#watch me burn across the sky || mai musings

[perlelune]

Boadicea | Feyd-Rautha

You took the lives of his men. It's only fair to the na-Baron to have yours in return.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fedaykin! Reader, Fremen Reader, Forced Submission, Dacryphilia, Collars, Mouth Gag, Cannibalism, Knives, Death Fetish, Exhibitionism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Elation bursts through your chest as the dying gurgle of yet another Harkonnen soldier fills your ears. You grow even more satisfied when his body hits the ground. Another screaming bald-headed demon lunges at you. Fierce blows are exchanged. You wince as he nicks you in the flank.

The desperation to win explodes through your veins. You slam your head into his, disorienting him long enough to drive your crysknife right through his gut. Even as he falls across the sand, blood spilling from his gaping mouth, you don’t stop. Unrelenting, you keep stabbing him, fury and vengeance driving your blade. With each strike, more of his dark blood splatters over your face, adding to his slain comrades’.

A war cry rips from your throat when he stops moving. 

You rise on quaking feet, the exhaustion of hours of fending off the never-ending swarm of Harkonnen warriors crashing over you at once.

Your gaze swings across the battlefield. Horror surges within you.

It’s a slaughter. Fellow Fedaykin are burning right before your eyes. The Harkonnen artilleries rained death upon the Fremen troops the likes of which you’ve never seen before. The shock of sheer helplessness drills a gaping hole inside your chest. 

Cowards, you muse bitterly. Of course they will not face you on the ground. It is well-known one Fedaykin is worth a dozen Harkonnen soldiers. None in the known universe fight more ferociously than the Fremen. 

So they resorted to unleash heavy weapons from the sky. The sweltering Arrakis weather did the rest. 

You whirl to your little brother. Just like you, he’s covered in grime, dirt and the putrid ichor that serves as blood to the Harkonnens.

“Run, Kaleb, hide!” you yell in Chakobsa, urgency bleeding in your tone. 

You are lost. So is the rest of the Fedaykin army. But if your brother leaves now, he can use his hooks to call a maker and hitch a ride to safety.

A frown carves your little brother’s brow. “I can’t leave you,” he says.

You grip his shoulders.

“You have to. Get supplies at the village and go south with the others. Do you hear me?”

When he doesn’t reply, staring at you mouth agape, you jostle his slender frame.

“Do you hear me?” you repeat, louder this time.

He gives a shaky nod. “Yes!” 

You remove the cord around your neck to place it around your brother’s instead.

A look of terror distorts his features.

“No, I can’t take your water rings,” he says, his voice trembling.

Your forehead presses against his.

“You must.”

A single errant tear spills down his cheek and you swipe it with your thumb, pressing it between his lips so it reenters his body.

“Do not waste your moisture. Now go.”

Reluctantly, you brother scampers away. A surge of relief fills you as you watch him stand before a dune slope in the distance and plant his thumper into the sand. The drumming begins. The ground starts rumbling some minutes later to signal the arrival of a worm. You dive inside a cave, taking cover as a wave of rising sand crests above the horizon. The deafening familiar hissing of Shai-Hulud surrounds you.

You close your eyes and suck in a wide breath, soothing yourself with a common Fremen saying. 

The Uncleansed who have seen a crysknife may not leave Dune alive.

The screams of Harkonnen soldiers, unprepared for the sudden arrival of a sandworm, swell inside your ears as you settle in your hiding spot.

When the uproar dies, you ponder returning to the battlefield. However, whispers in the cave have you freeze in the rocky dint concealing your presence. 

You lean forward to steal a peek. Your heart bounces. 

Men in full Harkonnen livery stand beneath the vaulted ceiling of the cave.

Your eyes widen as you hear them idly discuss their plans to purge the remainder of the Fremen forces in the south. 

Your focus sharpens. You slow your breaths and dull your quickening heartbeats.

A wild, insane idea takes shape in your head.

If you could stay hidden long enough. Perhaps you could return to Sietch Tabr. Report back to Muad’ Dib. Warn them of the Harkonnens’ plan.

A word keeps pouring from the men’s lips, one whose meaning evades you.

Na-Baron.

Confusion knits your brow. 

As you continue trying to commit the conversation to memory, the chatter abruptly dies.

You go still, your mind buzzing.

The quiet deepens. Only the muffled sounds of the desert remain.

The blunt features of an Harkonnen warrior crowd your sight.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

Before you can hatch an escape plan, you’re roughly dislodged from your hiding spot. 

You struggle against the arms that hold you, whirling to shove your crysknife into the man’s throat. He grabs his throat, choking on his own blood before his body finds the ground with a loud thud. 

More men lunge themselves at you.

You cut down five more Harkonnen soldiers before a swarm of them surrounds you, punching and kicking you until you tumble to the ground. You cough out a trickle of blood onto the ground.

After every hit, the men attempt to interrogate you. 

“Are there any more hiding like you?”

“Where are the others?”

Every inquiry thrown at you encounters a stubborn wall of silence. You will never betray the other Fremen. Though the prospect doesn’t thrill you, you’d much rather die. In fact, you’ve already embraced your inevitable fate. This is where your story ends.

You console yourself with one fact. 

That at least you won’t leave this world a traitor.

It takes three men to restrain you long enough to tie you up. You only let go of your crysknife when one of the bald-headed warriors stomps over your hand with his boot, snapping your wrist bone and forcing your palm open. An ear-splitting scream rips from your throat. Still, you do not cry, refusing to waste your body moisture for these monsters.

You’re forced on your knees, hogtied while your broken wrist throbs against your back. The corpses of the men you slaughtered are dragged away.

Voices from outside grow louder as you hear the echo of steps fastly approaching. 

“There is only one spy left behind. We couldn’t find the others,” one of the men says. 

A gravelly voice, like the scraping of a rock against a hard surface, lands in your ears. 

“They have gone south to hide in the storms,” it says.

Your pulse escalates, your gaze lifting slowly. There is something different about the newcomer. He’s tall, athletic, with delicate, aristocratic features that are unusual amongst the Harkonnen. An aura of authority hangs around him, every soldier’s stance stiffening as he enters the cave.

He must be the one in charge, you realize.

Someone hands him your crysknife. A tide of anger mounts within you at the sight. If you were free, you’d plunge it in his neck. 

He gauges the blade attentively, his fingertips caressing the bloodied edge.

“Send this message to my uncle,” the newcomer says. “The North is tamed and secured. Harvest spice at will.”

“Yes, na-Baron,” a man near him replies before taking his leave.

Na-Baron. You frown. So it is him. 

He takes sluggish, lithe steps towards you, the corner of his lips twisting upwards.

Your muscles coil, cold tendrils of dread clutching your insides. 

Even on the battlefield, as your life hung in the balance, you didn’t feel this creeping sense of imminent danger. 

The primal, gut-deep inkling that you should run…and never look back. 

“You killed six of my men with a single blade,” he says, a mix of surprise and admiration laced in his raspy baritone. 

“She won’t talk,” the man behind him says. “We even broke her hand but she still won’t say a word.”

He cocks his head, his tone bone-chilling as he casually states, “Tell her that’s fine. I already know everything I need to know.” A man near him hands him a flame thrower. You take a deep breath. You’ve witnessed Harkonnen soldiers use them to set ablaze corpses and catch runaway Fremen, burning them alive. There isn’t a hint of emotion  in the na-Baron’s voice as he points the flame thrower at you. “Only pleasure remains.”

You lift your chin. If death you must meet, you will do it with dignity.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” you reply calmly, a wide smile spreading onto your lips. 

The na-Baron’s eyes bulge and narrow, his hands dropping.

He strides forward.

“What did you just say?”

“Just get on with it, will you?” You unleash a frustrated sigh. Shouldn’t you be a charred heap of smoking flesh and bones already? What is this na-Baron wasting time for? You are resigned to it now, having used the time before to accept your fate. “I’m eager to meet my ancestors and be freed of your foul Harkonnen stench,” you taunt, hoping your insolent tongue will hasten things along. 

You wait and wait, your defiant gaze never wavering. 

But the deathly flames that should lick the flesh clean off your bones never come.

Instead, the na-Baron tosses the flame thrower on the ground and barks an order to one of his subordinates.

“Take her back to my chambers in our base.”

The man casts you a disdainful glare.

“But na-Baron. That woman is danger-” A swift slash across the man’s throat from the na-Baron’s blade has the man choking on his words. Blood fills his mouth, his body twitching as it sprawls across the ground. 

He doesn’t spare the dying man another glance, his head slanting.

He leers at you, exerting no effort to disguise the lewd intent etched in his dark gaze. 

