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highvern · 6 months

Text

Teach Me V

Hands on

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: fingering, mastubation, dom!reader, spitting, ass play, doggy style, facial, sex tape. Dokyeom with a praise kink pt. 2 (he's a good boy :c), unfortunately we have reached the actual angst. Poor DK gets his shit rocked :/// and everyone is upset

Length: ~7.6k

Note: picking up right where we left off in part 4 so go back and read, honestly every thing bc nothing will make any sort of sense. i think this is the longest part so far which is BANANAS but a lot needed to happen before the final part. ANYWAY! leave comments or silly tags in the reblogs, I read every single one obsessively

and because bennie aka @miniseokminnies is the number one lover of this couple, i'm giving them a shoutout for being the absolute sweetest

read more here

“Then go lock the door.”

Dokyeom nearly knocks himself out in the scramble for the door, catching himself before he can fully topple into the floor head first. You’d laugh if you weren’t just as desperate.

With a quiet click he launches over the end of the other bed, tackling you back into the mattress to reconnect your mouths.

Sweltering drags of sharp teeth bruise your lips, puffing them into a delicious swell before his tongue soothes them back down. If you had all the time in the world, you’d stay right where you are, bracketed beneath his arms and crushed beneath his hips.

The damp chill of sweat blooms under your clothes, anticipating the next delicious roll of friction between your legs. Dokyeom delivers eagerly, lewdly curling his crotch against yours, echoing your moans of depravity.

“Wait,” you murmur into his mouth, stealing another searing kiss. “I haven’t told you the–” another pass of his tongue, “rules” and his teeth, “yet.”

Dokyeom moves back an inch when your finger digs into his breast bone uncomfortably. The down turn of his mouth tells you he hasn’t heard a word since “lock the door.”

“Rules, Kyeomie.”

A childish whine leaves his lips, clearly having no interest in whatever you're about to tell him as he dives back down for more kisses. His mouth drops in shock as the warm skin of your palm covers the lower half of his face. You fling it away when the wet pass of his tongue across the crease between your fingers nearly makes you falter.

“Rules?” Dokyeom eyes you skeptically from above. You wouldn’t be surprised if he stomps his foot and throws a full tantrum on the floor in the next few minutes.

“Mhmm,” you confirm, eyes dropping to follow your fingers tracing down his chest. When you brush the waistband of his pants, you look back up at Dokyeom as he stutters a breath. “Rules.”

In typical fashion, Dokyeom tries to distract you from things he doesn’t like, hoping they’re forgotten under nips of teeth and the heat of his body burning into yours. Pressing into your space, he drops his elbows to the mattress on either side of your head to leer over you.

You forget how broad he is sometimes, but you're reminded now by the way he eclipses your view beyond his shoulders before he swoops for the kill, sucking your lower lip between his own.

Indulging in the peace of a good makeout, you let him think he’s got you where he wants you. And for a second, Dokyeom does; eager to fold you in half and give you his cock. But this is your prize and reward. Maybe you should save one of them, but patience has never been one of your good qualities.

Slowly snaking your fingers up his neck, tickling his jaw before raking your nails through the short strands of hair at the base of his scalp. Gentle touches make him cocky, enticing him to drop more of his weight and shuffle you up towards the pillows.

A firm tug disconnects him, causing Dokyeom to yelp in surprise.

“Rule number one, I’m in charge.” You start, brushing over the patch of hair you just pulled on to calm the sensitive skin. “Rule two, no touching unless I say so.”

“I don’t like these rules.” He mumbles, pouting once again.

Laying back on the bed completely, you entice him with honey eyes and a sweet smile. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you do whatever you want. Next time.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Within reason.” You agree, shrugging your shoulders lazily.

“And if I’m not?”

You scramble to think of a punishment, not expecting him to call your bluff so suddenly.

“I’ll rub one out in the shower and you can listen at the door.”

Dokyeom huffs at the idea, “That’s not fair!”

“You said you’d give me whatever I want. And this is my prize for winning.”

“Will you let me…”

“If you behave you can come anywhere you want. And I want a video of it.”

“Fuck, okay.” he nods. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your clothes.”

Rising to stand before you, he pulls the hem of his sweater up to reveal the soft trail of hair leading beneath his pants. When he notices you're not moving, Dokyeom cocks his head sideways. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you gonna take yours off too?”

“Hmmm, it's kinda cold. Maybe later.”

“You’re mean.”

Batting away his hand attempting to snake up your shirt, you motion for him to start again. “Yeah, yeah. Now drop ‘em.”

Standing between your spread legs, Dokyeom fists the neck of his sweatshirt. Each inch the worn navy fabric rises unveils another stretch of warm skin and clenching muscles. His stomach ripples deliciously, before his chest tightens as well. When his arms come free, he not so subtly raises them above his head in a laze stretch, monitoring your face for a reaction.

Shaking your head, you bite back a laugh at his ridiculousness. When he spins to flash his butt as his thumbs dip into the waist of his pants, chin turning over his shoulder as his mouth puckers before one of his hands covers it, you can’t control it any longer.

He laughs too, happily dissolving the tension in the room.

Sweatpants hit the floor with a quiet thunk, his underwear remaining on his hips. Raising your eyebrow in a challenge, Dokyeom steps back into your space. He’s half hard under the black fabric, bulge prominent already.

“Underwear too.”

He keeps climbing over you, pressing you back into the blanket. “Maybe later, it’s cold.”

“Kyeomie, you’re not being good.” You chide, cupping him softly in a loose fist as you rut the heel of your hand against him.

To his credit, Dokyeom tries to play it cool. But the red tips of his ears and stutter of lungs do all the talking he’s refusing to. Lending a helping hand, you free him from the cling of his boxers before digging the pad of your thumb into the weeping tip of his cock.

Bare from head to toe, you lean back to drink your fill of the sight before you. The shy twist of his lips is a laughable contrast to the rest of his body. Strong arms, hard chest, thick thighs, and a beautiful cock hardening to full mast under your gaze.

Fuck. You think with a harsh swallow.

Pulling your eyes away from ogling his body to glance at his face, you find him already watching you. Eager for your next move. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, cock twitching at the idea.

“Show me how.”

With your permission he begins palming his cock, spreading the sheen of pre-cum down the rigid shaft. But it’s not enough to fend off the unpleasant friction.

Dokyeom’s breath labors under the twist of his wrist, flushing tip nearly purple.

Throwing to the poor man a bone, you nudge his hand away from his cock and towards your mouth, spitting lewdly into his palm before leading it back where it was. Not one to waste time, he quickly squeezes a tight grip, hips rushing forward to work through his fist as his other hand drops to fondle his balls. On a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, Dokyeom sings a throaty groan to the ceiling as his head tips back.

Dokyeom is beautiful. Neck elongated, throat bobbing over his own obnoxiously loud grunts. Beads of perspiration slip from his temple, racing down his neck to etch a path across his chest. The shoddy lamp in the corner is bright enough to highlight the heat on his cheeks that spreads from the tips of his ears to his dusky nipples.

There's too much to look at, but the way his stomach sucks in as his wrist twists across his head makes you feel breathless. And the vein that you love to trace with your tongue rises, webbing from his cock up to the trail of hair dusty his abdomen strings you out as much as Dokyeom feels.

You’d fucked him enough to know when he’s about to cross the point of no return. It starts with a whimpered “baby,” and a few desperate “please”s, then Dokyeom’s muscles pull tight like a frozen rubber band, more than ready to snap under the pressure.

You sit forward, close enough to feel the aura of heat cloaking his body. “Are you gonna cum?”

Dokyeom tries to deny it, shaking his head clumsily before a whimper rips from behind his teeth.

“Stop.”

Chest glistening in the light, Dokyeom gives himself one last tug before he steadying his breathing for what’s next. When you stand, the coarse fabric of your sweater covering your stomach rasping against his sensitive cock as you step into his space, he curls into the friction before calming again. Dokyeom watches you down the slope of his nose, eyes scanning your face for any betrayal of your thoughts. Your cheeks are hot, and no doubt your pupils are dilated like his but you don’t smile or crinkle your nose teasingly. Just a simple low lidded stare as you assess him.

Dokyeom’s shiver has nothing to do with the chilly air seeping into the room.

“Sit on the bed.”

A beat passess, a vague challenge against your authority, but he steps around you and takes his place at the edge of the red and blue quilt. Legs wide, arms behind him to prop him up; cheekily cocking an eyebrow.

“Start again.”

Not waiting for you to change your mind, he picks up right where he left off, finding his rhythm with ease.

But you can’t have that.

So you fall to your knees between his spread legs, eye level with Dokyeom’s cock, allowing your hands to squeeze the cords of muscle flexing around his thighs, nails biting into the bulging flesh. The sting of pain is rewarded with a squeeze of his fist around the puffy head of his cock, leaking a gooey pearl of cum for you to lick away.

Dokyeom tries to chase the brief touch but fails when you lean back out of reach. “Does it feel good?”

“Yeah.” He stutters, eyes heavy as he focuses on how incredibly close and incredibly far from his cock you are.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

He nods hopefully.

“Ask nicely.”

When he fails to respond, you dig flex your fingers still on his thighs, nails leaving crescents near the crease of his hip in warning.

A warning to who, you have no idea since Dokyeom squeezes the base of his dick to stop himself from cumming.

“P–please.”

“I am, silly.”

You spot the indignant frustration bloom on his face, tears welling in his eyes as you tell him to beg for every last drop of satisfaction. And to rub salt in the wood, you flash our best innocent smile.

“Want your mouth.”

“My mouth? Like this?” You leave a cheap kiss on his knee.

“On my cock.”

“Oh so like this.” The same kiss on his tip, pre-cum sticking to your lips as you dive away before you can fold and give him more.

“No,” he whines, frustrated, muscles in his thighs jumping.

Dokyeom hasn’t stopped his hand, but he’s loosened his grip to stave off his organism. Teasing himself, helping you torture and edge him.

“You have to tell me what you want or I can’t give it to you, baby.”

“I can’t—,” he cries “please just—”

You wanted Dokyeom whining and needy, to string him out till he can barely think straight. And you have, but you overestimated how long it’d take. And how long you’d be able to deny yourself any pleasure either.

Rising to your feet, you loom over him. “Take off my pants.” You command, busy with removing your sweater.

Eager for the possibility of relief, Dokyeom jams you panties and underwear around your ankles swiftly. His tongue tracks along the crease above your thigh where it becomes your torso, rough palms squeezing and spreading your ass harshly as he reaches behind to press you closer.

You don’t bother with unclasping your bra, ripping it overhead along with your undershirt in haste to be naked. Scrambling for his face, you suck him into a sloppy kiss before tripping over the fabric snaring your legs and tackling him to the bed.

“You’re so fucking hot” He hisses into your mouth, bucking into your fist as you play with his cock, thumb harsh against his weep slit.

“Remember our deal.” You pant, reminding both of you what’d been agreed on outside the door.

Dokyeom sighs, the back of his head hitting the bed to observe your nude body above him. Enraptured by the endless stretches of skin. “Whatever you say.”

A few minutes of mindless groping grants you both a reprieve. Dokyeom wedges his thigh between your legs, flexing as you grind against him, soaking him with each pitiful pass, his hands splayed wide across the meat of your ass to assist.

Two of his fingers catch on your entrance, dipping in lightly, waiting for your protest. But when your hips lift to search for firm contact, Dokyeom stuffs you full, stretching you to hopefully take his now neglected cock leaking just below his belly button.

Working up to a third finger, you ride his hand as your clit wears against the friction of his leg. Dokyeom busies his mouth with your neck, a constellation of teeth marks and bruises staining the sensitive stretch of skin.

It almost better than fucking him. Giving freedom to the supernova building in your core, tickling the nerves of your extremities in a tease. Everything is tight; the muscles cinching his finger as he curves them, your lungs screaming for air, even the squeeze of your eyes leaves a collage of colors and static across your vision.

The sting across your scalp as Dokyeom pulls your hair, forcing your face out of hiding over his shoulder, sends a painful mewl in between you.

He watches your mouth hang open, eyes rounding under the furl of your eyebrows. Dokyeom gives another tug when your forehead tips forward, his tongue catching your squeak of shock.

“Please cum, fuck please.” He begs into your mouth, breathy as he presses his fingers gloved inside you a fraction harder before adding his pinky. “Need it, please baby.”

His hand slips down to hold your chin between the curve of his thumb and index finger, drooling as you bite his thumb between your teeth.

“C’mon baby,” Dokyeom grunts, rocking you forward from the gusto of his other hand. “Let me make you come.”

Wrecked moans fill the silence, breaking the band in your gut to free fall over the edge. You land on his chest as your arms give out, muscles spasming under the flood of endorphins bolting through your veins. Dokyeom doesn’t stop, arm flexing as he works through your high, a pornographic squelch echoing with each press. Darkness consumes you, floating through space as you cry from delectable torture, hips canting into overstimulation.

Squeezing your thighs together tightly, Dokyeom tries to work through the sudden barrier but stops when you bite his shoulder painfully.

“Too much,” you whine, voice horse.

Panting in unison, you only rest for a moment before returning to your plan. Damn Dokyeom’s fingers for distracting you so easily.

Rolling to your side, he follows, waiting with baited breath at your next move.

Technically, he broke the rules. It’d been to your benefit, but misbehavior nonetheless. If you were cruel, you’d send him to the bathroom to take care of himself. But your orgasm only made you want Dokyeom’s cock more.

You feel him crowding over you, a smatter of gentle kisses peppering your face, his thumb working against a knot in your thigh from being on top for so long. You don’t focus on the sticky discomfort between your thighs, or else you’ll be tempted to have his mouth there next and you know you’re already operating on borrowed time.

Opening your eyes, you find his brown ones staring back. He looks a little afraid.

