal little jester, to sing and dance for your entertainment.

If he finds out that you hate him? That's good, it's a mutual feeling and it makes this tantrum he's throwing much more easier to deal with. But if he finds out that he's your favorite character? It kills him from the inside. How dare you?

His voice gets sharper, more visceral--every word is drenched with such profound hatred that you, from your side of the screen, can't help but think that Forget Me Not's voice actor is doing such a great job! And the artstyle is so good, his expressions look so real!

I can also see Forget Me Not eventually struggle with the fact that the Player loves him and sees him as their favorite character. It's not as easy and straightforward as hating you anymore--he doesn't even know you. He doesn't even know what to trust anymore.

Given how depressing he can be, I think he may latch onto the Player? The rug keeps being pulled from under his feet each and every time, but your existence, as awful and mysterious and controversial as it may be, is real. You're real. I have a lot of thoughts about this specific dynamic, but I'll leave them for another post so this one doesn't end up being suuuper long lol

On the subject of finding out that the Player is a human.

This one is easy! If someone were to tell Forget Me Not that the Player, the bane of his existence, is a human, then he'll just be in denial about it!

I really just like the idea of Forget Me Not having no means whatsoever to interact with the Player, it makes things so much more frustrating for him. Of course this means that everything he does know come from third-parties. And this piece of information is an extra layer of stress that he can't physically process at the same time as everything else in regards to his self-awareness, so he chooses to ignore it. To debate it. To simply deny it.

What, is he just supposed to believe everything he's told about you now? He can't even perceive you properly, let alone understand the sort of creature you are and your influence on this world--for all he knows, the people claiming to see and talk to you are all liars! All of his informants and spies could just be dead wrong, they may have misheard something on the way!

You can't be human, because he can't take another blow to his pride like this. It's humiliating enough to be played like a fiddle in such a way, Forget Me Not doesn't even want to think about the possibility of this small, fake world being at the mercy of a human--part of the very same group that caused him so much pain over the years.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 forget me not #forget me not #self aware au #sorry for the absence! food poisoning got me fucked up #and then i got busy with art hehehoho #sorry to FMN lovers but. this man? hes not doing good and he would hate our fucking guts #i love him to death but he would hate me to death. do you understand the problem

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