“And make sure to tell my darlings she’s not for them to have…but for me to feast upon later.”

Fear floods your veins. You readied yourself for death, not for…whatever the Harkonnen warrior has in store for you. 

“Yes, na-Baron.”

You’re hauled off the floor. When you refuse to move, one of the Harkonnen soldiers twists your broken limb to get you to lurch forward. You clench your teeth and blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You will not cry. You will not give them the satisfaction.

Tears are sacred. They are to honor the dead and nothing else.

Before you’re carried away, the na-Baron approaches you and frames your jaw.

“I hear Fremen do not cry, never squander their water under any circumstance. I wonder…” A sadistic smile unfurls on his pale lips, baring a glimpse of inky black teeth beneath. His thumb sweeps across your tightly pressed lips. “What will it take for you to shed a tear for me, pet?”

You shiver in the ropes as you watch the three Harkonnen women tear bloody ribbons in the male Fedaykin’s flesh with their claw-sharp black nails. The delighted purrs they emit while feasting on human flesh bounce off the black, sterile walls of the palatial chambers.

Your gaze is wide, horrified.

You’ve seen death. You’ve seen violence. But you’ve never laid eyes on such a ghoulish spectacle before. The na-Baron’s cannibalistic mates picking the meat off the man’s bones and digging their hands inside his gut. As if he were nothing but a heap of fresh meat to sate their hunger. 

You want to peel your gaze away… but you can’t. 

You’re paralyzed.

His lifeless blue eyes, a sinister mirror of your own due to the spice melange, send prickles through your spine. 

This could have easily been you. And it would have been…weren’t it for the na-Baron’s whim changing course as swiftly as a weather vane. Just like the apparel must yield to the fickle will of the winds, you must surrender to his.

When the women are done, one of them flashes you a broad smile. Shredded pieces of organs stick to her teeth and blood covers the bottom of her face, dripping down her chin.

A shudder ripples through your spine.

Their inky, whiteless stares settle on you. They discard the mangled corpse and inch closer to you. You retreat against the wall, fear gripping your throat. Ravenous expressions light up their pretty faces. 

You swallow through your aching, parched throat. Are you next? Will they do to you what they did to that poor man? 

They whisper in Harkonnen. The confusion about the words pouring from their tongues stokes the terror consuming you. 

Then they laugh. Strident, bloodcurdling, wicked laughs. You remain still, willing your heart not to beat so loudly. 

Dying on the battlefield is one thing. Being eaten alive is another, wildly different thing. The kind of needlessly cruel death you never envisioned for yourself. 

Despite the distress tossing your senses into chaos, you force yourself not to cry. No tears, you remind yourself. Not for them. Never for them.

One of them snaps her teeth in your face. Your lip quivers as blood drains from your head. Your reaction draws another round of laughter from them.

They tease you for a while, their threats disturbingly clear despite not understanding a lick of their coarse native tongue.

It’s in their hunched, predatory stance, the hunger twisting their pretty features. They could pounce on you at any time, rip you to shreds and you’d be powerless to stop them.

Their vicious taunting is still in progress when the na-Baron storms into his chambers. His arrival does nothing to alleviate your worries. 

A fond smile ghosts over his lips as he soaks the scene before him.

“I see you’ve met my darlings.” The women coo as he approaches them. He lovingly cradles each of their faces, planting deep, passionate kisses on their lips. The sickening display by your fellow Fedaykin’s slain form a few feet away makes your stomach wrench. “Darlings, meet my new pet.”

“I’m not a pet,” you snarl.

The women hiss at you in concert, sounding like snakes ready to strike. You flinch backwards. 

He cocks his head. 

“You are whatever I say you are.” He glides towards you slowly. Once he’s in front of you, he taps the booted tip of his foot into your bruised knee. His gravelly baritone scratches along your eardrums. “Kiss my feet. I’m your master now.”

You squint at him. 

“Fuck you.”

His plump mouth quirks lopsidedly. He then kicks you in the gut without ceremony. The searing pain knocks the breath from your lungs. You keel over, groaning against the tiles. 

He hunkers down and grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head backwards. The sting in your scalp has you blink back tears before they can spill. 

“In time, pretty little pet.”

Steps echo from afar. A man enters the room. The na-Baron’s authoritative timbre whips across the stiff, sweltering air of the room.  

“Did you bring what I asked?”

“Yes, na-Baron,” the man replies swiftly. From the corner of your sight, you get a glimpse of metal. Panic sings inside your veins.

As your pulse soars, you’re shocked when the ropes around your frame come loose through a few nimble slashes of a knife. 

You jump to your feet.

Your shocked gaze locks with his. Amusement decorates his features. 

Layer after layer, he removes pieces of his armor. Until his carved alabaster, muscles are exposed to you, leaving him in little more than a thin strip of fabric hanging precariously over his tapered waist. 

A second long, curved blade is tossed at your feet.

Your eyes bounce from the weapon to him. Utter confusion wars with fright within you. 

When the guards begin to draw their weapons, he barks at them, “Don’t.” They place their weapons back in their sheaths. He opens his arms, the blade in his hand glinting in the dull light of the room. “Go on. This is your chance.”

You gawk at him. Is he truly baiting you to attack him? Does his life mean nothing to him? Is he a madman?

Your brows crumple. With every second, your confusion grows. 

He approaches you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins. You rush to pick up the knife with your unbroken hand and point it at him. 

There isn’t an ounce of fear in his eyes as he inches closer, the blade grazing his bulging pec.

“Do it,” he challenges, a clear taunt in his haughty inflection.

Your mouth trembles. What do you stand to lose? You will never see Sietch Tabr or your brother again. You’re a war prisoner. You might as well be dead. You should be dead. In another life, you would already be.

You suck in a sharp breath. You move as quickly as your feet and dwindling strength allow. He matches each of your brutal, clumsy blows. You go for his head and he dodges with ease, grabbing your broken wrist, causing you to stumble. Your breath falters, throbbing pain exploding in your limb. Grinding your teeth, you whirl and deal another series of strikes. He parries each of them, a delighted expression etched on his slender features. Anger glows within you. He’s enjoying this. While you’re in agony, he finds pleasure in every brush with death.

You graze his cheek, leaving a long cut across his flesh. A demented, black grin breaks out on his face. The fight continues for a few more minutes, the clash of metal and his feral roars swelling in the room. 

It ends with him tackling you to the ground as he slams your wrists besides your head. The knife slips out of your grasp. You hold your breath, helplessness filling you as his muscular frame drapes over yours.

His lips skim against your temple. 

“You fought well, sweet pet. Better than most,” he whispers. You shudder when his cool tongue drags over your cheek. “But it’s time I claim my prize.”

Ice ripples through your blood. You struggle beneath him as he rips your stillsuit from your body. Every effort to fight against him is for naught. Soon, your bruised and battered form is completely bare to him. 

He drinks you in as your chest lifts and sags, lust sparkling in his dark gaze. He wrestles a collar around your neck and a ring-shaped gag on your mouth. The contraption forcing your lips apart makes you feel even more trapped than before. He tugs off the cloth covering him, revealing his massive erection, the pale tip already glistening with his arousal.

He hoists you up until you’re on your knees. His fist tangles in your hair, wrenching your neck backwards. Muffled moans of protest fly from your throat.

“I never wondered what a desert rat’s mouth felt like before. But now…” He pumps himself, his tongue darting out to sweep over his bottom lip. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

He slips his tip between your lips, nudging you closer when you try to turn your head. That mere contact has him purring in delight. You push against his thighs, desperation swelling as your palms meet unflinching bands of thick, corded muscles. Even the tip of him feels like too much, the corners of your mouth bursting at the pressure. You groan, completely helpless as he pushes more of himself in your mouth. 

He cradles your face, his grip firmer than before, and plants his feet in the ground. You gag on his length as he finds the back of your throat, the salty taste of his skin filling your mouth. Shame wells up inside you. Tears burn the back of your eyes as you choke on his size. 

Nearby, the cannibalistic women laugh at your torment, sharing words in Harkonnen you don’t understand. 

The na-Baron snickers, making you jolt as he shoves inside you to the hilt. The corners of your mouth ache, both from the device and his thick girth. 

“Yes. She does take me gloriously, doesn’t she?" He smirks. "Like a true warrior.”

Hatred burns in your eyes as you glare up at him. He seems to bask in the sight, moaning in pleasure as he starts thrusting inside your mouth. 

You’re left with no choice but to take his merciless assault. His eyes roll back as he bruises your throat and steals your breath. Stilted whimpers roll off your tongue.

Your eyes sting. You try your hardest to swallow every tear and sob, but as time goes on…your pride crumbles. In its stead, only despair remains. 