Good.

“Kyeomie,” you chide, tutting at him.

“Come on!” he protests, mouth dropping in shock.

“You broke the rules.”

“Baby, please don’t do this to me.”

Drama queen to his core, Dokyeom won’t stop to see your failure at hiding a smirk. He riles himself up without your help, pretending to be upset was just too easy of an option.

Shaking your head disappointedly, you move to sit up. “You said you’d listen.”

“I promise I’ll be good!” He whines, slinking to the floor between your legs, hands clenched together in front of him. His cock is solid as steel, head nearing purple under the need to release.

“Promises, promises.” You sigh.

“Do you want me to cry? Because I will. If that’s what it takes.”

He starts rapidly blinking, trying to draw up a reserve of tears, only stopped by the press of your foot against his chest.

“Stop.” You bark, the bite from the laugh hiding in the back of your throat.

You don’t see his expression as you twist onto your stomach, rising to your knees, chest pressed in the bed to give a salacious arch to your spine.

A draft curls around your exposed cunt, causing you to squeeze and forcing more arousal to drip down your legs.

“Shit,” Dokyeom murmurs behind you.

Turning to watch him over your shoulder, you wait until he meets your heated gaze. “Make me cry, Kyeom.”

Nodding like a bobble head, Dokyeom rises, pressing into you swiftly. Sheathing himself to the hilt, he wastes no time before retreating to come back once more.

The pace is bruising, knocking the wind from your lungs. He’s so deep you swear you can feel him in the back of your throat.

‘Make me cry’ is vague enough he hesitates, afraid of breaking the rules despite the wet groans shaking in his chest.

“Touch me, Kyeomie.” You bawl, drooling on to the patchwork quilt below you.

A sting on your ass is the first blow, followed by two more. The snaps against your skin leave a hot mark behind, encouraging you to whine for more as a cold sweat clings to your spine.

“So tight, shit.” Dokyeom bites between his teeth, folding over your back to suck on your neck.

He brushes the spot he’s only ever found with his fingers, sending you into a spiral, springing tears in your eyes.

“Right there,” you pant, “fuck don’t stop.”

The headboard knocks against the wall in time with his thrusts, one knee landing on the bed to give him more leverage to fill you deeper. Dokyeom’s breath puffs against the side of your face, uneven like he’s been punched in the gut.

Ripping one of his hands away from your side, you bring his hand around your neck, eager to feel his long fingers collar you. There’s a tentative quake before Dokyeom delivers a gentle possessive squeeze, rushing to you when you choke on a noise somewhere between a groan and a sob.

You devolve into a symphony of primal grunts. Tearing himself from your back, Dokyeom twists the hand around your throat back into the hair at the base of your spine, the other hand dropping to spread your ass apart. Something wet lands on your puckered hole, his thumb grazing your rim with the added lubrication.

You realize he spit on you.

“Fuck Kyeomie, do that again.” You squeal, delighted by another swat of his hand as he gives you what you ask for.

When he whines “Gonna cum.” you stop him with a hand against his stomach.

“Please, can’t,” He whimpers, curling his hips once more, staying flush with the meat of your ass as he rocks inside you.

Eyes tight to savor the stretch, you swallow the desire to give in down with the knowledge something better waits on the other side of your demand. “Kyeomie stop.”

And with herculean effort, he steps back, soaked cock threatening to drip on the carpet as your hole tightens in mourning.

“Where’s my phone?” You ask, collapsing forward to catch your breath.

Dokyeom crouches down for your forgotten pants, searching the pockets before he finds the device.

“Here.”

Entering your passcode, you open your camera app and set it to video before passing it back.

“Wha—”

“You were good.” You explain, slipping to the floor like smoke. The hard floor stings into your knees once again before taking him in your mouth.

A series of gurgled noises flee his chest, but you open your eyes to see the camera about a foot above you, catching the way your lips stretch around his cock, your fist taking what your mouth can’t. The combination of pre-cum, saliva and your arousal floods your mouth, excess pushed out of your lips and drooling down your chin. You manage to get him settled in your throat after a few passes, delivering a harsh such on the upstroke that has Dokyeom batting you away, jacking off over your face as ropes of white land haphazardly.

Mouth open wide and pink tongue extended, the familiar musky tang flares through your taste buds. Thankfully Dokyeom attempts to aim away from your eyes, albeit sloppily. You feel the hot stickiness across the bridge of your nose, dripping down the apples of your cheeks as it keeps coming with every slick squelch of his hand.

Thoroughly spent, he taps the head against your lips, urging you to suck him in one last time. Flashing your eyes open, you meet his over the edge of your phone as you kitten lick the sensitive head. Chasing his hips when he steps away, Dokyeom lets the camera get every angle of the magnificent mess he made before brushing his fingers across the dip of your chin, panting as you lave against them in place of his cock before smiling up at him shyly. With one last lick to your lips, he cuts the recording and tosses your phone on the bed.

“How was—”

Your question dies on your lips as Dokyeom claims them, ignore the sticky cum now drying on your face. Dragging you to stand, he pushes one hand into your hair, the other circling your waist as he tastes his spend on your tongue.

Only the desperate need for oxygen pulls you apart.

Struggling to catch your breath, his saccharine grin is a stark contrast to your activities a moment ago.

Ushering you into the cramped bathroom to clean away the mess, you find yourself in the too small stall, firmly snared in Dokyeom’s arms. Peppering endless kisses up and down the curve of your shoulder, he noses behind your ear when you hum pleasantly in his hold as he gives a firm squeeze.

But the water begins to chill before long, prompting you to wiggle free which isn’t really free at all in the compact stall. You keep him at bay with hands full of shampoo, working his hair into a faux Mohawk full of perfumed bubbles. Returning your generosity, Dokyeom soaks a washcloth in a comical amount of the cheap body wash sitting in the corner before swiping the sudsy fabric over your skin. He's surprisingly thorough, methodically working up your arms and down your chest in loose circles, focusing on your breasts before you tsk at him with a smile. A twirl of his fingers prompts you to turn so he can focus on your back. When he drops to his knees to finish, he shoulders apart your legs, dropping his mouth against the cleft between your ass and your thigh.

One hand finds your exhausted cunt, the thick gloss of fluids clinging to your folds despite your time under the hot spray of the shower head. You wait with baited breath as Dokyeom silently works, his middle and pointer finger parting your lips, forcing you on the balls of your feet when he grazes your sensitive clit. A nudge against your leg has you spinning to face him, mouth dropping open as he lifts a leg over one of his stronger shoulders to get a better look.

And then, as if a spell is broken, he drops a kiss to your hip before continuing with his rag, foamy soap lacing your legs.

“All clean.” He decrees, rising to meet you with another peck on your parted lips.

Now lukewarm water rinses away the evidence of his efforts. Still dumbfounded, you let him guide you from the stall, patting you down with a scratchy towel before wrapping his own around his waist.

Watching each other in the mirror as you brush your teeth, skin still damp and glowing in the steam, you make an attractive pair. Exhausted, but fitting together like two perfect puzzle pieces.

The bathroom should only fit one person at a time, so the two of you are practically on top of one another as you shuffle back and forth between the sink. Dokyeom has the bright idea to lift you to the counter, standing between your legs as he watches you apply your skincare.

He’s already finished his business, but he refuses to leave your side. “What’s that do?”

“Lotion.” You respond, patting it across your face.

“Can I have some?”

“Sure.”

Grabbing the bottle to pump some in his hands, you return to find his eyes closed, offering you his face. Puffing a breath of amusement, you dab a few dots across his skin before gently massaging it in. Tracing the curve of his eye socket, down to his cheek bones, the sharp edge of his jaw. When you brush his chin, you curve two fingers around the bone, pulling him forward to meet your lips.

And the way he looks at you when his eyes open after you separate hurts. Hurts so much you slipe down from the counter, fleeing the suffocating tension of the bathroom to return to the real world of the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Dokyeom asks, following after you.

“Yeah!” You agree too loudly, digging around your bag for something to sleep in. “Just got lightheaded for a second.”

You know he doesn’t believe you when he mutters a skeptical, “Okay.”

Donning a pair of boxers and a long sleeve that may or may not belong to the man behind you, you hop into bed next to him, praying he won’t hear the staccato beat of your heart.

Curling around your back, Dokyeom spoons you from behind as you both face the windows to watch the storm ragging on outside. A bolt of lightning webs through the black clouds, reflecting off the murky lake sloshing in the wind.

Despite your earlier nap, you're spent both mentally and physically. The gentle woosh of Dokyeom’s breath lulls you back across the bridge to sleep.

—

A sudden shake of the bed wakes you. The room is pitch black. Dokyeoms body is still behind you but he’s whisper-shouting at whatever the source of disturbance is. A teary whine informs you Soonyoung has decided to put himself to bed. In the wrong bed.

“Dude, get up.” Dokyeom groans, twisting to push the older man off the mattress.

You burrow further under the comforter, face squashed in the fluffy pillow under your head.

A disgusting sniffle responds, before Soonyoung moans. “You’re my best friend.”

“Thank you but you’re gonna wake her up.”

Everything is happening like you're below water, their voices muffled and miles away but you’re rising to the surface fast. If Soonyoung is the reason you can’t fall back to sleep later, you’ll wring his neck.

“Oh wouldn’t wanna inconvenience your girlfriend. Do you know how many times I’ve been woken up by you two?”

“Shut up.” A swift smack rings into the silence, followed by more drunk tears.

You feel something, or rather someone, wiggling between you and Dokyeom. Turning over to face the intruder, you open your eyes to the dark room and the shadow of Soonyoung a few inches from your face. Red as a tomato and eyes struggling to remain open.

“Hey! Hey, Y/N.” Each call punctuated with a poke to your ribs.

Huffing an exhausted breath, you humor Soonyoung in hopes he goes away. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Do you like Dokyeom?”

You’re certainly awake now. “Huh?”

“He likes you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dokyeom yells behind, trying to snake his hand over Soonyoung’s mouth.

“I’m just speaking the facts!” Soonyoung protests.

The waft of alcohol hangs around your face as Dokyeom successfully drags his friend from the bed. They’re wrestling on the ground in the narrow strip of floor between beds, jostling you with their roughhousing.

Having reached your limit, fueled further by Soonyoung’s ill timed remarks, you snap. “Girls you’re both pretty, now can we please go to bed?”

“Fine.”

“FINE.”

Cocooning in the blanket, you wiggle to the opposite edge of the mattress, as far away from the chaos as you can manage. The springs on the other side of the room squeak under Soonyoung’s weight as he flops down bonelessly, bouncing twice before he settles.

Once Dokyeom is satisfied he won’t get up, you feel the dip behind you as he shuffles under the covers.

Several uncomfortable inches separate your bodies as Soonyoung begins to snore.

Minutes pass, your heart thudding in your ears, breath uncomfortably labored.

This was a bad idea. A string of bad ideas actually. Partnering with Dokyeom in lab, agreeing to go to the frat party at the beginning of the semester. Kissing him a few weeks later, taking his virginity. Hooking up with him again and again. Letting him hold you like he was more than a friend. Letting him kiss and touch as he pleased, doing the same. Spending the night. Driving up to this cabin and pretending it all meant more than it really did.

If Dokyeom liked you, he would have said something by now. He doesn’t stop talking unless he’s sleeping or eating, and both of those instances are more loose guidelines than strict rules. He wears his heart on his sleeve so if he felt anything for you beyond mutually shared sexual attraction you’d know.

And the way he reacted to Soonyoung’s declaration proves he doesn’t.

There’d never been a promise of something more. You were his fuck buddy and chemistry partner. Romance and dating never came up. Nevermind the fact you hadn’t entertained another guy all year and Dokyeom never mentions other girls. Only awkwardly laughing when someone boldly approaches him, gently rejecting them with stuttered reasons why he isn’t interested.

Sometimes you think he’s looking at you to step in and say something, but it’s just a convenient excuse to not hurt someone’s feelings.

And because you’re selfish, you come up with a solution.

You’ll enjoy the next two days, bury your heart deep in your chest and pretend nothings changed in the ripples of tonight. When you return to campus Monday afternoon, whatever feelings you may have will be left behind in this room to wither in the darkness. Dokyeom will go back to being the cute guy you’re partnered with in chemistry and that’ll be that. No more hookups, no more movie nights on his couch, and certainly no more parties where alcohol will convince you to fold on your plan.

So you might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

Dokyeom jumps when you turn around and snuggle into his back, nose following the valley of his spine as your arm curls around his waist to rest on the soft skin of his stomach. A few chirps of the crickets outside the window pass before you feel his fingers twine with your own, pulling your connected hands to his mouth, dropping a gentle press of lips on your knuckles.

And somehow it makes everything worse.

—

Sunday morning, you wake with determination and indulgent kisses to Dokyeom’s sleeping face.

But day one of your flawless plan comes with unforeseen road bumps.

Once you finally manage to slip from bed, batting away the arms of your still dreaming lover, you find your phone flooded with a collection of pictures courtesy of Seungkwan. Snaps of you next to Dokyeom, laughing in time with mouths wide and chins tipped back. A few of you in his lap, watching the chaos of a drunk game night as he watches you, face relaxed and lips turned into a soft grin. And one picture of him staring out the living room window into the front yard illuminated with the high noon sun, like a puppy waiting for its owner to return.

Roadbump two boils down to your nativity.

After deciding to freely enjoy whatever Dokyeom has to offer for forty eight hours, he’s turned everything up to a hundred. Back hugs when you’re washing a dirty coffee cup in the kitchen sink, disgustingly cartoonish kisses where he can land them, his hands burning into your skin at every chance. Which are more frequent than you’d imagine considering he doesn’t let you out of his sight all morning.

His presence is intoxicating, sweet the same way the first warm breeze in spring is. But instead of drumming up new blooms, all he leaves is confusion.

Soonyoung’s slip off tongue doesn’t come up again but there's palpable tension between the two of them. The usual twin laughs silent as they avoid one another like the plague.

But the subtle apology comes when Soonyoung mentions the jacuzzi on the porch in passing when Dokyeom runs to the restroom.

“If you and DK wanna use it, I’ll keep everyone else out.”

Smiling as if he didn’t cause the thick anxiety in your gut, you thank him.

Luckily, the hot tub is conveniently covered by a tin awning, the echoing pitter patter of the sky falling around you as you both sink into the steamy water, string lights crossing above provide a warm glow.

Even if Soonyoung hadn’t agreed to be referee, no else is dumb enough to risk the cold snap settling in the air; despite the reprieve of the soothing jets and steaming water.

Thighs caging Dokyeom’s own as you rest in his lap, facing him. Hands busy at the sides of his neck, thumb massaging the tight knots of muscle along his shoulders, following the beads of steam that cling to his skin, trailing down to pool in his collar bone.

Content washes through your bones. Here, in his arms, all alone. Touching just to touch, the way couples do simply because they can.

And it drives you mad.

“Minnie?”

Dokyeom hums in response, continuing to trail his nose around the curve of your jaw, feathering fleeting kisses in his travels.

“What are we doing?”

Lifting to your temple, he whispers “What do you mean?”

What did you mean? The question came out before you realized what was happening, so high on conflicting emotions you’d lost your carefully crafted control. But it’s too late now.

“Why’d you invite me?” You clarify, hooking your chin over his shoulder to avoid looking at his face.

“Because I like having you around.”

He says it with mild disbelief, like you asked what color the sky is.

“That’s it?”

“I don’t—,” he pauses. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. I just thought...”

“You thought what?”

Shaking your head, you lock yourself behind the vault door again. “Nothing, it's stupid.”

But Dokyeom isn’t willing to let you run away so easily. Gently lifting your chin till you’re out of his neck, he waits until you look at him before asking again.

“Tell me. Please?”

“I just thought maybe you invited me for a reason.” You grumble, burning under his inquisitive stare.

“I mean I did.” he swallows, thumb caressing the soft dip beneath your chin absentmindly. “I missed you.”

His confession melts your resolve slightly. But it’s not enough.

“Is that it?”

“What else is there?”

Any part of you that softened in the last minute tenses again. You got your answer.

“You’re right.” Your voice is hollow.

Dokyeom senses it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You're upset.”

“I’m fine.” But your voice says you’re clearly not.

“Talk to me.” He begs in a tiny voice you wouldn’t think someone as loud and bright as him would be capable of, fingers tangling with your own beneath the water.

All of it leaves a bitter taste coating your mouth like oil.

“Do you like me?”

He flounders at your sudden boldness, “Do I— what?”

“You don’t.”

“I didn’t say that!” He objects, distressed from the bite of your words.

“Well Soonyoung did and you couldn’t have shut him down faster!”

“Because it’s none of his business!”

“Then whose is it?”

“Well, do you like me?”

“I asked first!”

“I asked second!”

“God you’re such a fucking child!”

Dokyeom stands up, dumping you from his lap into the water unceremoniously.

Swiping at the water caught in your eyes as you surface, you scream. “What the fuck?”

“Oh I’m sorry! I’m just sooo childish I didn’t think about it!” He huffs, already wrapping a towel around his waist as he stomps into the house. A trail of wet footprints glistening in the lights behind him.

Through the glass sliding door, you see dozens of heads turn to follow him up the stairs. And when he disappears down the hallway at the top, they all turn to see you. Alone. Tears trickling down your face to blend with the beads of water.

—

Seungkwan comes to your rescue. Swaddling you in a large beach towel before ushering you to his room, eyes daring anyone to step in his way. The walk is filled with long awkward silence, everyone watching intently, curious as to what happened on the back porch.

Depositing you on his bed, Seungkwan leaves you to yourself with a promise to return soon. Snot drips from your nose, vision blurred as you fight to stifle your pathetic sniffles, face burning as you wipe the mess away over and over again with the edge of the towel.

You take to focusing on your surroundings. The room is decorated in the same garish collection of bears and tartan as Dokyeom’s. But it only houses one measily twin bed, a long cherry stained dresser hugging alone the wall, and an air mattress pushed into the corner next to the closet. Seungkwan’s roommate is unknown to you but you’d bet money it’s Vernon’s black duffle in the corner.

Shivering in your bikini and towel, you remain on the bed as you turn to look out the window. Focusing on the different cars peppering the front lawn and driveway, your own blocked in by a black SUV.

You’ll ask Seungkwan to find the owner so they can move it. No intention of staying further into the morning than you have to.

On the opposite end of the house, Soonyoung listens dutifully as Dokyeom paces the limited floor space in their room.

“...and she wants to say I’m childish! Me!”

Soonyoung knows it’s in his best interest to act surprised, disgusted by the insult. But one person stormed through the house dripping water everywhere, and the other was nearly carried while she cried because of said first person.

He also realizes that this entire incident can be traced back to himself so stays quiet.

“I don’t even know why I asked her here in the first place.”

“What happened?”

Dokyeom looks at Soonyoung as if he forgot he was present at all. “What?”

“I thought you two were having fun?”

“We were. And then she asked if I liked her and before I could say anything she jumped down my throat.”

“Did she say if she liked you back?”

“No, but she obviously doesn’t.”

“I don’t know dude, she was crying pretty hard when Seungkwan brought her inside.”

As if the news shocks him like an ice bath, Dokyeom flinches before asking “She was crying?”

“Yeah she—”

The crack of the door hitting the wall silences Soonyoung. Seungkwan stands in the threshold, face eerily calm but body clenched.

“You piece of shit!” is all the warning Dokyeom gets before Seungkwan is on him.

Dokyeom is a victim of his own shock, allowing Seungkwan to put him in a headlock before he has a chance to blink.

They crash onto the bed next to Soonyoung, attempting to grapple one another as Soonyoung works to pry them apart.

“What the fuck!” Dokyeom’s voice shakes as Seungkwan snakes his arms around his neck.

“My best friend is crying her heart out in my room because of you.”

Dokyeom manages to evade, getting Seungkwan underneath him. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Bull shit!”

“STOP!” Soonyoung bellows, using a tone he rarely thinks himself capable of. The one his mom used just before she lost her shit from him and his sister fighting.

He pins them with a glare, ripping his roommate back by the collar of his sweater. “You sit the fuck down.” Then he’s on Seungkwan who watches him with a wide mouth, “You take her bag to your room.”

To their credit, they both listen. Seungkwan snatches your bag up, slamming the door so hard it rattles on its hinges as he exits. Dokyeom fumes but sits, watching the older man as plants himself on the opposite mattress once again with a hand scrubbing down his face.

“Do you like her?”

Dokyeom looks uncomfortable but answers. “Yes.”

“And you think she doesn’t like you?”

Another pause. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she—,” Dokyeom flounders, hands flailing to provide some intangible explanation.

Much to other’s doubts, Soonyoung is smarter than that.

“Because she drove almost three hours to be here? Because you guys giggle like idiots whenever you’re together?”

Dokyeom collapses backwards, head bouncing against the mattress before he sullenly sighs. “She just sees me as a friend.”

“Weirdly enough, her and Seungkwan are friends and she isn’t all over him.”

“That’s different!”

“Why?”

“If she liked me, she would have said something.”

“Maybe you’re just not listening.”

—

Seungkwan returns to his room, met with red rimmed eyes and damp cheeks as you watch him from the end of his bed. The beach towel he left you in is soaking wet, providing little protection from the mountain air that seeps through the seal in the window.

“I brought your stuff.” Seungkwan says gently, disturbed by your silence.

You notice his clothes are wrinkled, and his hair is a mess. But when you open your mouth to ask what happened, a fresh batch of tears enter the space between you.

Approaching you like a frightened animal, he pulls you into a comforting hug. “I’m sorry.”

The shoulder of Seungkwan’s long sleeve dampens like the towel as you shake. “I can’t believe he’d—.”

“It’s okay.” He coos, hand stroking the back of your head.

A few hours later, you rest on your back, bundled under the quilt of the twin bed. You’re freezing despite the layers of clothing you’d worn, curious why you hadn’t felt this cold the other night. Even when the answer is obvious you don’t dwell.

Seungkwan snores on the air mattress, whispering something undecipherable in his sleep; apparently Vernon agreed to sleep elsewhere for the night. Whether it was of his own volition or under a direct threat, you're thankful no else has to see you like this.

Closing your eyes, you try to break the barrier of sleep. You need to be up in a few hours, and god knows leaving the sanctuary of this cramped room will be exhausting enough.

—

Five in the morning on a long weekend should be a time of peace and quiet. Birds chirping into the calmness of the early dawn, dew cling to the grass in an effort to hide from the sun.

But a slip down one of the slick wooden steps sends you to your ass with a loud thud. No harm, no foul. Just a sore tailbone and another coal in the fire of your annoyance.

Closing your eyes to compose yourself, lest you scream like you’ve wanted to since last night. Several deep calming breaths, in through your nose out through your mouth, before you rise.

And at the bottom of the steps sits another reason to scream.

Dokyeom looks like shit, for lack of a better word. Hair tangled, dark locks flat in some areas and defying gravity in others. His face blotchy, eyes rimmed red with sullen dark circles curving along the top of his cheek bones, like he hasn’t slept a wink. Even his clothes are a mess, the collar of his crew neck stretched more than it was before.

All to say, he is a mirror image of you.

Staring at one another like two startled deer, you rise to your feet before tilting your chin defyingly.

Crying in front of everyone had been enough embarrassment. The next time you lose control will be in the privacy of your car as you drive back to campus, where you can wail until you lose your voice.

“Hi,” he croaks.

Ignoring him, you descend the remaining stairs, aiming to breeze past. But Dokyeom steps in your way and waits till you look up at him again.

“I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick past and neither of you break the staring contest. Grinding your teeth, you try to side step Dokyeom again but he’s right there.

“Can we talk?”

Talking is the last thing you want to do. More tears are welling behind your eyes with each beat of your heart, and if you open your mouth it’ll say whatever it takes for him to hold you again.

This time when you push against his shoulder, Dokyeom lets you go.

And you hate the part of you that wishes he didn’t.

#svthub #lee seokmin #lee seokmin x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt #dokyeom #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #🫡 highvern

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titlemewickedwonderland · 2 years

Text

Sucker For You - Joseph Quinn (One-Shot)

Since you all loved my last Joseph Quinn one shot so much I chose to brave another one for your eyes! Hope you enjoy it, friends!

He was stunned. The girl he had been dreaming about stood right in front of him. Perhaps, not dressed as beautifully as in his dreams but he could not get those pretty E/C colored eyes out of his head. He didn't get dreams very often that he remembered enough but this one was so persistent. For a good week, he seemed to have the same occurring dream. Perhaps not scene by scene but in every single one of those dreams, she was in it. With skin a smooth S/C and eyes a perfect shape and color as they kept solid eye contact as her companion spoke to her. Her dress was a modest maxi dress in the deepest shade of navy paired with a light-colored cream thick belt around her middle and matching sandal wedges on her feet which completed her look perfectly. Her hair was perfectly styled and glossy looking in a beautiful shade of H/C as it seemed to shine under the lights above and don't get him started on that beautiful smile occupied by a musical laugh. He was smitten and if he wasn't an actor with a good poker face in character no one would have known the wiser that Joseph Quinn was crushing hard on his interviewer.

She finished speaking with her colleague before that form graced the floor in his direction with that warm smile on her face as she extended a hand that sported a pretty charm bracelet on her wrist. "Hi, thank you so much for coming on short notice! Adam isn't very good at calling ahead, I generally like to call agents myself." her voice was soft and friendly as she beamed up at him; even with the 3 inch heel giving her an extra height she was still shorter than Joseph's 5 foot 10 inches in comparison.

But he didn't care at all as he looked down at her with a smile that could light the whole world and gentle puppy brown eyes as they looked down at her. He grasped her outstretched hand with both of his and shook it gently before raising her hand to his lips to press a warm kiss to the back of it.

"Oh don't think anything of it, love! I'm very happy to be able to do another interview!" he replied happily as he let go of her smaller palm so that he did not look like a creeper by holding it longer than needed.

The soft tone of pink on her cheeks was evident as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as her smile grew a little shyer. "Well, we are happy to have you Mr. Quinn! This is actually one of my first chances to interview solo so I'm a little nervous. So if I fumble during filming please just go with it." her laughter was shy and a tad bit embarrassed as she waved a hand around.

"Oh I'm sure you'll do amazing! And please call me Joseph!" the actor replied running a hand shyly through his chocolate curls.

The smile the woman sent him would have melted his very bones and made his knees go jelly but he was an actor so keep up that face was what he needed. When they finally got into position in front of a plague wall with the Stranger Things cover on the back and the man of the hour was comfortably sitting in his chair with a water bottle placed on the floor just out of sight. The woman took her own seat a respectable distance across from the man. She seemed a lot more nervous than Joseph and he couldn't help but give her an encouraging doublt thumbs up right before the camera began to roll forcing the female interviewer to mask the flush that spread across her body at his gesture.

"Hello everyone, thank you so much for tuning in today; welcome back to the show!" a bright welcoming smile graced her features as the camera panned to her face. "Today we have a very special guest with us today. Mr. Joseph Quinn himself from the hottest hit Stranger Things; Joseph thank you so much for taking the time to chat with us, we are so excited to have you!" her gaze turned to the actor as the back cameras clicked on showing the frontal view of the man himself who waved to the camera with charm

"Oh of course! I'm delighted to be here. Thank you so much for the opportunity!" he beamed

"Well if anything we should be thanking you for the time you're making to do this interview for us. Stranger Things Season 4 has pretty much blown all the others out of the water; it certainly blew Netflix up!" Y/N laughed before continuing as the actor nodded with a smile.