Tears swell in your eyes and make a slow descent down your cheeks. 

“Ah, there it is,” he rasps, collecting the droplets with his thumbs. 

As he brings one to his tongue, humming at the taste, you feel him grow harder on your tongue. 

The pit of your stomach sizzles. With humiliation. With defeat. 

Throaty moans pour from his chest, his head tossing back as he pounds harder into your mouth. 

Your body goes limp, his hands the only thing keeping you on your knees. Your vision blurs as you become nothing but a toy for the na-Baron, a vessel for his brutality. A tool to satisfy his basest needs.

“Perhaps, we shall keep that one. What do you think, darlings?” The women’s excited squeals land in your ears. He caresses your damp cheeks. “And if she ever bores us, well…” He licks his lips, a wide grin unfanning on his face. “We’ll make sure no part of her goes to waste.”

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #dune fanfiction #dune #dune part two #feyd-rautha x reader #feyd rautha #dark!fic

[aspenwritesstuff]

Part Two

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warnings: ptsd/nightmares after an accident, general depression, ANGST, self-imposed isolation, themes of guilt/self doubt, swearing

wc: 8.99k

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas. “Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next. "You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.” Your prediction was correct. “No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.”

a/n: hello, lovely readers. I'd like to start by apologizing profusely for how long updating this has taken me. I won't bore you with the details of my health - physical or otherwise - and will simply leave it at this; life is ROUGH sometimes. Thank you to those who have patiently waited for this release. I hope that it was worth the wait. I'm doing my best to get back into writing, and I assure you that updates will start coming for my other fics soon, too. I hope you enjoy this second installment of Desderium.

with love and forehead smooches (if you consent),

-Aspen

taglist: @findingjieunn @hyynee @hyunverse @dreamstarsandskz @linaliann permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

“Mother knows best.”

You’d never quite understood why that particular phrase had become so popularized. You’d assumed up until now that it was simply a scare-tactic that adults tried to drill into pliable, adolescent minds. A way to remind them to listen, even if they didn’t understand, even if they didn’t like it. 

Standing in front of the mirror dressed in clean clothes, hair still damp from a shower, you began to understand. 

Though you never would have chosen to pass along your knowledge of your own volition - and as much as you hated to admit it - teaching Hyunjin had forced you to take better care of yourself. 

You had no desire to impress him, by any means. If anything, it was the opposite. You’d found yourself beginning to hope that he’d grow weary of trying to communicate with you, as your company was far from being considered anything close to pleasant, and that he simply would not show up for the next session. 

Yet, here you were, brushing your teeth and tying back your hair. Not ‘just in case,’ or out of anything close to it, but simply because you knew better now. 

You knew better than to hope.

The day was a stark contrast to your permanent melancholia. It was beautiful, uncharacteristically warm for mid-May, with a breeze just cool enough to soothe any discomfort from the sun. Clouds straight out of a children’s book, fluffy and broad, were sparsely littered across the expanse of blue. Birdsong accompanied the scent of the nearby blossoming trees, filling the air with a whimsy you could imagine being a work of fiction.

However, you weren’t that lucky. 

The day, despite how perfect it seemed, still carried with it its own share of hardships. Flowers could bloom all they wanted, and the sun could continue to shine, but what did that really change? 

Nothing, because this was not a work of fiction.

You still had to go to the art school, you still had to teach Hyunjin, and you still had an angry pink scar atop your hand. Indeed, today was real - and, you’d go as far as to say it really wasn’t that beautiful at all. 

If you looked at the sky for long enough, those fluffy clouds would dissipate into amorphous blobs. If you listened harder, past the birdsong, you were sure to hear a couple fighting or a parent scolding their child. If you sat beneath the warmth of the sun for too long, you would burn. 

Today really wasn’t all that beautiful. Not at all. 

You watched the world move around you as you took a seat on the bench, waiting for the bus to take you to your choice of hell. The sun had lured more people than usual from their homes, the park across the street filled with more life than you’d seen in a while. 

Two children chased after each other, giggling and shouting in excited voices under their parents’ watchful eyes. You wished you had as easy of a time as they did, playing make believe. If you could, then maybe today could be beautiful. 

But you couldn’t. And it wasn’t. 

The scent of diesel in the air foreshadowed the bus’ arrival, urging you to your feet just as it appeared atop the hill. The bus driver, a man in his fifties whose name you’d never learned, gave you a curt nod as he opened the doors. He grumbled something resembling a greeting as you stepped up the two steps to the aisle, earning a tight-lipped smile in response. 

The bus was packed today - you blamed the day’s masquerade as lovely for this, too - and you found yourself having to choose which patron to sit next to for the next ten minutes. You quickly crossed off the snoring man with his head against the window and the heavily pregnant woman across from him - you didn’t want to end up a pillow for the former, your hesitance for the latter stemming only from good manners. 

You scanned the remaining seats, contemplating if it would be too terrible to sit next to a woman in business attire chattering away on the phone, until a gentle voice called out to you. 

“You can sit here if you want.” 

Your eyes darted to the source of the invitation, a man around your age with a comforting smile and welcoming aura. He held an earbud between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out likely to hear your reply should you have one. 

He didn’t seem like a terrible companion for the ride, likely returning to his music as soon as you answered. That was ideal, truth be told, not having to engage in conversation. Your decision was rushed, though, by the driver clearing his throat impatiently. 

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded, sliding into the seat before sitting, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he urged with that same gentle grin, “Wouldn’t want you to end up drooled on,” he jutted his chin towards the man you’d decided against before, earning a scoff and a smirk from you as you settled into the leather.

He seemed disappointed that you hadn’t laughed, but that was likely because he hadn’t the slightest clue that he’d gotten closer than anyone else had in months. 

This kind-faced stranger must not have been too terribly broken up over it, though, putting his headphones back in properly and tapping play against the cracked screen of his phone. You found yourself strangely comforted that you could hear bits and pieces of the song - it gave you something to focus on without having a window to stare out of. 

You shut your eyes, then, as you tried to recognize what he was listening to based solely on the thumping of bass obscured by his ears. The man with the reassuring smile was humming along now, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to be bothered. You instead listened, not particularly invested though you welcomed the occupation of your mind. 

Squealing tires brought you to full attention, though you couldn’t open your eyes. Horns blared over the sound of crunching glass, screams overtaking the crunching of glass. The whooshing of your pulse in your own ears left the distinct groan of bending metal as nothing more than background noise. 

Your heart began to race, bringing an all-too-familiar panic to the forefront of your mind. You wanted to call out as the sound of sirens drew nearer, but you couldn’t speak. 

It was as though you were frozen in time whilst the world spun out of control around you. You wanted to call out, to tell someone that you were there, to beg someone to find you and pull you from the dark. 

“Can you hear me?” you could feel pressure against your shoulder, though the ability to form a response was nonexistent. 

You wanted to respond, to tell them that you could. To tell them that you were in there. To tell them not to leave you in the chaos - in the dark. 

You hadn’t realized the stranger next to you had stopped humming, nor that you’d dozed off, until you realized that it was his cautious hand patting your shoulder. 

You felt your eyelids shoot open, a pair of concerned eyes and furrowed brows staring down at you bringing you quickly back to the surface of consciousness. You felt sick, a thin sheen of sweat rising to your face quickly cooling the burn of the embarrassed heat that had crept up your cheeks. 

“You okay?” he asked then, the fear in your features registering with him the longer he looked at you.

You nodded, blinking hard as the look he wore pierced through your chest.

You had seen that look before - it was the same look your mother wore when she’d run out of tears to shed at your bedside. The same look Felix and Changbin would send your way when they dropped off their weekly bouquet - after they’d given up on trying to get any conversation out of you. The same look Ms. Park had as the nurse escorted her out as you screamed and cried.

The pity only felt worse coming from a stranger. 

You cleared your throat, finding your voice to be much smaller than you remembered it being, “I’m fine,” you assured him quickly, “Sorry if I bothered you.”

“Hey, no worries,” he spoke quickly, as though the thought of you feeling like a bother were something of importance to him, “Are you sure you’re okay, though? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…” he wore that same carefree smile, though his eyes carried something akin to worry. 

Why did he care? He was nothing more than a stranger you’d met on the bus, someone who shared his seat with you out of courtesy. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat, hoping your voice would come out with a more believable strength this time, “I’m really okay.”

Not quite as confident as you’d hoped, but it would have to do. Less lioness, more housecat - but at least you weren’t a mouse. 

“If you say so,” his eyes darted to the driver, then back to you, “This is my stop.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ as it finally clicked in your brain that he’d been standing this entire time. You looked out the window, noticing that you were outside of the campus, “Mine, too, actually.” 