"Now you play a new character that's been introduced in Season 4; Eddie Munson. Can you tell me a little about what you had to do to get in the idea of playing such a character?" she asked tilting her head as her gaze lifted briefly from her notes in her hand to give the man her undivided attention.

"Yeah of course, you know I actually had thought about how I could make Eddie's character a little different than all the others within the show. Everyone's sort of brought their characters to life one way or another so when I was reading the script at the beginning I was coming up with ideas on how to evolve Eddie in some sort of way. I was actually talking with the brothers during script reading at one point and Eddie's character was actually written to be someone more grungy and a little more hardcore. But little by little as we were shooting the scenes I sort of improvised a lot of the way Eddie's character was portrayed and the brothers seemed to like it a lot more than the original idea for his personality which I thought was a nice twist." he replied; hands waving a little bit as he spoke

"Well he certainly took the hearts of so many viewers out there so fantastic job! Do you actually know the size and strength Eddie's fandom had created in just one season? I think it's overrun by any other character on the show thus far and that's saying a lot. Are you surprised that he's gotten so much love?"

A small little smile tugged at the actors lips as his tongue peeked out a bit and his face flushed happily at the praise. "Actually yes, I had gotten a small glimpse of it all and I can honestly say it's very humbling considering that I was originally afraid that my portrayal of Eddie's character wasn't good enough in the beginning but it truly makes my heart so happy to hear that he's such a beloved character by the viewers. It makes it very bittersweet and heartbreaking considering the outcome of his character." Joseph replied nodding thoughtfully

Y/N smiled taking a moment to nod along with him and glance down at her notes a bit but before she could ask her next question Joseph actually intervened when he spoke up again

"I had actually noticed that charm on your bracelet earlier before we filmed; it looks like a Stranger Things icon. Are you a big fan?" a little smile played on his face that was equal parts curious and happy.

Lifting her wrist up to view it herself Y/N beamed a bit shyly. "Actually yes it is! You have a sharp eye! It's actually Eddie's guitar pick." she stated with an almost embarrassed laugh.

"Ah so you're an Eddie's girl too huh? I knew those questions were a little personal." the actor teased making the woman playfully hide her face as the camera panned over to her.

"Guilty as charged! But the blame is all on you for such an amazing portrayal of such a lovable character Joseph! We are seriously going to miss him on the show; unless of course you can give us a little insight on whether on not he'd coming back? You know there are theories that Eddie's not actually dead." she commented with eyes seemingly a little more keen than an interviewer usually should have. The tall tale of her own fangirl itching to burst forth but a slow smile gracing his features slowly dulled the excitement as he replied with a shrug

"I honestly can't say one way or another. I was very keen on wanting to come back for next season but it's kind of hard to think on how - if the brother's choose to - Eddie would be brought back after his death scene. Of course I'd love to come back if they want me too but it's really up to them at this point. I was surprised to see so much love given to his character so I'd be honored to play him again if given the chance." he replied with a twinkle in his eye that Y/N couldn't quiet make out the meaning behind.

When they were done with the interview the woman began unhooking herself from her microphone but looked up when Joseph came over to her with a warm grin on his face.

"Thank you again so much for the interview. I'm sorry if I fangirled too obviously." she teased handing over the microphone devices over to a staff worker

"Oh no of course not love! I wouldn't have minded if you did." his cheeky remark made her laugh as she reached down to grab her water and take a sip watching him

There was some sort of pause between them as if they didn't want to end their time together but unsure of what to say next. When the woman finally gave a little wave and grabbed her things to leave with an excuse of needing to go Joseph finally jumped at his chance before it slipped through his fingers.

"Actually, Y/N. I was wondering if you would like to go out for dinner, um tonight maybe? Unless your busy…" the adorable shyness of him made her grin over at him and squint

"I dunno if my boyfriend would like that…unless it's a business dinner of course but…" she trailed off and she could see his smile dropping a bit

"Boyfriend. Right." he hissing in a little breath. "Yeah um…" he was at a loss for words and Y/N couldn't help but laugh as she shook her head.

"I'm joking Joseph. I don't have a boyfriend." she grabbed her bag and pulled out her phone before holding it out to him expectingly "And I would love to go out for dinner with you."

The grin that he sent her made her world as he quickly typed in his number into her contacts. "That's great! For me that is." he laughed a bit he sent a text message to his number so that he had hers before handing the device back. "I'll pick you up at 6?"

She hummed thoughtfully. "Hmm, funny, sweet, and a gentleman. I think I hit the jackpot." she giggled placing her device back in her bag. "6 o'clock is perfect. I'll text you my address."

The actor gave her a warm farewell hug and the woman had to stop herself from inhaling his scent like a mad woman with her nose buried in his neck but damn did he smell good. When she pulled away she flashed him one more smile before turning to head out the door with him traling in tow. "I'll see you later than Mr. Quinn." she shot over her shoulder as they entered the hallway.

"Looking forward to it Ms. Y/L/N." was his cheeky reply before the pair began walking in opposite directions down the hallway with big smiles plastered on their faces and thoughts of just how well their night may go tonight.

#Joseph Quinn #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn oneshot #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x imagine #joseph quinn interview

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lesbianoms · 4 months

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The witch lived a fifteen minute walk outside of town. You’d always had a bit of a crush on her, ever since you were 12 and she was 17. She’d never even glanced your way.

Her eyes were always on the various preds when she wandered into town, her eyes warry and ready for a fight. It was odd for a prey to not want to be eaten, even stranger to manage it for so long, but you guessed being a witch and having magic helped with that.

Besides, no pred in town bothered trying to eat her anymore after the first dozen or so disappeared.

But obviously she was a prey, she was small and skinny, she couldn’t keep any meat on her bones no matter how much she tried. You’d heard her complain about it before, in the market asking stall owners how much they had in stock of various foods. She ate like a predator, but everyone knew she was prey.

You wished she wasn’t, because you knew you’d never be happy in a relationship with another prey, oh sure you’d love them to pieces! But that urge to be swallowed whole by someone you loved would never leave you… So dating a prey who didn’t want to be eaten? Wouldn’t be very fun for you.

The witch was 5 foot 3 inches, within the normal range of height for women, even if she seemed bitter about it sometimes, as it was on the lower end. The witch was skinny, but not like a twig, more lithe like a swimmer, she had bright eyes and a hesitant smile.

She liked talking to kids who hadn’t become predator or prey yet, she’d show them magic and play games with them when other adults refused to take them seriously.

This did not help your crush on her.

And then one day you decided to talk to her, maybe you could handle your crush by becoming friends with her?

You offered to help her carry her groceries back to her cottage, and the witch had accepted with a smile and a blush.

Maybe your crush wasn’t hopeless— NO! You WEREN’T going to date another prey, you’d tried before!

And then the pred appeared from down the path, he was tall, almost 6ft, and his eyes locked onto you and the witch.

The witch seemed unbothered even as the pred started gloating about how he’d just stumbled across dinner. He was clearly from out of town.

And then the witch punched him, he doubled over in surprise, that was all she needed before she opened her mouth and stuffed him in. You watched the witch swallow quickly, she clearly wanted to savor the moment but was doing it fast so that he didn’t have a chance to escape and eat you.

When the witch was done her belly was so incredibly swollen that her balance was off, she swayed from side to side before she got used to it.

“I know everyone thinks I’m a prey because I’m short and I can’t keep any weight on me,” the witch mumbled, sounding embarrassed, “And I know you only wanted to hang out with me because you thought I was safe… But I’m a pred.”

You look at the witch, she’s so embarrassed, and she seems… sad.

“You can leave if you want.” the witch offered quietly.

Silently you pick up the groceries and keep walking towards your witch’s home.

Her eyes go wide and she stumbles after you.

Your witch. Huh.

…

Over the next few weeks your crush on your witch grows until you can’t honestly call it a crush anymore, your witch gives you gifts and smiles at you and eats any pred that tries to stuff you away.

Eventually you stay the night at her place, you wake up in the morning to find your witch staring at herself in a mirror, frowning.

“I’m too skinny,” she says bitterly, “My metabolism is so fast that all of my food goes into keeping my muscles and none of it goes into much needed insulation!”

“It’s because you don’t eat any actual preys,” you comment idly, “Preds process really fast, preys stick around.”

Your witch freezes, turning to look at you.

“Oh.” she says softly, looking at you with wide adoring eyes, “I’ve never eaten a prey before…”

You think for a moment, has the time finally come? Should you bring it up? You decide to heck with it, it’s now or never.

“I’m a prey.” you point out, your witch nods, blushing nervously.

“Are you saying—?”

You spin your witch around to face you, wrapping your arms around her and staring into her eyes, “I think I’d be a lovely addition to your figure.”

You lift one of your hands and press it against your witch’s flat empty stomach, so empty, you are filled with a burning desire to fix that.

“If you’re sure.” your witch says firmly.

You smile, always so caring, and nod.

She opens her mouth and pushes you inside, swallowing you quickly, like she’s starving, maybe she is, starving for you.

She packs you away into her stomach, desperate for you to fill her belly, not even bothering to savor your taste. She whines as the last of you slips down her throat.

You curl up in her belly, soft and warm.

She kneads at her swollen middle.

“I know a reformation spell,” she gasps as she feels your body inside of hers, “I’ll keep you inside me for… a month? Maybe two? And then I’ll bring you back so I can eat you again.”

You’re certain she’s blushing at her own words, but you like the sound of that, being eaten again, not that you aren’t fine with becoming fat on her body forever.

Your witch sighs, “You’re too still. Squirm.”

You easily comply, you like this controlling side of your witch.

Your witch lays down on her bed, looking up at the ceiling, her hands kneading at her belly as you squirm inside. She smiles faintly. Soon you’ll be nothing but fat, but until then you fill her belly marvelously in a way no one ever has before. Eventually you don’t have enough energy to keep squirming, it makes your witch giggle as she massages her softening belly.

Being inside your witch is a bit like magic.

Your witch lets out a cute little hiccuping burp, trying to cover it up as she blushes, she sighs, she still has things to do today.

But, she supposes, having you along for the ride can only make them more pleasant.

ANON YOU WROTE A WHOLE ASS NOVEL IN MY INBOX?! HELL YEAH 😍

Ohh I love this scenario. There’s just something about kind witch preds in vore, since I don’t see them a lot. This checks ALL the boxes!! And neat little lore thing on other preds not adding any fat, that was cool to read!!

Uugh I love that balance of caring, shy, and yet domineering preds. “Magic” is also just the word I’d use to describe being digested in a pretty lady’s tummy ☺️

I love the progression of this storyline… also as an added epilogue, I enjoy imagining her trying unsuccessfully to hide me underneath her cloak as she runs her errands… eventually just owning her role as a pred and flaunting me to the rest of the world…

This is amazing!

#v.ore #v0re #soft vore #vore talk #asks #vore asks #implied digestion #digestion #implied reformation #f/f vore

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frost-queen · 1 year

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Outmatched //Part 7 (Reader!Holmes x Anthony Bridgerton)

Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @m-rae23,@kazbekkarluvbot, @freyathehuntress, @kneelforloki, @mamaj-right, @queensgirl718, @abaker74, @thescooby-gang, @readers-posts, @randomstory56, @aureolinb, @fictional-hooman, @nyenye, @annesunlight (couldn’t find your tag), @loliakeoghan23, @heyheyheyggg, @aizawash0e

Summary: Recovered it has revealed more layers of your family. A viscount finally settled with an answer yet what needed to be a reunion of yearning ends up in something dreadful that perhaps can’t be shaken off so easily.

Read part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 8 & part 9 & part 10

“Easy now… take my hand.” – Sherlock spoke assisting. – “Gentle now!” – Mycroft bit at you, observing right across from you. You dipped your toes down closer to the floor. Sitting on the edge of your bed. Sherlock’s trusting hand in yours, his other underneath your armpit for support. – “Calm.” – Mycroft said as you barely moved an inch. He crouched down, gesturing with his hand for you to come down. – “Slowly, slowly!” – he insisted as you flipped your heel towards the floor, toes up.

One foot touched the flooring first. Heel planted first as the rest followed. Then your second foot approached the floor. Slower, more hesitant. – “Gentle now sister.” – Mycroft told you, keeping a close eye on your foot. You brought heel down first. Afraid to put all your weight on the matter. Slowly bringing your toes down. Mycroft exhaled deep, fingers clasped by his lips in worry. As it waiting for the approaching storm in anticipation.

Sherlock stood. You turned your head upwards to him. One brief nod of him would give you enough courage to proceed. You pushed your hand deep into the matrass, moving your position on the bed. – “On one foot first.” – Mycroft instructed. Sherlock closed his eyes briefly with an inhale at his brother’s insufferable ways of directing everything.

He had his good days, most of them that annoyed Sherlock with simply his presence. So obnoxious and sturdy he was. A broom was not even stiffer then his own brother. Sherlock held you firm to not let all your weight fall upon your feet. You carefully stood with the aid of your brother. Putting all your weight in your good foot. The one not pained from the incident; you wish to not recall. It was a nightmare you had found yourself in.

Fearing your foot had been broken. Alas that was not the case. A firm proper bruising and swelling alone. Thank the gods for that. – “Now the other foot… but gentle Y/n!” – Mycroft reminded you once more. Sliding his finger down in a straight line. You took a deep breath. – “I have you… I always will.” – Sherlock reassured you before you’d take the final plunge. You carefully shifted your weight upon your second foot as well, waiting for anything to come. A sharp pain, a crack that would fracture your bones, anything for that matter.