His brows shot up before he chuckled, gesturing grandly with the hand not holding his spare headphone towards the aisle, “Well, then, ladies first I s’pose!” 

You gave him your best attempt at a smile, though a grimace would be a much more accurate descriptor, before rising to your feet and walking towards the door. You mumbled a thank you and waved to the driver, who simply grumbled under his breath in reply. 

You didn’t blame him for that, though. You’d managed to hold up the bus twice in one day, effectively lengthening his workload. If you weren’t in such a haze from what you now knew was nothing more than a dream, you may have felt the need to call him out for his rudeness.

You ignored the irony of having such a dream, seeing as you’d wished your reality were just that - an unfortunate nightmare. You ignored the way your heart sank when you caught a glimpse of your hand when you waved to the grumpy driver, plunging deep into your stomach at the sight of your scar. You ignored the clamminess of your palms and how cold the once pleasant breeze felt against the moistness of your skin.

“You sure you’re alright? You really are a little pale,” your kindhearted seatmate spoke again from behind.

You wished you could justify ignoring him, too. 

“Yeah,” your voice quavered as you answered, turning around to witness that look - the look you hated, the one everyone seemed to send your way.

You weren’t surprised at the disbelief on his face, certain that you couldn’t have sounded less okay if you tried. You expected him to press the issue, forcing you into either running away or losing your temper - fight or flight, one could say. You expected him to act entitled to your story - your trauma. You expected him to push. 

“You in a hurry?”

You hadn’t expected that. You pulled your phone from your pocket, brows wrinkled in confusion as you noted the time - 9:30 - before shaking your head.

“C’mon, there’s a cafe on campus,” you knew that, of course, being alumni. The kind stranger, however, did not - and you were still too shocked to burst his bubble, “Want a coffee? Or tea? Whichever you prefer,” he rubbed the back of his head, visibly stiffening at his own awkwardness, “My treat, of course!” 

You hesitated, considering the possibilities. On the one hand, he was a complete stranger. Someone who you’d only just met moments ago, someone who could see how vulnerable you were right now. Someone who looked at you with that look you hated. On the other, he’d shown compassion and left you alone until he’d needed to wake you to get off of the bus. He seemed genuine in his concerns, though you wished he’d not noticed your distress in the first place. 

“You’re paying?” you reiterated, finally coming to the conclusion that one cup of tea wouldn’t hurt. 

He threw his head back then, a bellowing laugh coming from deep within his stomach before he got a hold of himself. He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning from ear to ear, “Yeah, I’m paying. C’mon.” He tilted his head in the direction of the cafe, waiting until you started towards that direction to fall into step next to you. 

Hyunjin had taken extra precautions to ensure he would not be late today.

He hadn’t predicted just how annoyed he’d become with his past self, however, until he found himself reaching out of the shower to snooze an alarm - the third of five he’d set - interrupting his playlist. His irritation was short lived, fizzling out nearly as soon as it started. After all, how could he possibly stay upset by something so small? 

Today was a beautiful day. 

Hyunjin turned down the volume of the song that played, content to allow the trilling call of the sparrows outside to overwhelm the gentle melodies he’d chosen. Despite his earlier frustration, he found himself oddly at peace with the replacement.

As he packed his bag of supplies, his thoughts began to drown out the symphony coming in through the windows. His mind was on you - just as it had been ever since the two of you parted ways last week. Hyunjin wasn’t obsessed, at least not in a way worth any concern, but he did have questions. 

Why was someone who’d volunteered as a mentor so visibly discontent with their pupil? Was it because of Hyunjin himself? Had he done something to bother you? To accidentally offended you somehow? Why did you all but run from the art room? Why weren’t you painting alongside him to show him the way? Did you even paint? You had to, seeing as you were capable of fixing an issue Hyunjin had been dealing with for weeks in a matter of minutes. Right? 

Hyunjin shook his head, damp blonde strands tickling the apples of his cheeks. After his first alarm, he’d debated on whether or not he should even attend the session today. If he made you that uncomfortable, was learning a few pointers really worth it? Your pursed lips and glossed-over gaze were burnt into his memory and - after the initial joy of fixing the issue with his painting had worn off - he couldn’t shake the mounting curiosity they brought with them. 

In the end he’d decided that he couldn’t pass on whatever advice hid behind your icy exterior, though. He couldn’t pass on scratching that itch, the one your venom-laced words had given him. The one that could only be relieved by answers - answers which his intuition told him would not come easily.

He zipped up his bag, considering the routes he could take to get you to open up. His ideas weren’t terrible; asking the standard questions about family and friends, debating favorite artists, bringing up his own interests in passing…but all of these ideas held one thing in common that made Hyunjin feel very, very small.

They required you to actually want to speak to him. 

He glanced at the clock, then - it was only 9:45 - noting that he had enough time to swing by the cafe for an americano. Caffeine was, for all intents and purposes, a great way to sharpen his focus and lift his spirits. He could definitely use the boost. 

His mind was swimming with thoughts, worries even, about today’s session - about you - and for a moment Hyunjin wondered if you felt just as unsure about today as he did. 

Sliding a black cap over his slicked-back hair, Hyunjin slung his supplies over his shoulder and made his way out of the dorm building. He barely registered the waves and smiles his classmates sent his way as he walked across campus, responding to them in kind with a slight delay. His mind was too busy trying to unravel the tangled enigma that was you.

The birdsong was louder without his walls as a buffer, lightening the weight he’d been carrying by a little. He looked up to the sky, a soft smile tugging at his features at the way the clouds bloomed against the sky. 

The sight made his heart feel light, forgetting for a moment about his concerns regarding his new mentor. The sky felt like the joy he’d feel at the fair as a child, and he found himself comparing the clouds to cotton candy as they melted against the brilliant sky. 

Hyunjin knew what he would paint today. Before he could paint, though - coffee. In a matter of minutes, he was walking through the heavy mahogany door of the campus’ coffee shop. Passing through those doors always felt like an entirely different world to Hyunjin; the warm-toned lights mounted in metal, industrial-style brick with exposed pipes, and the scent of cinnamon and coffee grounds immediately seemed to cancel out the surrounding environment. The choir of birds was replaced by the clattering of ceramic and overlapping chatter, the gentle breeze now thick bursts of warm air from the kitchen door swinging on its hinges. Though this was definitely more man-made than the beautiful spring day he’d left outside, Hyunjin quite liked it here.

Stepping forward on the worn-down wood floors, he stopped at the counter and ordered his typical iced americano. He paid, leaving a tip before scooting to the side to allow others to place their orders as he waited for his own. He’d started to zone out slightly when he heard a familiar name called from an employee’s mouth.

Your name, followed by another that he recognized.

His head snapped up, scanning the room so suddenly that it was a wonder he hadn’t managed to give himself whiplash. His eyes landed on the carefree smile of Han Jisung approaching the counter from a booth in the corner - at which you were seated.

Hyunjin felt a pang of something akin to jealousy in his chest as he watched Han accept the drinks, surprised to see a soft smile on your face as the boy carried the drinks back to the table. His mind raced, out of his own control, as his eyes fell to the floor.

Up until now, Hyunjin had assumed that you simply just…didn’t like people, as a general consensus. Though seeing your calm smile as Han handed you a tea, he felt himself shrink. It wasn’t that you hated people as a whole, you just for some reason hated him. What had he done? Had he accidentally offended you in some way? Was his art not good enough? Were his aspirations annoying you? Was it just…him, as a person? The insecurity ran rampant as he peeked back up at the two of you, his chest aching. He’d truthfully been hopeful, hearing he’d have a mentor that had survived the same art program he was a part of now. He’d even spoken to his friends about how cool it would be to have a friend who could fully comprehend the pressure he was under.

It wasn’t that he had any problems with his current friends, it was the simple fact that all of them had majored in a different department. None of them were artists in the same sense as Hyunjin was, opting for theater or music rather than traditional art methods.

He was so excited to meet someone like-minded and artistically inclined. Beyond excited, even, his friends having called him out on how annoying he’d gotten as he counted down the days to meeting his new mentor. And, now, he felt stupid.

As he watched you sip your tea, your eyes alight with inaudible laughter at something undoubtedly stupid Jisung had said, he felt stupid. As he realized that, despite having so much in common, you’d so easily warm up to his friend; that this may actually be the first time he’d seen a ghost of a smile on your face, he felt stupid.

If he had to feel this way, the very least he owed his bruised ego would be the privilege to act the same way he felt.