Mycroft and Sherlock stared at you in anticipation. Waiting for you to cry out in pain and tumble to the ground. Silent. The room had fallen silent as nothing occurred of that matter. Your brothers taking a sharp breath. – “One step… carefully.” – Mycroft said pulling himself up. You looked briefly at Sherlock sliding your foot across the floor. Putting a bit of weight on it, you brought your other foot closer. – “One more.” – Mycroft spoke.

He stepped back against the wall. Over your shoulder, you looked with worry at your brother. He nodded certain. Steadying your breathing, you set a foot forwards. Gently rising it up to set back down. Sherlock’s hand sliding out of yours. Mycroft holding his open and welcoming to you. Feeling like a toddler again that needed to learn how to walk. You carefully took a step on your previous injured foot without any support. It felt a bit strange.

Not having used that foot for almost a week now. Too worried one misstep could be the end of it all. A limp would not be a pleasant thing to have. Certainly not as a lady in her courtship. What man would want a wife he would need attending to? No man. – “Come… come sister.” – Mycroft spoke in a gentle manner. You moved your foot, stumbling forwards. Fast steps to maintain your balance as you fell right into your brother’s arms. Mycroft enclosed his arms around you, exhaling deep. – “You did it sister…” – he whispered as you felt a brief squeeze.

Was Mycroft perhaps hugging you? Something he had never done before. The moment didn’t last long as he let go of you. – “We should continue to take it easy until you are for certain out of the clear sister.” – Mycroft spoke as Sherlock approached. He took you by the elbow for support. – “Yes… that is what we’ll do.” – he mumbled to himself, rubbing his finger nervously over his moustache.

He ventured out of your room. Sherlock and you sharing a confused glance. With a deep breath sat you back down on the bed you barely left for days now. – “Remain here… I’ll bring you some tea in a moment.” – Sherlock said bending down. His lips leaving a caring kiss on your forehead. It made you smile at his touch. Sherlock left the room as you looked down at your own bare feet.

Sherlock went down the stairs of the Baker estate. Into the study where he found his brother. – “At this rate we could return to London in a matter of days.” – he muttered to himself. – “So much to do… arrangements with proper suitors… paperwork…” – Sherlock shut the door behind him. – “Are you truly this mad?” – Sherlock called out, seeing as his elderly brother lifted his head up in shock. – “Suitors? You wish to push our sister into courtship again after what occurred at our very own house!” – Sherlock was not kind with his words but could care less for the brutality of it. – “In case you forgot dear brother, our sister still is bound to wed. She should be before the end of the season.”

“Mycroft!” – Sherlock shouted close to losing his temper. – “Have you no heart?” – he begged, pleading with his own blood. Mycroft turned his head towards the window. – “You may think I am heartless brother… but I have my best interests in our sister’s matters.” – He responded. – “Then act upon it!” – Sherlock answered with pleading hands. – “Consider what she wants. Do not simply sell her off to whatever lord has the grandest chest, for I tell you brother; our sister is not cattle you can sell at the fair!” – Mycroft inhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring up.

“You think I don’t know that!” – Mycroft snapped, releasing all his frustration. – “You don’t think it pains me to see that our sister isn’t the little girl she used to be. Bred for marriage that I! I as the eldest have no choice in fulfilling, to act upon my responsibilities! To have her wed and torn apart from this family. You think it doesn’t hurt me to fulfill this duty?” – Mycroft shouted, grand gestures flapping wildly around.

His words spewing out, finally having reached their end. Exhausted fell Mycroft back into his seat. Hand raised to his head, pressing gently on it to ease the pounding. Sherlock swallowed, taken back by his brother’s revelation. – “I long to keep her at home for as long as possible…but I can’t…” – Mycroft spoke pained with himself.

It all became suddenly very clear to Sherlock. He took a close observation of his brother and his words. Slightly furrowing his brows, he came to a painful conclusion. – “Of course…” – he whispered, barely hearable. His own brother being unmarried. The confession just now. The lack of pressure on himself for finding a wife. It had been staring him right in the face, yet he never paid much attention to it. Mycroft longed for a family. Not having one of his own, he claimed onto his own.

His deepest darkest fear slowly revealing itself as peels falling off an onion. His core. His truest fear of being alone. With no one to love around him. All alone in that empty house, forgotten. Sherlock walked around the desk to stand behind his brother. Pressing his hand caringly on his shoulder. Mycroft breathed in, slapping his hand on his brothers. Curling his fingers so he could hold his. Biting his lip, he pushed any upcoming tears away like he always had. As the eldest he must be strong. For himself and his siblings.

“Brother be mindful of the ducks.” – Benedict said. Anthony hummed loud, having spaced out. Benedict gestured with his head at the pond they stood by. Anthony carrying little rocks in his palm. A few of them haven already thrown mindlessly in the pond. – “You almost hit one in the head.” – Benedict informed him. Anthony turned his hand over, letting the little rocks fall into the grass. He wiped his hands clean against each other.

Benedict took a deep exhale. – “Has there been any news?” – he asked, knowing very well what still haunted his brother. Anthony shook his head pitiful. Benedict let his gaze go down. Clearly not receiving any news had a deep effect on his brother. He had little detail of what occurred that night. Only that he returned earlier than expected. Some sort of depression lingering on his shoulder. A dark cloud he wore as a cape lately.

“Perhaps a game with the little one’s could cheer you up?” – He suggested placing a hand on his back. Anthony nodded barely visible, just letting it happen. It was not that he was interested in it, but perhaps it could lift his spirit a bit. On their way over to the tent approached Colin. – “Ah I was just about to fetch you.” – he spoke.

“Mother brought her wonderous biscuits for today’s outing.” – Colin half water mouthed at the thought of those biscuits. Anthony exhaled deep, stepping over. Colin and Benedict briefly sharing a concerned glance. Anthony came to a sudden stop. Eye wide with curiosity when a carriage stopped at the gravely path that led through the park. He observed the carriage watching the door open. His eyes lingering at the sight of Mycroft stepping out.

Mycroft held his hand open. A hand coming to lay down on his followed by a delicate shoe. Anthony turned his posture more towards the carriage, clarity falling across his face at the realization that it was you. He watched you get out by the hand of your brother. Benedict let his gaze go from the carriage to his brother. Knowing what it meant. You adjusted your skirt as Sherlock stepped out behind you. Anthony’s eyes glued onto you. His lip trembling a bit at the shuddered exhale that left his lips.

You were alright. A weight fell of his shoulders as he felt like breathing again. You took your brother’s arm, looking around the park. There your gaze met up with his. Captured by him. Staring from afar, you felt your heart pound a bit quicker. Even from this distance you could tell how eager he was to speak with you. His legs almost shaking to get in motion.

“Brothers… If I may… one moment, please.” – you asked. Both Mycroft and Sherlock noticing the viscount as well. – “Briefly.” – Mycroft told you. You nodded, turning around. You started walking, but quickly quickened your pace with the lift of your dress. Shoes visible, you hastened in a graceful way over to him. Anthony equally stepping his pace up to hasten himself to your side without drawing the attention of running over desperately. – “Miss Y/n.” – he said coming to a firm stop in front of you. You let go of your skirt, taking a shaky breath. – “Are… have you been well? I…I had no news… I thought…” – Anthony stumbled over his words, barely knowing where he was going with his sentence.

You dropped your hand on his arm that had accompanied his words with gestures. – “I am well my lord…” – you reassured him. You let go of him, moving your hands behind your back. – “My apologies if you received no news… my brothers intended to…I…I am very sorry for the worry I have caused you.” – you spoke feeling a bit guilty. – “It was nothing serious… A bruised ankle and bedrest for a week.” – you briefly chuckled. Anthony exhaled deep out of relief. Suddenly aware of his heart that had started to beat louder in your presence. – “Miss Y/n… I…” – he started, but swallowed his words back in at the approach of your brothers.

“Come Y/n, we must go.” – Mycroft said, taking you by the elbow. – “Lord Holmes.” – Anthony bowed. Mycroft and Sherlock copied his bow. You had no say as Mycroft started to pull you away from him. Looking over your shoulder whilst stumbling over your feet to keep up. You needed to look at least one more time at him. Seeing how pained he was with your departure. At least some comfort to him that you were out of harms way. His heart slowly aching at your departure.

His brothers joined his side watching you leave with your brothers. Benedict placed a sturdy hand on his shoulder. – “Come brother…” – Anthony turned, following his brother’s back to the tent. Violet noticed how chipper her son suddenly was. Still pained, but not as depressed as before. She smiled cheeky; her cup of tea close to her mouth. Only thing now was for her son to pursue his love for you. Anthony sat down with his siblings, snatching a biscuit from Hyacinth. She puffed her cheeks up, hands on her hip. Her brother only laughing at her attempt of being angered at him.

Mycroft frowned entering the house. The door to the parlor open. He for sure remembered it being closed. Keeping you behind him, entered he first in case of any burglars. Sherlock rolling his eyes at that. – “Father?” – Mycroft uttered confused. Sherlock and you shared a glance, eyes wide. Both pushed the door open to enter quickly. – “Father!” – you called out, ready to run up to him, only to be stopped by an unfamiliar gentleman at his side. – “Father who is this?” – Sherlock asked.

Your father cleared his throat, patting the gentleman’s back. – “Your match.” – he addressed, looking at you. You gasped, eyes wide with the very same fear you had before. How was this possible. Your brother’s staring in shock as well. Mycroft turned his head to Sherlock, who had the very same thought. The man approached you, taking your hand to leave a kiss there. Oh no! oh no! oh no! where the only words echoing in your mind.

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 11 months

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Nobody's Fool: Chapter 17

Pairing: EddieXReader

Summary: You have bartended for years after you were forced to drop out of college due to family circumstances. You have dated your fair share of musicians, had your heart broken by one particular one, and have learned they are not be trusted. You have sworn off of them for the rest of your life. Then, one night, a new band plays at the bar, and against your better judgement, you can't help noticing the lead singer and guitar player. Could he possibly be different from the ones who came before him?

Warnings: 18+ Only due to eventual smut and language. There is also a toxic family relationship with a narcissistic mother if that is triggering for you.

MasterList

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28

You had been working hard to avoid Sebastian for the last few hours. He kept lingering, popping up unpleasantly like a bill collector you’ve been avoiding for days. He was relentless, sending lude sexual comments your way or taking another shot at trying to remind you about how good you were together. Yeah, so good together that he had to find other people to fulfill his sexual needs. You were not falling for his shit again. He’d made you look like an idiot once and that was more than enough. You would walk past him, ignoring him, heading to a table or back behind the bar or into the storeroom, anything to get as far from him as possible.

You had even gone so far as to send the blonde from earlier after him, hoping he would lose interest in you at the prospect of an easy lay he didn’t have to work that hard for. It worked for about fifteen minutes before he was back to lurking around, watching you. It was infuriating, trying to work as he just followed with his eyes, waiting for a chance to ambush you again.

You weren't sure how you would have responded if Sebastian had walked in here a couple months ago. Would you have tried to give him a second chance? You hoped not. But now? You knew all too well what a good guy actually looked like. Eddie was a good guy, and while you were still terrified of your feelings, of putting yourself out there again, you weren't willing to risk whatever it was you had with Eddie for this guy that you knew was a piece of shit.

This thing with Eddie scared the hell out of you because you knew you were diving right off the side of the cliff with no parachute. You were heading straight for the ground at a rapid pace, about to shatter every bone in your body in a painful crash. How long would it take for him to get bored of you? How long until he looked around and realized he could do so much better than you? How long before he realized you just weren't worth all of the effort?

“You want me to punch him for you?” Joey asked, breaking through your thoughts.

“No,” you sighed. “Really? You’re going to try to take him on? I love you Joey, but he’s got like six inches on you. I don’t need you getting hurt.”

Sebastian was no joke. He stood at six foot two, another trait that lended itself to him resembling a Greek God. He was muscular, not in a bulky bodybuilder way, but in a lean, toned kind of way. You had seen him in fights before when he was drunk and somebody was running their mouth, and you had never seen him lose one.

“I think I could take him,” Joey countered, sounding a bit hurt at your lack of faith in him.

“Maybe you could,” you agreed, “but it wouldn’t help anything and it would only create a problem for John. I don’t need you to lose your job for me. I just need to get through the next ten minutes so he can go away.”

The bar was closing down. Last call was twenty minutes ago. The patrons were slowly making their way out, the lack of drinks ending their fun for the night. You began wiping down the tables and stacking chairs, your body relaxing, every muscle loosening, now that you had made it. Sebastian would be heading out with his band and out of your eyesight. Hopefully out of your life for good this time.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed yours, spinning you around. Two arms crushed you against a rock hard body as lips you knew intimately found yours. Shock coursed through you at the sudden intrusion to your mind and body. You tried to bring your hands up to push him away from you, but his strong arms were pinning yours down at your sides.

Out of nowhere, the body holding yours was suddenly yanked away. You opened your eyes, just in time to see Eddie’s fist connecting with Sebastian’s jaw. Sebastian staggered back, surprise registering on his face at the attack. He stared at Eddie in fury and then launched himself, grabbing Eddie around the waist and tackling him to the ground.

“Shit!” John yelled as he came running over. “Guys, knock it off!”

You shook the shock off and ran forward, trying to help John pull them apart. You reached out but a flailing hand connected with your eye and you shrieked, falling back to the ground. Joey leapt over the bar, running to your side to see if you were okay.

“I’m fine, just…goddamn it!” you screamed.

A couple of the guys from the plant, big guys, grabbed Eddie and Sebastian in bear hugs, lifting them away from each other. Both of them looked insane, their eyes wild with rage, their hair looking like they had stuck their fingers in electrical sockets.

“You boys need to calm down!” John yelled. “I’m not going to have brawls in my bar. You want to keep this up, then you take it outside.”

“Gladly,” Eddie growled.

“Anytime,” Sebastian hissed.

“Fuck, both of you knock it off!” you yelled, getting back to your feet, still holding your eye.

Eddie glanced at you, suddenly realizing that you were hurt, eyes that had been dark with rage softening in concern. “Shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” you shrieked. “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“You were kissing him!” he yelled.

“I was not kissing him! He was kissing me!” you yelled back.

“Ahh…so this is who you got to replace me?” Sebastian sneered. “Really, dollface? This Eddie Van Halen knockoff? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Who the hell are you?” Eddie demanded.

“He’s my ex,” you explained quietly.

“Your ex?” he questioned, understanding registering on his face.

“Yeah,” Sebastian smirked, moving to you and slinging his arm around your shoulder. “Feeling nervous? I sure would be if I were my competition.”

“Shut up,” you shouted, shoving his arm away from you. “Seriously, get your fucking ego in check. Sebastian, just get the hell out of here.”

“You don’t mean that,” he argued, attempting his pouty lip again and you wanted to punch him this time. “Come on. You can’t be serious about choosing this dirtbag over me.”

“Dirtbag!?” Eddie yelled. “I’m guessing you’re the dick that is the reason she…”

“Jesus Christ! Everyone just shut up!” you yelled, desperate to stop Eddie from saying whatever it was that he was going to say. “Sebastian, seriously, just get the fuck out of here!”

Sebastian tried to argue but John stepped in, telling him he needed to leave before the cops were called. He complained, grumbling the entire way out about how he was the one who had been attacked. You felt relief flood through your body when the door closed and he was finally gone.

“Sweetheart, you know I love you, and I’m sorry I may have initiated all of this by allowing him to play,” John said, “but you need to get your boyfriends in check. I can’t have this shit in my bar.”

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, pressing your fingers against your forehead, a throb working its way from your eye to the back.

“You okay?” Joey asked.

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted, placing your hand on his arm. “Thank you. Do you think you could give me a ride home?”

“Of course.”

“Whoa,” Eddie interjected. “I thought I was giving you a ride home.”

“That was before you acted like a giant brute and came in here swinging!” you yelled.

“Seriously?” he argued. “I walked in here and saw some blonde titan making out with you in the middle of the bar. What exactly was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “maybe take a moment to assess the situation before fists start flying!”

“Assess the situation? I did assess the situation and I assessed that my girlfriend was kissing another dude! Forgive me for getting upset.”

“Girlfriend?” you asked in shock. Your brain was struggling to process that word. “Since when did we decide I was your girlfriend? I don’t remember that conversation! And I wasn’t kissing him! He grabbed me and kissed me!”

“I assumed you were my girlfriend. We’ve been seeing each other for a month. I didn’t know we had to officially state it,” Eddie explained. “And that’s all the more reason he deserved to be punched!”

“I can handle myself,” you seethed, glaring at him. “I’ve been handling him all night!”

“Oh, have you?” Eddie asked, his tone cold.

“Jesus, that’s nice,” you muttered. “I was avoiding him all night because I’m with you! I told him to go away. I told him to leave me alone. If you would have waited five goddamn seconds, you would have seen me bite his goddamn lip until it bled and tell him to fuck off. He cheated on me. He broke my heart. I am not interested in going down that road with him again.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? You never want to tell me anything!” Eddie yelled. “I only know what I know about you because you’ve been forced to share. Trying to get to know you is like trying to invade fucking Mordor! Every time I get close, an army attacks and puts up new goddamn defenses and I have to find a whole different strategy! It’s, quite honestly, fucking exhausting.”

You paused, his words twisting something deep inside of you. “Well, if I’m so exhausting, then I’ll be more than happy to give you a break.”

“Whoa! Whoa! That’s not what I mean,” he said quickly, his tone taking on an edge of panic. “I don’t want a break. Look, this situation got out of control. Will you please just come with me back to my place so we can talk?”

You glanced from Eddie to Joey who had been watching your back and forth with rapt attention. His eyes were wide as he looked at you.

“I can take you home if you want,” he offered.

You were so damn tired. This might go down as the longest night of your entire life. You weren't sure you had it in you to have some long conversation with Eddie. You also knew he wasn’t wrong. You did your best to still keep him at arm’s length whenever you could because as much as you liked him, you couldn’t stop that little fear that he was going to decide you weren't good enough one day. Maybe you owed it to him.

“It’s fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go with Eddie.” Eddie’s face lit up. “But I’m telling you, I am exhausted and my eye hurts and I don’t have the energy to fight it out. Can we please just go back to your place and sleep and talk in the morning?”

“Whatever you want,” he said with a smile, walking over to you. His hand grabbed your hips, pulling you against him. “Can I at least hold you?”

You rolled your eyes, secretly pleased but not wanting to show it.

“You’re hopeless,” you muttered softly, shaking your head.

_____________________________________________________________

The next morning, you and Eddie sat in his backyard with cups of coffee. He had stuck to his word. When they got to his place, he had gotten you some ice for your eye. You had helped him clean up a cut over his eyebrow and one above his lip. Then you had gone to bed, him holding you close, and you had slept like a damn baby wrapped in his arms.

Now, you sat in two lawn chairs, you in a pair of his sweats and a Radiohead tee that he had let you borrow, him in his boxers and a Metallica tee. He looked so goddamn adorable when he woke up, his hair all over the place, his eyes heavy with sleep still. He had a bruise on his cheek and his lip was slightly puffy, but it didn’t detract from how gorgeous he was. You had quite a shiner this morning, which he had apologized for over and over, but you weren't even certain who had hit you. Nobody had meant to.

“So, you want to tell me about him?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair, cupping his mug in his hands.

No, you really didn’t. You didn’t want to relive it at all, let alone share it with him. You had been an idiot, and you didn’t want Eddie to know how you had allowed Sebastian to make a fool out of you. But you knew you owed him an explanation after last night.

“He was my boyfriend,” you shrugged. “We dated for about nine months. I thought he loved me. I was clearly wrong. He cheated on me with some chick. I walked in on them and we broke up.”

“Okay, well that was a very short summary,” Eddie sighed, leaning back.

“I mean, what do you want me to say?” you asked with a shrug. “He tricked me. I allowed it. I was an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Eddie stated. “Look, we’ve all trusted the wrong people. It’s easy to do when you’re in love with somebody. We get blinded by our feelings for them and we miss all of the signs that something’s not right. We assume the best about them when they don’t deserve it. That doesn’t make you an idiot. Shit, that just makes you human, princess.”

“I guess,” you muttered, hugging your knees into your chest, your chin resting on top. “I was so in love with him. I mean, I thought he was it for me. I pictured our future together. He was my everything, and then I walked in and he was pile driving some redhead on the bed he and I shared. He told me he loved me and he only wanted a relationship with me but that he needed variety when it came to sex. He wanted me to understand that. He might sleep around but he would always come home to me.”

“Well, that’s bullshit,” Eddie grumbled. “What the hell kind of relationship is that?”

“That’s what I thought. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t walk around, knowing he could be screwing any random girl at any time. Maybe I’m a prude or something, I don’t know, but I don’t want to share my guy with others.”

“You’re not a prude. When two people truly love each other, that should be enough.”

“Maybe, I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Do…do you still love him?” Eddie asked, his voice hesitant, possibly even a little nervous.

“I did for a long time,” you softly mumbled. “I was a mess for weeks after I found him with that girl. If it weren’t for Jen, I probably would have lost my job. She kicked me in the ass and refused to let me wallow for too long. John was amazing. I hadn’t shown up to work for a week, but he knew what had happened. I came in and he never said a word about it, just let me continue with my shift.”

You took a sip of coffee, allowing the warmth to seep into you, calming your nerves. You didn’t like talking about this with him. Being this open felt dangerous. It felt like walking into shark infested waters just hoping they wouldn’t notice you had an openly bleeding wound.

“I did love him, but I don’t anymore,” you finally told him. “It took a long time to move on, but when I saw him last night, all I felt was disgust.”

Eddie looked pleased but like he was trying to hide it. He reached his hand out, taking yours and guided you over to his lap. You sat down and he wound his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Good,” he whispered, “because there appeared to be some confusion last night that I really think we should clear up. So, I thought maybe I should officially ask so we both know where we stand. I don’t want to see other people, and I am hoping you don’t either. So, will you be my girlfriend?”

You laughed, “I know what I said last night but that sounds like such a silly question at our age.”

“Maybe it is, but will you?” he asked, those beautiful doe eyes gazing up into yours.

“Yeah,” you smiled, kissing him. “I think I can do that.”

“Excellent,” he grinned, his lips finding yours again.

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cosmicjoke · 7 months

Note

Hi!

I had this question regarding Levi's appearance:

Many fic writers describe Levi as feminine or androgynous. Like a pretty boy rather than a handsome hunk. Also saw Isayama say in an interview that he draws Levi pretty.

I personally think he is feminine like he has a slender neck and his features are also so beautifully feminine.

Do you think he is feminine looking in Canon? Like the people ever referring him as feminine? I am just curious

Hmmm, you know, Levi strikes me as an extremely masculine man, I won't lie, haha. Not just his appearance, but the way he carries himself, the way he speaks, just his overall demeanor, etc... He seems very manly to me.

I know Levi appears pretty slender, both in the anime and the manga, but I think it's a little deceiving. Like his clothes hide just how thickly he's built. He's just a smidge under 5 foot 3 inches, and he's listed as weighing I think 143 pounds. I think he's actually a lot more stout than he appears, and probably has a pretty broad chest and shoulders for someone his size.

He's a little guy, but he's got an obviously very powerful frame.

However, his facial features might be more feminine. He looks just like his mother, after all, so he likely has a fine bone structure to his face, which could be described as more pretty than handsome, maybe. He has large eyes and I think high cheek-bones, which would definitely lend itself more to femininity. Still, I wouldn't really describe Levi as androgynous, since that kind of implies he might be mistaken for a woman by some. I don't think anyone would ever really mistake Levi for a girl or a woman. He just seems too masculine to me.

#Levi Ackerman

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myreia · 3 months

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DIVERGENCE OF THE HEART

CHAPTER TEN: HEART OF LIGHT

Chapter Rating: Mature Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 6,640 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. This chapter contains some sensuality, but nothing explicit. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

The cold is in her bones.

Aureia wakes with a jerk, forcing her crusted eyes open. A tangle of covers and bedsheets twist around her, the silk sticking her to her bare skin, but it is not enough to stave off the cold. Grumbling quietly to herself, she pulls her knees tightly into her chest and pulls the covers up to her chin. Aymeric rumbles beside her, still asleep, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. She must have drifted away from him during the night.

Carefully, she inches across the mattress and nuzzles against him, seeking his warmth. Her legs tangle with his, her freezing feet nudging him. How he can be so warm is beyond her. With a sigh, she rests her head against his chest and casts an eye around the room, idly debating the benefits of getting up against those of staying put.

The hearth has long since burned out, leaving behind nothing but dust-grey ash. The candles have snuffed themselves out. A bright sun seeps in from behind the closed curtains, the heavy velvet absorbing the light. It’s impossible to tell the time of day—and she finds she doesn’t care. The day can wait a little longer.

She slept soundly last night. It’s odd. Unexpected, even. Historically she hasn’t slept well in unfamiliar locations, some instinct buried deep within her jolting her awake every quarter bell before she can truly lose consciousness. Considering she has never shared her bed with anyone, she never thought it would be so comforting. Pleasant. She is so restless at night, often waking at the drop of a hat, she thought she would find it grating to share her intimate space with another. And yet she has woken refreshed with a kind of happiness she can’t quite explain. Perhaps last night a part of her understood unconditionally that she was safe in Aymeric’s arms.

Protected.

“By the Fury, your feet are cold.”

Aureia jolts up, surprised. Aymeric’s voice is thick and husky with sleep. He gazes at her through heavy-lidded eyes, grinning sheepishly. How long has he been awake?

She jerks her foot away. “I’m sorry—”

He puts a finger to her lips and shakes his head. She falls silent and waits, heart thrumming in her chest, delighting at the warmth of his fingers against her skin as he brushes her cheek. He leans in and presses an open, luxurious kiss to her mouth. There is nothing rushed about his movements—the swift excitement of the night before has faded to a slow, ardent burn, like the long-lasting coals that sustain a hearth throughout the night.

He draws back, his forehead presses to hers. “Perhaps we can be in agreement this morning,” he murmurs, a hand cradling the back of her neck. “No more apologies. It may very well do us some good.”

She chuckles and kisses him quickly. “I can agree to that.”

“Good.”

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her down. Shifting her weight, she hooks a leg over his hips and rolls on top of him, dragging the bedcovers with her. She settles down comfortably, pressed between the warmth of his body and the weight of the covers, and loses herself in kissing him. With her mind half-asleep, it is easy not to think of anything else.

A low sound rumbles in his throat and he draws back. “It is far too cold, even for me,” he says. “The hearth should not stay unlit. Allow me—”

She shakes her head and presses a finger to his lips. “I’m not ready to get up yet,” she murmurs. “Look.”

He tilts his head, brows drawn together in confusion. With a mischievous smirk, Aureia raises her hand and tugs on her aether, creating a tiny ball of flame. It dances between her fingertips and she twists her hand, sending the spark sailing across the room. It lands in the hearth and coaxes a fire to life, warmth spreading throughout the room from the crackling flames.

Aymeric lets out a long sigh and chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course. Why did that never occur to me—?”

She grins and cuts him off with a kiss.

Time passes. With the hearth lit, Aureia has become far too comfortable to consider getting up from bed. She rests her head against his chest and closes her eyes, feeling the steady pulse of his heart. The sounds of the street echo from beyond the windows—early morning pedestrians winding their way through the Pillars, knights to the training grounds, minor nobility to their places of work, high house aristocrats out for their morning walk. It all feels so distant, so unimportant, the way the world moves on without them.