Without a second thought, Hyunjin left his position against the countertop and strode with false confidence over to your table, plastering a grin on his face that he hoped would hide his distress, before sliding in next to Jisung. “Jisung,” he greeted warmly before casting his eyes towards you, watching as the light slowly left your eyes, “I see you’ve met my mentor.”

You imagined this is what crashing through thin ice during a leisurely skate would feel like. One moment, you were focusing on the offhanded quips coming from your new companion, the now-unfamiliar sensation of contentedness lulling you into a sense of security. You’d stopped thinking about what happened to you, not even noticing the slight tremble in your scarred hand when you’d lifted your tea. 

You’d been about to laugh, though perhaps out of pity for the awkward jokes Jisung had been spouting, but still…for the first time since the incident that had stripped away your joy, you were about to laugh just as you would before. Until your blood ran cold, nearly knocking the wind out of you. Before you now sat Hyunjin, staring straight into your eyes with a nearly imperceptible curiosity. Along with Hyunjin came the memories. Along with Hyunjin came the pain. Along with Hyunjin came the truth. You would never be the same. You felt your features fall into absolute blankness as you held his gaze, eyes darting to Jisung briefly before returning to Hyunjin. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Hyunjin continued, casually tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. His statement seemed to pull Jisung out of his shock at his sudden arrival, the clueless grin he often wore finding its way back to his face. “Ah, we just met today!” He said cheerfully, pulling your attention away from Hyunjin momentarily, “On the bus.” You nodded, the air having not quite returned to your lungs enough to provide an auditory response. Hyunjin was looking at Han now, which helped greatly in your quest to find your breath, but your chest still ached.

Hyunjin looked puzzled as he turned to Jisung, a brow raised as he cocked his head to the side. He wore his disbelief plainly enough that the other man had no trouble understanding what the look meant. “She had time before a meeting,” Jisung looked between the two of you now, his expression shifting back into one of comfortability as he put together the pieces in real time, “With you, I’m guessing?” Hyunjin nodded, his brows still knitted together despite the small smile he wore whilst listening. You could tell, despite your short time knowing him, that the wheels were turning behind his calm facade. About what, you were unsure, but something about the neutral position of his features felt completely fabricated.

That alone was enough to keep your voice at bay.

“Small world, huh?” Jisung continued, his cheerfulness a welcome - though temporary -  distraction from the tension you felt radiating from Hyunjin. “Yeah, very,” Hyunjin replied, turning to face you once more. As his dark eyes met your own, it felt as though you were shrinking. If you could dissolve into the plush booth seat, you’re sure you would have. 

You should say something, right? Certainly, you knew that you should. Of course, engaging in conversation with him was something a normal person would do in this moment.

You, however, simply could not.

Despite the way Hyunjin looked at you expectantly, not much differently than a child waiting for instruction, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say hello. You felt smaller and smaller as your mouth ran dry, clutching your cup of tea tightly enough to indent the thin plastic cup.

You were saved as the barista called Hyunjin’s name, watching helplessly as he slid out of the booth. 

“Lesson’s in five minutes, we can walk together.”

Though you were sure he meant it innocently, the way he phrased it as a certainty rather than an offer nearly sprang you into a panic. Had Jisung not been present, you’d be searching your mind for any believable excuse - not wanting to spend more time alone with Hyunjin than was required of you. But Jisung was there, and Jisung was far from able to understand why, exactly, you had an aversion to spending time with his friend.

“Sure,” you managed, barely a whisper as you pulled yourself to your feet. You still held your tea, now in both hands, as you turned to Jisung. “Thank you, for the tea. And the bus.”

The man grinned up at you again, “Yeah, no problem. Have fun!”  You felt guilty at the fact that, despite his genuine encouragement, you knew you would be doing anything but. Regardless, you gave him your best attempt at a smile - though you wouldn’t be surprised if it came across as more of a grimace - before turning towards Hyunjin.

“Ready?” Hyunjin asked, his expression still pleasant - if he’d sensed your mood shift along with his presence, he wasn’t showing it.

You simply nodded, casting one last glance to Jisung before following Hyunjin out of the building. He didn’t look back at you, not even once, as his long legs carried him effortlessly towards the studio. You quickened your pace to keep up, though it didn’t seem that Hyunjin noticed. The last thing you wanted to do was thicken the already awkward air - it was much easier to just half-jog behind him.

Even as he held the door open, his gaze still wouldn’t meet yours. It was impossible not to feel a bit grated by his sudden attitude. He’d interrupted your prior conversation, pulling you to the lesson alongside him, just to all but pretend you weren’t there.

Not that you were really complaining, seeing as you hadn’t the slightest intention of being buddy-buddy with the stark reminder of your own misery, but his sudden shift from the vibrant persona he’d exuded at your previous lesson still left an odd taste in your mouth.

Perhaps he’d finally gotten the message? Maybe, after your less-than welcoming attitude on day one, Hyunjin had given up on trying to weasel his way into your life aside from lessons? It didn’t seem as though that would be the case, though. Despite your sharpness, he’d still chosen to attend the lesson today…

Then, why? Why was his face lacking the blissfully ignorant smile he’d worn last time, even as you’d made it clear that you had no desire to befriend him? Why was the silence he’d once found absolutely necessary to fill left alone?

You hadn’t expected your questions to be answered so quickly, but as  you approached the door to the studio, pulling it open and stepping inside, Hyunjin finally spoke.

“Did I do something?”

It was such a simple question. Four words that, on their own, didn’t hold much weight - but spoken in such a small, genuine voice from your once-enthusiastic pupil felt like a punch in the gut.

Is that what this was about? You were teaching him, weren’t you? What else did he expect?

“What are you talking about?” you asked him, voice sounding filled with more disinterest than you’d intended as you set down your bag, having a seat on an empty stool.

“Did I do something to offend you?” He repeated again, remaining frozen in the doorway. He still wouldn’t look at you, studying his own shoes against the floor as though they were the biggest point of interest in the room.

It was painfully obvious that Hyunjin truly believed there was something he’d done to warrant your offputting behavior; from the way his shoulders hunched up to his ears to the way he shuffled in place. He looked like a child that had been scolded in front of his friends as he awaited your answer, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“No.” Your response held much less weight at first glance than his initial question had. A single word, simple enough for an infant to claim as their first. Though, paired with the way it cut through the air - terse, leaving no room for debate - you didn’t doubt that Hyunjin had felt a sting. Hyunjin nodded, flinching at the word as if it were something much less innocuous. He swallowed hard before stepping forward, sitting on the stool opposite of you and pulling a blank canvas from his messenger bag. He set it on the easel with delayed movements, his eyes appearing glazed over - as if he were in a trance. “If I didn’t do anything,” he started, pulling out his paints and setting them up on a small table, “Then it must just be me in general, hm?” You raised a brow, ignoring the pang of jealousy you felt to the best of your abilities as he pulled out his brushes, twirling one around his finger delicately as he stared at all of his color options. How were you supposed to answer? It wasn’t as though you could tell him that your innate dislike for him came from his ability to do what was taken from you. It wasn’t as though you could simply say that you were sure he was a great guy, and that your quiet rage came from a place of envy. You simply couldn’t. Hyunjin already made it real enough, speaking aloud what had happened would only serve to twist the knife. He must have taken your silence as an affirmation, a laugh escaping his lips in the form of a whisper as he shook his head. He lifted a tube of vermillion before pulling out his palette, filling one of the divots with the rich shade before setting the tube down - letting it clatter noisily amongst the others. His foot tapped against the floor as though he were physically holding himself back from speaking, dipping the brush into the paint carefully. His body language was screaming anything but calm yet, despite this, his hand was steady as he raised the red-tinged bristles to his canvas. You watched as the single line he painted was joined by another, forming haphazard, angry angles. Scarlet against white. The heartache watching him create with such effortless movements was different than any you’d felt before. You averted your gaze as the dull ache grew into something bigger - something quietly furious, intimidating in its sheer density as it took up each crevice of your mind. Your attention seemed much less volatile as you focused in on your own hands, guiding your vision from your fingertips to your palm before turning your hand over. Your heart plunged into your stomach before you glanced back at Hyunjin’s canvas - now blended with different shades of orange and pink alongside the aforementioned red. You looked back down at your own angry, red line. 

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, there weren’t any complimentary colors that could be added to lessen its impact. There was no gentle pink to soften it, no comforting orange glow.  Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, the angry red you’d been cursed with could not be changed into a sunset. The mood could not shift into something inspirational, it could not become something soothing on the eyes. It could not, and would never be a sunset.

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, you could not blend out the rough edges. You couldn’t simply feather out the red until it looked like it belonged. You couldn’t add or take away anything, there was no camouflaging the puckered evidence of loss that you were forced to wear.