Aymeric exhales a slow breath and holds her close, one hand stroking the planes of her back. She holds her breath, wondering if he will ask about the brands. To her surprise, she finds herself willing—almost eager—to tell him. It is not a discussion she can trust with many.

The question never comes.

She relaxes, the knot in her stomach unravelling, and somehow it makes her even more grateful for him. He would know, would he not? The toll war takes on you, body and soul. For some scars to heal, you must let them be no more than that. Scars.

He drags a hand through her hair, toying with the locks, and his fingers brush the tip of her ear. A pause. She can hear his hesitance, as if doubting the thought in his mind. She presses her lips together, attempting to contain her smile.

“I have an admittedly foolish and personal question,” he says after a moment.

She forces back a laugh. “I don’t think any question could be too personal now, do you? Foolish, on the other hand—”

He gives her a look.

“I promise, I’ll do my best not to tease you. What is it?”

“I suppose my own curiosity often serves me my own embarrassment by the plateful. But indeed, over the course of the past year, I have oft wondered… Well… To put it plainly, when we first met I admit I was quite smitten with you.”

“All ready?”

“You are a beautiful woman, Aureia, why would I not be?”

A lump forms in her throat. The way he says it—as an objective truth that cannot be denied—makes her heart throb. It takes a significant amount of effort to keep her mouth shut and take the compliment.

“But I remember then, those few years ago,” he continues. “You wore your hair differently then. Longer. There was red within the black, was there not? I am merely curious as to why.”

She sighs, reluctantly considering her answer. An innocuous question from his point of view, perhaps, but not so much for her. “My hair does what it wants,” she says. “The red is some reaction to my aether, I’m not sure. Kallias—my brother—had it, too.”

The words slip out far too easily. She curses inwardly, regretting her carelessness. This opens too many questions, questions that lead to dangerous places—but he says nothing. If he is curious, he does not press. Warmth floods her, affection coursing through her veins. She could kiss him now, if he wasn’t waiting for her to finish her explanation.

“I cut it off after the bloody banquet,” she continues. “Tataru can tell you, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Hacked away with a knife. Half of Thanalan could recognize me on sight. It was the fastest way to… blend into the crowd, I suppose.”

Her teeth scrape her bottom lip. There is more to the story than that—things she wishes she could tell him. Things she wonders if she should. But the mere thought of it makes her throat tighten and her jaw clench, the secrets desperate to stay hidden. It may have been a decision fuelled by practicality, but cutting her hair hurt nonetheless.

In Garlemald her hair was cropped short. Not by her choice, no, but by that of her superiors. It had taken years for it to grow out after her defection. A small, personal act of continued defiance.

She closes her eyes and tucks the thought away. “I dye it now to keep the red out,” she finishes. “Messy, but easier than a glamour. I suppose I don’t need to now that Ul’dah isn’t out for my blood. Everyone knows what I look like regardless of what I do, but… I like keeping something of myself for myself. Does that make sense?”

His hand slips from her back. Gently, he coaxes her chin up and meets her gaze. “I do,” he says. “But Aureia, I fear sometimes you wish for nothing more than to hide yourself from the world. You do not need to hide. At the very least, not from me.”

Her heart pounds, the threat of tears panging in her eyes. She blinks them back and presses an aching, shaky kiss to his mouth. It’s the only thing she can think to do. The only thing she wants to do.

He chuckles and threads his hands in her hair, indulging the kiss. They linger in the moment, enjoying the slow-paced effortlessness of their morning together. Somehow here, wrapped in each other in his bed, there is nothing here but themselves. The urgencies of their daily lives can be put aside, shut out by the closed door. At least for now.

At least for a little longer.

Aymeric disentangles himself from her and throws the covers back. “Do you have many thoughts on tea?” he asks.

Aureia makes a face and tugs on the blankets, cocooning herself within them. “As in…?” she replies, prompting him to clarify. He slides to the edge of the bed and stretches an arm, working out a kink in his shoulder. Her gaze lingers on his bare back, indulging perhaps a little too much in the sight. He is awfully pretty, she must admit. “Do I like it? I suppose so. Some kinds, not all. Tataru makes it best, though she has a habit of spiking it with one remedy or another. If she happens to serve you tea, I would approach it with caution, you might get more than what you were asking for—”

He laughs. Shaking his head, he finishes his stretch and turns around, pushing a knee into the mattress as he leans across to kiss her forehead. “I am asking if you would like some, dearest,” he murmurs affectionately.

She wriggles beneath the covers. “Oh,” she says. It’s hard to tell whether the flush on her cheeks is from her mistake or his use of the word dearest. “Yes. Please.”

He smiles and draws back, rising smoothly from the bed. Pulling a long dressing gown from the back of an armchair, he shrugs it on and pads across the room on bare feet. He retrieves a tray, a teapot, a jar of tea leaves and a couple of porcelain cups so fancy they should really only be used for polite company. As he sets about brewing the tea over the hearth, she wonders whether he could call on his staff to bring them something. The gesture of making it himself means something, even if she doesn’t have the words for it.

Aureia curls inwards, tucking her knees into her chest. She burrows beneath the covers, distracted by opposing thoughts. On one hand, she should get up and help. She is his… guest? Friend? Visitor? She doesn’t know what to call herself now, and lingering on it for too long leaves her reaching for words she does not want to contend with. On the other, a part of her buried deep within enjoys the thought of Aymeric doting on her. It is so counterintuitive to who she is that it terrifies her, but she likes it all the same.

“Not keen to be an early riser, I take it?” he asks, breaking the silence.

She smiles. “I can be,” she replies playfully. “But not every day. You’ll have to forgive me for staying put, I seem to remember that someone took off my clothes and left them outside.”

He coughs sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning red. “I do recall that same event. Rather well, I might add.”

She trades looks with him, unable to hide her smile. With a dramatic sigh, she throws the covers off and sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed. Her skin prickles without their warmth, goosepimples running down her arms. “But I suppose if you insist, I might have to help myself.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, watching her with adoring amusement. Her feet touch the floor and she saunters to the bureau and ransacks the drawers. She finds an old undershirt, the blue so faded it is almost grey, and pulls it on over her head. The hem reaches to just above her knees, covering her ass, and the sleeves dangle far past her hands. The open collar is deep on her, dipping between her breasts.

The shirt smells like him. She likes it—not that she is going to mention it.

Pleased, Aureia wanders across the room and sinks into an armchair, throwing her legs casually over the armrests. She tugs idly at the too-long sleeves, rolling them up to her wrists as Aymeric finishes brewing the tea and pours it into the cups. He proffers one to her and leans in, kissing her.

“Thank you,” she says, lingering in the kiss.

He murmurs something in return, his voice too husky to make out the words, and withdraws to his own armchair. She raises the cup, the porcelain warm against her palms, and takes a sip. He brewed it in the Ishgardian way, of course—the boiled yak’s milk is smooth and creamy, the tea rich in flavour.

It is calming, drinking this tea in front of a roaring hearth with him. Though her mind whirls, reaching for words to fill the silence for some reason that escapes her, she cannot deny the comfort of being here with him. There is something wonderful about this quiet morning spent together, a natural extension of the night before.

And it is alarmingly domestic.

She can’t make sense of their relationship. What is Aymeric to her now? What is she to him? They care for each other, yes, but there is so much left unsaid. So much undetermined. They have sailed right past the borders of friendship and landed in new waters. There are a half-dozen words to describe two people who care for each other who have slept together. Lovers, paramours, partners. A couple. None of it feels right.

She tries not to think about the gossip they will cause, the assumptions that will be made the moment she is seen regularly visiting the manor. She knows she will again.

I do not wish for this to be the only night I share with you. I would look to tomorrow. And the day after. And every day that is yet to come.

She sips at her tea, hoping it will dissolve the lump in her throat. Apart of her yearns to run—accept herself as the wayward warrior who is better on her own. That would be the easiest path. Rude, yes, too walk away now after everything, but no doubt the safest in the long run. She can’t hurt him if she walks away now.

She doesn’t know how to navigate this. She doesn’t know what to do with this level of affection and intimacy. She imagined her first time would be some rough and tumble affair in a grungy inn, pursuing sex for the sake of sex. It’s what Hilda would do. A fun diversion. Someone to enjoy herself with before returning to more important matters.

But she isn’t Hilda. She can’t leave and disappear into the Ishgardian morning, pretending nothing has happened. She can’t walk away from him so easily. That isn’t her. To leave would be wrong, but to stay is to accept that their relationship is becoming something she may not be prepared to give.

Aureia drains her tea and rotates the cup in her hands, jittering a leg against the armrest. Should she speak? Break the silence? The topic must be on his mind as much as it is on hers. He is the only thing that makes sense in her life.

Ugh. You’re such a fool. Why are you making this more complicated than it needs to be? You’re happy, aren’t you?

She pauses, frozen, feeling nothing but the slow beat of her heart pulsing in her chest. Her gaze flicks across the room to Aymeric, taking him in. He lounges comfortably in hid chair and drinks his tea, a peaceful expression on his face. Looking at him now, how quiet and relaxed he is… It makes her happy. He makes her happy.

And it has been a very long time since she has felt that way.

Aymeric has caught her looking at him. “Is something the matter?” he asks. “Is it not to your liking?”

Aureia smiles. “No, no,” she says quickly. “Nothing like that.” She stretches, leaning far over her chair’s armrest to push her empty cup onto a nearby table. “I was lost in thought, that’s all.”

He raises an eyebrow and calmly sips his tea. “Oh? May I inquire as to what about?”

She rises to her feet and pads across the floor, bare feet sinking into the thick rug. He tilts his head as she approaches, his gaze lingering on the way his shirt clings to her body. She has heard—or read, to be more specific, in those damnable romance chapbooks—the phrase undressed with their eyes and thought it ridiculous. She both loves and hates that it makes sense to her now.

“Something about you,” she says, stopping in front of him. She rests a hand on the back of his armchair and leans in, pressing her mouth to his.

A soft groan escapes him, scuffing his cup against the table as he puts it down blind. “About me?”

She smiles against his lips and deepens the kiss. “About you, yes,” she says and presses a knee into his chair for support. Her fingers tangle in his hair, cradling the back of his neck.

In response he runs his hands down her back and slips them beneath the hem of his shirt, cupping her ass. “And what would that be, pray tell?” he murmurs and sweeps her into his lap.

She laughs with delight, straddling him comfortably, and kisses him again. His shirt tangles around her, riding up, and he runs a hand along her upper thigh. A little shiver tingles at the nape of her neck, threatening to run down her spine. “It’s a secret,” she says. “Perhaps you’ll get it out of me one day.”

He chuckles huskily and kisses her. “Perhaps I will, yes,” he replies, indulging her teasing playfulness. “Perhaps that day will even be today—but in a moment. Stay here, yes?”

She nods and shifts her weight off him, squeezing between him and the armrest. He plants a quick kiss to her forehead and rises from the chair, crossing the floor swiftly and disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. She curls up in his chair, tugging idly at his shirt. Realistically, she knows they should dress and prepare for the day. They can’t stay locked up here together forever. But the slow, lazy intimacy of the morning has an addictive wonder to it, one neither of them wish to break. For once it is broken, they may never get it back.

The longer that door stays closed and the world shut out, the longer they can pretend they are the only two people in the world.

A rap on the door. Polite, swift—and insistent.

Aureia stiffens, glancing across the room with the hope to see Aymeric return. But he does not. The rap sounds again, sharp with professionalism, and she curls tighter into the chair. Marcel must be on the other side. And whatever he has to say must be urgent.

With an exasperated sigh, she rolls out of the chair and stands up, smoothing her shirt down and tying the front as best she can. This is the last conversation she wants to have with Aymeric’s butler, but she might as well get it over with. Marcel was never going to approve of her, so what should it matter?

Brushing her hair sharply behind her ears in a last attempt to make herself presentable, she strides across the room and yanks the door open mid-knock.

As expected, Marcel is on the other side. The butler drops his raised hand to his side and bows, a picture of professionalism. His gaze skates over her, staring her in the face while avoiding lingering on the loose shirt. “Mistress Malathar,” he says coldly. “A fine day to you.”

“Thank you, Marcel,” she replies, equally icy. “Is there a reason for your presence here or—” She stops short as the realization hits. Day? Not morning? How long were she and Aymeric lounging in bed?

He smiles with stiff politeness. “You have my assurance that I would never dare impose upon my lord unless it was of the utmost necessity.” Why does his tone make her feel like they are playing a game, saying one thing with their words but meaning something else? It is the kind of false politeness that saturates the Ishgardian aristocracy and it makes her gut twist. “A messenger has arrived from House Fortemps and awaits Ser Aymeric in the parlour below.”

She blinks, fighting to keep her expression neutral. Tempting though it is to scowl and shut the door in his face, she knows that is not a rational solution. “Did this messenger give any indication what this is about?” she asks.

“No, he did not—which should inform you that it is a matter too sensitive to be entrusted to a senior members of the household staff. Perhaps it is Scion business. Urgent. Or so I gather.”

The echo of her words last night do not go unnoticed. She would dearly love to punch him in the face, but she suspects Aymeric wouldn’t appreciate that. “Right. Thank you. I’ll tell him.”

Marcel fixes her with an even stare. “Mistress Malathar, if I may impart some advice—”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“But if I may.”

It is not a request.

She grimaces and relents. He is going to impart his advice whether she likes it or not, so she might as well be polite about it… as much as she can. “Very well.”

“Take heed and take care. Once this secret escapes it will not be contained. A blossoming relationship may be enchanting at first, but there will come a time soon enough when you both must face the demands of Ishgardian society. Conceal what you must from whom you must, but know that the longer you prolong your secrecy, the more difficult it will become.”