Hyunjin’s words rang in your mind once more; it must just be me in general. It wasn’t that you necessarily felt bad about your feelings - those were your right, the only thing you’d earned from your tragedy. You did, however, feel a bit guilty about the collateral damage sitting alongside you, moving his brush along the canvas wordlessly.

You were right before. You couldn’t tell him why you felt this way, he definitely wouldn’t understand. Nobody would, after all, unless they’d been forced through what you had endured. There was, however, one thing you knew you could do.

“It’s not you.”

Hyunjin paused, moving his brush away from the canvas as his back stiffened. Your words weren’t soft, weren’t sweet, weren’t meant to be reassuring whatsoever. You’d stated them plainly, as if they were simply a fact you’d decided to share. As dark irises flitted over to you, curiosity filling their chocolate depths, you held your breath.

“No?” he asked before looking away, resuming his work after the initial shock of your voice had worn off.

“No,” you echoed, looking anywhere but his palette as he squeezed a bit of yellow into an empty space.

“Then what?” he asked, still focusing on his work. Though you weren’t looking, you could hear the whisper of bristles against vinyl. It was a beautiful sound, or at least it was before.

“I…can’t tell you that,” you mumbled, looking out the window at the students wandering campus. Two girls running into an embrace that nearly convinced you they could be lovers, a couple of boys doing that odd, handshake hug that men had somehow decided unanimously meant they weren’t in love, a girl beneath the shade of the old ginkgo tree sketching away.

Even absolute strangers held the power to remind you of loss, it seemed.

You looked back towards Hyunjin as he blended daffodil yellow into the sky he’d created, wondering if you’d be better off watching the girl outside.

“You can’t?” he hummed, setting his brush aside before grabbing one with thinner bristles, tucking it behind his ear as he reached for a tube of black paint.

“No,” you reiterated.

Hyunjin simply hummed in response, supposedly deciding against pressing further as he dipped the thin brush into the inky black.

He was bringing it towards the canvas when you sucked in a sharp breath, coming to a realization about what he may be about to do.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, causing Hyunjin to stiffen once more before turning his head towards you.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make a black silhouette,” you said simply, still shocked that you’d corrected him at all. It was almost funny that you’d startled yourself - you were supposed to teach him, after all.

Hyunjin slowly set the brush down, a single brow raised as he waited for you to explain.

“It’ll contrast too heavily with the backdrop, and it won’t look natural,” you mumbled, looking away from his expectant gaze as though you feared he’d read your mind otherwise, “Blend black into one of the shades you used for the sunset until it’s dark enough to mimic a silhouette.”

Hyunjin nodded, finally peeling his eyes off of you long enough to slowly add a bit of black to the purple tone he’d used before. He seemed almost scared as he held the palette out towards you, tentatively speaking in a voice so soft it was a miracle you heard him.

“Like this?”

You took a glance and nodded, looking away again right after. Hyunjin pulled the stained palette away slowly, setting it down before dipping the brush into the handmade indigo and beginning to add a shape against the glowing backdrop.

You looked up as he worked, fighting against your instincts as you watched him carefully craft a circle, the shape of a ferris wheel slowly coming alive against his beautiful skyline.

Hyunjin continued to work, and you continued to watch, the sounds of breath and brushstrokes filling the otherwise empty air of the studio. The discomfort was still there, still pushing against your lungs with every inhale, but it was no longer suffocating as you watched Hyunjin focus in on his work.

He looked so absorbed that you were a bit taken aback to hear him speak.

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas.

“Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next.

“You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.”

Your prediction was correct.

“No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.” The words felt like poison in your mouth, sour enough to burn your throat.

How did Hyunjin manage to endlessly remind you that things were not the same?

You wouldn’t pick up a brush with a joyful smile again, creating to your heart’s content. The images and ideas that flew around your mind now destined to wither away there, never to be given life against a stretched canvas.

“But,” Hyunjin continued, painfully oblivious to the rising levels of envy and rage radiating from you, “There’s no way you’d know this otherwise,” his almond eyes stayed focused on his work as he spoke, never leaving the canvas even when he dipped his brush back into the deep purple shade.

You would no longer lose track of yourself - of time - as you became absorbed in manifesting images from your mind’s eye. Unique sights were no longer subject materials. Flowers were simply flowers, sunsets simply sunsets, ferris wheels simply ferris wheels.

“I said no,” you repeated, clenching your fists at your side as if you could physically hold the facade of being calm in place, “I don’t.”

And you meant it. 

You did not paint, not anymore. 

You would never again need to brush off complaints that you smelled of paint at parties, and your mother would not tut disapprovingly at the colors caked beneath your nails. You would not fill a mug with water to clean brushes. Coffee cups were just coffee cups, glasses just glasses, and jars just jars. “And last week,” Hyunjin added, almost as though you hadn’t said anything at all, “With the oil paints, that wasn’t common knowledge.” Your nails dug painfully into your palms now, sure to leave an indent when you let go. Your balled up fists trembled slightly with the sheer force you’d squeezed, your lips parting to reiterate your point until it happened. The white-hot sting, sudden and overwhelming, radiating from the marred flesh atop your hand. You hissed, pulling it quickly to your chest and covering it with its unsullied counterpart while you opened and closed your fingers quickly, chasing relief desperately. Hyunjin turned to face you now, his eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of your scrunched up features. He set his palette down hurriedly, not bothering with grace as it clattered against the table - a tube of paint falling to the floor in the process. “Are you okay?” You hated how genuinely he’d asked this, concern written across all of his features as he reached towards you carefully - as though you were a cornered rabbit he’d decided to help, despite its skittishness. Considering the evasiveness you’d insisted on keeping behind every word you’d said to Hyunjin thus far, you supposed that would be an accurate assessment. Teeth metaphorically bared at every opportunity, subliminally warning him to stay back - letting him know that you wanted him gone. Hyunjin didn’t seem to care, though, as his brows creased together - his eyes shooting to the hand you were cradling. He took a sudden step back when you jerked your head up, meeting his eyes with a ferocious mixture of rage and shame.

“I’m fine,” you snapped before grinding your teeth together, pulse whooshing in your ears as the adrenaline pumped through your veins. You didn’t want to discuss this with Hyunjin. You didn’t want to explain to anyone ever again what had happened to you. In that moment, you truly were the injured animal Hyunjin had approached you as - hissing as you were slowly backed further into a corner. Your only hope being that he would simply drop the matter - leaving you to lick your wounds alone. Of course, Hyunjin did no such thing. “Are you sure?” he asked, taking a single step back after registering the harshness of your tone. His widened eyes, brimming with genuine compassion and worriedness, quickly faded into nothing as you zoned in on a splash of red against his cheek. Red paint - cracking as it dried - against his pale skin. He’d likely wash it off later, perhaps even laughing about how clumsy he’d been to manage staining his skin in the first place. The red paint - blended beautifully with concise brushstrokes and complimentary shades - against white canvas. A gentle yellow that radiated warmth, peeking between periwinkle clouds to illuminate a perfectly captured carnival ride.

An angry, red scar - cradled desperately against your chest as it throbbed incessantly, ensuring that you would always remember your loss. Always remember your pain.

Your red couldn’t be cleaned off, washed down the drain and forgotten. Your anger could not be softened by colors more delicate, could not be blended into something beautiful. This line would not turn into a sunset, would not become the backdrop for nostalgia, would never become pretty.

“I said I’m fine!” you snapped, causing Hyunjin’s face to pale. He backpedaled once more, only stopping when his thigh brushed the stool he’d been sitting on. Without uttering so much as another syllable, Hyunjin simply picked up his brush - continuing to paint.

The air was heavy with a wounded silence as Hyunjin worked on his piece. Your pain had dulled from a scream to a soft hum, searing heat turning into more of a prickle. You found yourself wishing your internalized wounds would settle as quickly as your hand. Certain broken things, it seemed, couldn’t be reset to heal accordingly.

It wasn’t until Hyunjin broke the silence, barely above a whisper, that you’d realized how much time had passed. “You’d be good at it, I think,” he’d said, setting down his brush as he eyed his work carefully, “Painting.”

You didn’t respond, not trusting your tongue at his sudden proclamation. 

You were good at painting once. You were really good. He couldn’t know that, enough people were aware of your loss. You often found yourself wishing that you’d simply stayed asleep, comatose after the accident. At least that way you wouldn’t have to deal with the pity-stained faces of those who loved you. It was strange, now that you thought about it. 

You weren’t sure you remembered what their eyes looked like before. Before you were broken. Before they felt sorry for something far beyond the reach of their own doing.

Before everything had changed.

“I actually didn’t start painting until recently,” Hyunjin continued, almost as though talking to himself, “I switched majors at the start of this year.”

You listened to his monologue, though you weren’t looking at him. You were watching out the window once more. The girl was no longer beneath the gingko tree sketching, and the groups of friends were nowhere to be seen. The campus was quiet as the sky melted into a replica of Hyunjin’s canvas - warm and soft, casting a golden glow on everything it touched.

It bothered you - it bothered you a lot - that Hyunjin hadn’t been serious about painting for longer than a few months. He didn’t realize how lucky he was, to be allowed to dream. To be allowed to pursue something you’d loved with your whole heart on a whim. 

You bit your tongue, not wanting to end up saying something you’d regret - something you couldn’t take back. You couldn’t control your past, of course, but you could make an effort to control your effect on the present.

Hyunjin continued on despite your lack of input - you were nearly convinced he’d have continued talking even if you’d left the room. 

“I’ve always liked art, though,” he insisted, adding a few highlights to bits of the wheel before chewing his lip in thought. He added a dash of a muted turquoise to the indigo silhouette as he continued on.

“I guess I was just inspired recently,” he mused, seemingly unbothered by your silence, “I actually tagged along to a gallery exhibit with my aunt. There was a piece there…” he took a deep breath as he painted, his lips parting into a fond smile as he recalled what must be a precious memory for him.

“It was so delicate,” he said quietly, setting his brush down to examine his piece, tilting his head at nearly a ninety-degree angle, “A hand holding onto a flower so loosely that I truly wouldn’t have been surprised if I watched it fall down the canvas.”

Your heart stopped before jumping into your throat to race uncomfortably.

No.

“The flower matched the pink of the knuckles and palm so perfectly,” he hummed, tilting his head in the other direction, “Everything was so muted, yet so…believable.”

You knew the exact pink he was referring to. You knew that the flower was a carnation, and you knew that the petals alone had taken ten painstaking hours to complete.

No, no, no, no.

“It wasn’t inherently happy,” Hyunjin’s voice stayed level as he rambled on, “It wasn’t inherently sad, either…” he grabbed his brush again, adding bits of a golden highlight to the cool clouds.

You knew exactly what he meant, the loose grip on the stem chosen specifically to depict apathy - uncaring of whether or not the delicate bloom fell to the ground.

This cannot be happening.

“But, for some reason, it made me feel lonely to look at,” his brows furrowed then as he focused harder on his application, ensuring he wouldn’t muddle the colors as he added contrast, “I decided to switch majors so I could do that, too.”

You felt a knot in your stomach, the air becoming increasingly more difficult to pull into your lungs.

What the fuck?

Hyunjin stood from his spot then, taking a few steps back to look at the canvas from afar, “So I could tell an entire story without words or gestures. So I could make people feel.”

Even if you’d wanted to reply at this point, your mouth had gone dry long ago. Your hands began to tremble at your sides as he spoke.

What the actual fuck?

“I was kind of disappointed that the artist wasn’t there,” his lips were pulled into a frown now, his reminiscing cut short by visible displeasure, “I had so many questions…” he trailed off as he stared at his canvas, searching for anything he could alter to give it the exact feeling he’d sought after during its creation.

You already knew that the artist hadn’t been there. That the artist had been in a hospital bed, hooked up to machinery, with their hand wrapped in a bright white cast. You knew that the artist was surrounded by people who loved them, yet had never felt so empty and alone in their life.

How is this happening?

“Apparently, they go by Eclipse, so I’ve asked the gallery owner to contact me if another piece is put on display,” he approached the painting again now, sitting in front of it with a studious expression on his face, “Even if they wouldn’t answer my questions, I want to thank them,” Hyunjin picked up his brushes, one by one, and made his way over to the sink to wash the acrylic from their bristles.

This is actually insane.

Your breathing became ragged as you struggled to maintain your composure. It was your art that had inspired the very person you envied to begin to chase after your dream. It was because of your art that he’d even chosen to take painting seriously. How fucking ironic was it, that the event that had changed everything for you had done the same for another? 

You had lost, he had found.

“It’s thanks to them that I’ve discovered something I love so much, after all,” he mused, setting his brushes on a towel to dry neatly. He turned to face you, then, his eyes alight from his recollection. It wasn’t until his face dropped that you realized there was something hot running down your face.

Your vision had blurred the moment he’d mentioned the pink in the hands you’d painted, though you hadn’t noticed until just now. There were no tears falling, no - that would indicate singular, controlled drops. Emotion poured from your eyes in streaks, unending as they dripped down the edges of your jaw.

Hyunjin appeared panicked as he hurriedly dried his hands off, though he didn’t approach - not that you’d expect him to after your earlier outburst.

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” he asked, brows furrowing together as he recognized the trembling of your breath. 

Words evaded you as your throat began to close, your shaky hands gripping the sides of the stool as if that could somehow steady you. You shook your head, hoping that the dark bits of his outline you stared into were his eyes.

How could you blame him for being confused? “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he said softly, his voice shifting from the calm and enraptured way he revealed his inspiration to a quiet, almost guilty tone.

“Okay,” you exhaled more than actually spoke, but Hyunjin seemed to hear you clearly as he nodded his head.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I didn’t think you’d –” he cut himself off as you held up your hand, signaling for him to stop.

“Don’t,” you managed between uneven breaths.

“But –”

“Don’t,” you repeated, finally releasing your vicegrip on the stool to wipe your eyes with your sleeves.

“I’m sorry, I just thought maybe…I dunno, I really thought you’d wanna give painting a shot…”

You shook your head, giving him a barely audible, “I’m not a painter,” before turning your head away, still wiping helplessly at the wetness on your cheeks.

“I–” he cut himself off, simply to nod once more. The atmosphere felt heavy as you sniffled quietly, doing your best to regain composure - hoping to at least be able to look him in the eye and speak clearly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, voice still laced with regret, “I won’t bring it up again, okay?”

You pulled your bag up onto your shoulder, stepping towards the door as Hyunjin watched, the frown remaining etched between his brows giving away just how taken aback he’d been by your reaction. To anyone else, it would’ve been a nice, heartwarming story about a boy who fell in love with painting.

But you were not anyone else.

You were an inspiration to the boy who’d picked up your dream, claiming it as his own and thanking you for it with the same breath.

You were Eclipse, the one who’d painted the noncommittal hand and the carnation dangling from its fingers.

With your broken pieces Hyunjin had become whole. 

In any other circumstance, you’d have told him that you’d created that piece. You’d have asked him what questions he had with a smile on your face. You’d have felt honored to have inspired someone else to pick up a brush and create.

But this wasn’t any other circumstance.

And you did not feel happy, or honored.

You felt hollow.

You looked at Hyunjin then, his face not too different from how you’d imagine a deer caught in the headlights to appear. His full lips were parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words he’d been searching for. 

You stopped with your hand on the doorknob, shifting your focus from Hyunjin to his canvas. Collecting yourself enough to give him critique was the least you could do - unwilling or not, you were supposed to be teaching him. You did your best to push back the pain, at least for long enough to do your job.

Nostalgia hit you in waves as you studied his piece, a comforting and child-like wonder encouraging your eyes to stop their leaking. The canvas as a whole felt warm like summer. You could swear you could hear children’s laughter and the crashing of waves in the distance the longer you looked. 

He’d done exactly as he said he wanted to. His work made you feel something, even amidst the confusing swirl of emotions you were experiencing. His work, because of you had stopped the flow of tears, at least for now. You pulled your still-watery eyes away, meeting Hyunjin’s. The clarity and calm your voice now held was a surprise - to you and Hyunjin both.

“It’s a beautiful piece, Hyunjin,” you said truthfully, casting a glance over your shoulder at the shell-shocked boy still stood by the sink, “Really beautiful.”

You meant it, too - his piece was beautiful.

A part of you had wanted to say more - to tell him in detail how it had made you feel.

But that part of you was gone.

That part of you had been broken off, picked up by Hyunjin himself.

And despite your desire to pretend it was still there, to thank him for the warmth of his work, you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t there, it belonged to him now.

With one last glance at his unchanged, startled expression, you stepped out into the hallway. You didn't know if he could hear you as you spoke your parting words - and you honestly weren't trying to be heard.

Yet, the words left your lips with an unlikely conviction - softened only by the thickness your tears had left in their wake.

"I'll see you next week, Hyunjin."