“I know that.”

“You may know, yes, but you may not realize. I do not wish for your actions to harm Ser Aymeric.”

“Harm him?” she stutters, baffled. “I—”

He exhales a long breath. “Think on it. Have some consideration, mademoiselle, I beg of you.”

She chews her lower lip, still too stunned for words.

“Regardless, I have ensured that your clothes have been laundered and pressed and your boots retrieved,” Marcel continues with clipped professionalism. He steps aside, a narrow sliver of light from the bedroom cascading into the study beyond him, and gestures to Aymeric’s desk. Her clothes and jacket sit neatly folded on the surface, her boots resting against the side. She isn’t sure what to make of the gesture. Though it may be a kindness, it feels like a slap on the wrist.

Ugh. Ishgard.

“I imagine you wish to make yourself presentable.”

She smiles begrudgingly. “Thank you. I—”

“Is something the matter, Marcel?” Aymeric’s voice calls from across the room. “Has something urgent occurred?”

Aureia closes her eyes and presses her lips together tightly. This is exactly the kind of situation she dreaded. If only the stubborn butler had stubbornly knocked, left his message, and retired…

“Certainly, my lord,” Marcel says calmly. “Master Artoirel awaits in the parlour—”

She blinks at the mention of the name. Artoirel, serving as messenger? Why him? Why now? Why couldn’t Marcel have told her directly? Why did he wait for Aymeric to appear before saying anything? Then again she shouldn’t be surprised that Marcel was upfront with him and not with her. He is lord of the manor. She has no merit in this household.

“Alphinaud Leveilleur makes preparations to move on Xelphatol. In your absence, Count Edmont has ordered a contingent of knights to secure the entrance—”

“In my absence? I would have overseen the operation, as I drafted in my missive—”

“My lord, with permission, you did not finish your missive.”

The silence in the room is deafening. The implication could not be more clear.

Aymeric passes a hand over his face. “He is well within his rights to deploy his knights as he sees fit. Xelphatol is within striking distance of Camp Dragonhead. I was to ask him to do so.”

“Ser, if I may, perhaps it is well that the lord count has acted on your behalf,” Marcel says with blunt weariness. “I cannot conceive a world where the count would act counter to your best wishes. As Lucia has told you many times before, delegation is not a fault, but the mark of a true leader. That Alphinaud Leveilleur and Count Edmont have taken the initiative only means, in no uncertain terms, that you have steadfast allies.”

Aymeric lets out a long breath. “Thank you for your honesty, Marcel,” he says. “You are right, as you often are. Return to the parlour and inform Artoirel I will meet with him shortly.”

“At once, my lord.”

“And Marcel… perhaps say nothing of my guest, yes?”

The butler fixes him with a stern look. “Of course, my lord.”

With a short bow to both of them, Marcel withdraws across the study and disappears into the hallways, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Of course it’s Artoirel,” Aureia says bitterly.

“Yes, and I will meet with him forthwith, love.” Aymeric plants an abrupt kiss to her forehead and moves past her, digging through his wardrobe for appropriate clothes. The gesture is blunt, hurried—though he hasn’t outright said, she senses annoyance. Not with Marcel nor with Artoirel, but with her. Or perhaps the situation. “Stay here while he briefs me on forthcoming events. I suspect you will need to prepare, the Scions will no doubt wish to dispatch you alongside Master Leveilleur.”

He dresses swiftly, pulling on a tailored shirt and trousers in a matter of moments—far easier to manage than his uniform which, she recalls, was left outside in the study. Did Marcel press and launder those as well? She may be as good as dirt in his eyes, but the old butler does care deeply for Aymeric.

“I’d rather go back to bed,” she says.

He pauses, halfway through lacing up his boots. “Would that time were not against us,” he says. “Perhaps one day it can be so, but for now we cannot afford selfishness. Our responsibilities will not wait—”

“I know,” she interrupts. How can she make him understand? It’s not that she wants to forgo her responsibilities—the Warriors of Darkness must be dealt with, and if she is the only one who can put a stop to them summoning Garuda, then she will do it. But that does not change how her heart aches at the disruption to this morning and how badly she clings to it. Could they not have had another bell of peace? “But still—”

“Get dressed. I will see to Artoirel.” He meets her eyes, his expression softening in apology. There is conflict in him, torn between the man who wishes to stay and love her and the politician who must leave to lead his nation. With a heavy sigh, he leans down and kisses her, his thumb brushing her cheek. He lingers in the kiss and pulls away, leaving her in the study’s semi-darkness without another word.

One click of the door later and the reality of the situation comes rushing home like Vylbrand’s tides. She stands immovable in the threshold, a chill once again pricking at her skin. She feels naked beneath his oversized shirt—an absurd observation consider that she is, in fact, naked beneath his shirt—but she feels exposed now, and filled with regret. Perhaps she should have been more careful, maintained some form of respectability in front of Marcel.

She chews the inside of her cheek, irritably eyeing her clothes on Aymeric’s desk. So clean, so neat, folded with care. She doubts they have ever been so well cared for than in the hands of Marcel’s staff. Is this what aristocracy is? Glorified parenting by a group of judgmental manservants who—

For gods’ sake, calm down. You’re being ridiculous.

She inhales a deep breath. She cannot—does not—want to unravel what the butler’s actions could or could not mean. This is new territory for him as much as it is for her. For Aymeric. She knows realistically Marcel will do whatever he must to protect the good name of his lord’s house from gossip and hearsay. Besides, she should be thankful. If she wants her privacy, she will have to twist some lie for Artoirel to explain her presence at the manor. Muddy and crumpled clothes from the night before will not help in that regard.

If she is honest with herself, her anger at Marcel is a distraction. Something easier to dig her teeth to divert her attention from the painful truth: she doesn’t know what to do about Thancred. Right now, the last thing she wants is to look at him. But Scion business is Scion business. There will be little she can do to avoid him while he is in Ishgard.

A loud meow sounds in the darkness and a bushy orange tail flicks from around the couch. Sylvaine trots into view a moment later and winds around Aureia’s legs. He nuzzles her calves, butting his head gently against them, and meows again.

She smiles. “Well, at least one of us has common sense,” she says, petting him gently. Her hand disappears into his pillow of majestic fluff.

Sylvaine purrs contently, enjoying the moment, then scurries through the gap in her legs and into the bedroom. With a sigh, she grabs her clothes and boots and follows him. As expected, the cat is nowhere to be found. Knowing she cannot procrastinate any longer, she dresses quickly and mechanically. Aymeric’s bedchambers feels large and empty without him. The manor is uncomfortably quiet, too large to relay sound from the floor below. Even the streets outside are silent, devoid of foot traffic.

She is displaced without him. Overwhelmed. The high ceilings are too high, the rich furnishings too rich, the warm hearth too warm. She misses the simplicity of the Forgotten Knight, alcoholic reek and all.

Fastening the last button of her shirt, Aureia shrugs on her coat and smooths it down. The red leather is pliable beneath her hands, soft and familiar. When she attaches her rapier to her belt, the weapon’s weight tugs at her hip, a reminder of who she is and what she is capable of. Small comforts, perhaps, but important ones.

The walk through the upstairs is unbearably long. Though she strides at an even pace, the heels of her boots clicking confidently against the polished wood, the hallway stretches out for an eternity. Where last night it was cozy now it is stark and drafty, harsh streams of sunlight flowing in through frost-laced windows. She shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Perhaps she should re-consider getting a fur-lined cloak, Thancred was always on her ass about it…

She slows her pace, her ears pricking up. For a moment she thought she heard the echo of voices, but there is nothing now. Shrugging, she rounds the corner and steps onto the staircase landing, squinting in the bright light of the foyer’s chandelier.

A familiar figure leans against the wall, arms crossed and picking at her nails with mild disinterest in her surroundings. Her head jolts up at the sound of Aureia’s footsteps and her ruby gaze sweeps the stairs, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“About time you showed up,” Hilda says, adjusting her stance, watching her closely as she descends. “I was wondering where in this labyrinth you’d run off to.”

“Maybe keep wondering to a minimum,” Aureia replies, regretting her choice of words as soon as they are out of her mouth. Not that it matters—was there really any way of answering that question without raising Hilda’s suspicions?

Hilda raises an eyebrow and her smile only grows. “Aye, captain, I’ll consider it.”

“What are you doing here, Hilda? I didn’t think you enjoyed hanging around the Pillars unless strictly necessary.”

“The Leveilleur boy was quite worried, you know. About your whereabouts. Seems you missed an important meeting, which your Scion friends have assured me is quite unlike you. Somehow I was wrangled into the search. I’m glad my instincts have paid off—if only to best Thancred at his game.”

Her jaw clenches at the off-hand comment. Returning Hilda’s smile, she hops down the final steps and joins her at the foyer threshold. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she says. “I left my weapons here after dinner last night.”

Hilda’s eyes shine with amusement. “Aye, I’m sure. Weapons.”

“Well, I’m not about to go to Xelphatol unarmed.”

“If anyone could go to Xelphatol unarmed and decimate whatever tomfoolery the Ixal are planning now with your bare fists, it would be you.”

“Not exactly a compliment, Hilda.”

She raises an eyebrow, taken aback by sudden bitterness. Aureia makes a face, but cannot muster an apology or an explanation. Though the comment is casual and well-meaning, it grates on her that even her closest friend in Ishgard can’t go a minute without reminded her of what she is. A one-person army. The solution to the impossible. A tool of war. How many Ixal has she slain now? How many times has she stripped them of their god?

The Warriors of Darkness must be stopped, yes, but no one has stopped to consider another way. The Scions made decisions in her absence, Count Edmont released his orders. It will be a long fight up the slope of the mountain. If she wanted a different outcome, she shouldn’t have given into distractions. She should never have sought out Aymeric.

“Fury take me, what is with that look?” Hilda’s voice echoes in her ears, snapping her out of her thoughts. Her friend stares at her with concern, adjusting her arms across her chest. “The world could be coming to an end for all I know. For the record, I hope it ain’t. Not when shit’s finally getting good.”

Aureia sighs and sidles up next to her, leaning firmly against the wall. “It won’t. I’ll make sure of that.”

Her lips twitch. “You know, if you need me to shoot someone, say the word. Real enemies or real assholes—whichever is the problem, I have your back.”

She smiles, grateful. “Thanks, Hilda.”

Somewhere in the depths of the manor, a door closes. Boots click against the floor, punctuated by the intense murmur of familiar voices. Aymeric and Artoirel round the corner deep in heated conversation. Though their tone is polite, neither of them can quite mask their annoyance.

“…I will not play messenger between you and my father on this matter—”

“And yet you are still here, are you not?”

“As a favour to him, yes. And in honour of my duty to my house. You should understand something of that by now. Ishgard and the House of Lords are not your sole responsibility.”

“I am aware, thank you.”

“Aymeric, I tell you this as a friend first and a brother second. He has only the best intentions—”

Aymeric clears his throat and slows to a stop. Artoirel cuts off mid-sentence, his gaze sweeping across the foyer to find Aureia and Hilda leaning against the wall. His jaw snaps closed and he regards them warmly, swallowing the conversation and his pride. Behind the smile, his eyes are weary. Worn.

“Mistress Malathar,” he says, bowing deeply. “Good day. I am glad to see you well.”

“Thank you.” She does not return the bow. “How is your brother?”

“Well. The count wishes to convey—” Artoirel stumbles, realizing that she has flipped the script. It was not his father she asked about first, but Emmanellain. He chuckles, covering his mistake, and shakes his head. “Apologies. My brother is as well as can be. Under the weather after he was caught outside in that storm last night, but otherwise well.”

Poor Emmanellain. She can’t fathom what the boy was up to, but Artoirel seems insistent on judging him regardless of what he does. “Good.”

“As I was saying, my father desires to convey his best wishes for your mission today. Our knights are preparing for your journey to Xelphatol as we speak.”

That’s not why you came here, Artoirel, and you know it. She fixes him with a steely gaze. Knowing Ishgardian nobility, getting him to admit it outright is next to impossible. “Give Edmont my thanks. His kindness in assisting the Scions of the Seventh Dawn is always appreciated.”

“I shall, my lady.” Artoirel bows again, falling back on stiff politeness. “He is always happy to lend his expertise should others become otherwise occupied. Delegation is the key to success, is it not?”

“So I’ve heard.”

A faint flush reddens his cheeks. “I know you have other concerns now, Aureia. But as I am here, my father—”

Hilda shoves her elbow into Aureia’s side, silencing her before she can speak. With a jaunty smile, she pushes off the wall and takes a stand before the Elezen men. She is not a small person by any means, but she is dwarfed next to them. “Ah, Artoirel, my favourite lordling,” she says with a wink. “I’m sure Aureia would love to stay and chat, but she has other matters to attend to right now. She came to collect her weapons and she has. Best we be off.”

She turns on a heel and strides purposefully to the doors and throws them open.

Aureia winces at the bright sunlight, her expression contorting. She is grateful for the exit Hilda has given her, but her heart is panging. This is too sudden, too rushed. If only she had more time with Aymeric to say a proper goodbye. Privately.

Damn it, Artoirel.

She raises her head, meeting his eyes. Aymeric smiles faintly, his gaze lingering on her. There is a hint of the ardent, passionate man from last night in his face, the one who cares little for arbitrary rules. For a moment, she wonders whether he will close the distance between them and kiss her goodbye. She can envision it well enough.

But he does not.

He gives her one last aching look. “Be safe, Aureia,” he says softly. “I will wait for news of your endeavours most earnestly.”

She smiles. “You will be the first to know. I promise you that.”

Without a further word, she turns her back on him and strides out into daylight.

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