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin angst #hyunjin romance #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin x you #hwang hyunjin fanfic #skz angst #skz fanfiction #hyunjin fanfiction #hyunjin x yn #skz non idol au

[wesperbrekkered]

Decided that for Wip Wednesday from now on I'm gonna post my favorite snippet so far from each one of my *many* wesper wips that im working on. Tags under the cut ♡

-------

Tangled In Your Web > Spiderverse AU Part 2

Crossing the room so that he could loop his arms around Jesper’s neck and give him a kiss. “Do you want to come over to my universe?” Wylan asked softly, lips brushing against Jesper’s as he spoke, “my government likes to profit off their superheroes and they just released a Spiderman movie, I need to laugh about the inaccuracies with you.

Jesper chuckled, kissing Wylan again. “Sounds fun,” he said, already feeling the coil in his stomach loosen.

-------

To Capture Perfections Muse > Domestic wesper fluff

“You love me,” Jesper managed through his laughter, somehow managing to wrap Wylan up in his arms again.

“I am questioning all my life decisions right now,” Wylan complained, voice muffled where his face was shoved into his hoodie.

“You knew what you getting into,” he said smugly, kissing Wylan’s hair and rocking them side to side.

“Hence the questioning my life choices.”

_________

Of Latte Art and Sweet Suggestions > 5+1 coffeeshop au

“Just a caramel mocha for me please,” he said slowly, “with extra cream. And extra caramel syrup. Please.”

The barista raised a judgemental eyebrow, “that is far too much sugar,” he said stubbornly, the fake smile falling away to Jesper’s delight.

“It’s good!” Jesper tried to defend, leaning against the counter.

“You are going to rot your teeth out,” the barista said flatly, but he turned his head to the side anyway to type Jesper’s order into the computer, putting the elegant lines of his crooked nose on show. And that jawline, saints.

--------

50 Ways To Kill A Man > Detective AU

Jesper slammed the phone down with a triumphant grin.

Across the table from him, Inej raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s got you all excited?” She asked somewhat sceptically, pausing on her report. Leaning back on his chair, Jesper crossed his arms behind his head, grinning. “My darling Inej,” he said, ignoring her eyeroll, “Councillor Hoede is dead!”

---------

The Longest Hour chapter 7 > cowboy au

Jesper barely had a chance to register the fact that Wylan’s side of the bed was empty the next morning before something decidedly soft whacked him in the face.

Jesper spluttered, “wha—” whack.

Scrambling with his right hand, Jesper managed to locate one of his revolvers, fingers curling around the pearl handle just as a voice yelled, “Jesper get up.”

The sheer panic was what spurred him into action, startling him out of his drowsiness.

--------

To Love Like A Lie > Fake Dating AU

So here he was, at the wedding, with Wylan Van fucking Eck hanging off his arm as a very much unhelpful, very much fake date.

Jesper could only curse whatever ungodly deity was residing in the sky that seemed to have a perverse thrill in making him suffer.

Wylan bit his lip anxiously, eyeing the large crowd of people at the afterparty. “So maybe I was a bit hasty,” he admitted, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. A bit hasty was an understatement.

_______

Rose Tinted Glasses > Post - Canon Fluff

On these nights, Jesper liked to watch his boyfriend.

He hoped it wasn’t creepy, because he never intended it to be creepy, it was just that Wylan had that weird way of always being able to ground him in the moment, no matter how restless or jittery he may have felt.

It didn’t always work, some nights everything was just too much and Jesper would inevitably slink out of bed with a sigh and go run laps up and down the stairs to cool himself down.

He had a feeling this would be one of those nights, the soft light from the moon was painfully bright and his skin itched and burned with such an intensity that Jesper was half tempted to see if he could simply scratch the feeling away.

-----------

Of Hidden Truths and Drastic Actions > show!wesper tackling key book!wesper scenes

The coin his pocket burned like a hot iron, reminiscent of the way the other coin had heated while he shaped it into a coin, completely at ease with the icy hot pain that surged through Jesper like a shockingly cold river.

Everything was muddled and confused and it hurt, and Jesper didn’t fully understand what was going on.

All he knew, was that when Kaz Brekker said ‘meet Wylan Van Eck,’ his whole world had come to a sudden, screeching stop.

-----------

Of Gunslingers and Journey's Home > omalh epilogue

There was an odd sense of regret when Wylan finally put his last item of clothing into the bag. Six weeks he’d spent in Novyi Zem with Jesper and his father, and yet it had felt more like home then anywhere else.

More then the Slat, more then the boarding house, more then his father’s giant mansion for sure.

He found he didn’t want to leave, not yet.

Tagging some peeps with some pretty cool wips: @crowpricorn @darjeelinh @heypax @jackwolfes @littlelcvestory @mezlymils @sunfl8wer @thesacredlore @violets-and-books

#jesper fahey #wesper fanfic #send anons #wesper #writing prompts #fic wip #wip wednesday #tag games

[morgansmornings]

SHIPPING INFO /

/ Answer the following for your muse(s) so people know how shipping works on your blog.

REPOST. Don’t reblog.

What’s your OTP for your Muse(s)?

@brooklynislandgirl While I have gone on to the point of endless circles about how Jayden loves Beth. It is more than a love of being friends. There is such a deep connection, may be not soul-mate status, but close enough that if it were true, then I would have no reason to argue against it. They are a close as they can get as friends, as family, and more. Beth and Jay were created, on paper with pens and pencils, sticky notes and yarn to connect the dots. Looking a lot like a conspiracy board to outsiders. But Turtle and I spent a solid six months, if not more, working out details of the girls' lives and how they fit together with each other. Across different verse and timelines. How they know that the other will be there when all hope is lost and there is nothing left but each other.

All of my ships are near and dear to me. To know that there are those out there that are putting in the time and effort like I am to make the Ship, no matter what shape it takes, to work. I can't give specifics as to why one is greater than another when the reality is that I see them all as stars in my night sky of written words.

What are you willing to RP when it comes to shipping?

It would be easier to state what I will not write when it comes to shipping. Meaning I will NOT write things like Non-Con, Age Play, Daddy/Mommy Kinks and closely related themes to the listed ones. I refuse for many reasons that do not need explanation further than I'm just not going to do it.

The Following are Available if the Muns are friends for at least Six Months and are consenting to: Dub-Con could only come up as a suggested plot if I have written with you over a regular basis and that we talk near constant OOC. Toxic and Negative Ships can be brought up provided that we the Muns have a healthy understanding and plot it out over several weeks.

Sex and BDSM topics can be talked about after two months of OOC of conversation. Or if we the Muns feel comfortable enough with each other to talk about such things. But that is a preference of mine.

That being said, I am open to most types of shipping from romantic, to friendship, to familial, and even frenemies. With the clear statement being that, and let me say it loudly for those in the back of the auditorium, COMMUNICATION IS KEY!

For me to be able to write out certain things, I need to know where my partner is at. I will check in with them at every reply, ask questions to the point it might feel like an interrogation to the outside the thread. If it becomes clear that the ship is starting to harm or make my RP Partner uncomfortable, I need them to be honest with me and I will terminate that specific ship and all threads relating to it.

I am not here to get my jollies at the risk of my partner's; mental, emotional, and physical health. Nothing is worth hurting another human being for.

How large does the age gap have to be to make it uncomfortable?

Age gaps do not really bother me so long as again, We Communicate. I do prefer the Muse in question to be over 21 as I am not going to even pretend to enter the Underage thing. It honestly creeps me out now that I am older in real life. I get a few years, but after they are approaching being about five years younger than Jay is where I draw a hard line.

Are you selective when shipping?

I have to say that I am to a certain point. I like the semi-realism of watching Muses meet, grow and interact. Seeing that relationship develop and blossom gives the Ship a certain fondness for me. Something I can look back on and go "Yeah, that was the moment it became something real." I have stated that I am a slow-burn kind of girl, but that doesn't mean we can't plot the past and jump into an established friendship.

I am open to figuring out pre-established romantic relationships, so long as it is not fresh following each other. I need to know you a bit more than a name and a "hey baby, how you doin'" if that's okay.

I will be honest, unless I have known the Mun for a spell and it is something that we have plotted for, Jayden is not going to just drop her panties and say please within the first ten minutes. That is something that I don't feel right about as I think it betrays who she is as a person. Yes, she is an OC of canon characters from a show. But she is more than her parents. She belongs to no one, except maybe Beth and even then Jay does not always listen. She can make her own choices.

How far do steamy moments have to go before they’re considered NSFW?

Personally, I like to stick to T.V. standards. If it would be considered rate R, then of course I am going to tag it as such. But for me, I like to take it somewhere more private if the Scene goes to Third Base. Mostly because A) I do not have a lot of experience with writing for the public, and B) It takes days if not weeks to make sure that I am follow where my fellow Mun wants to take things.

Who are other muses you ship your muse with?

I have several ships that I will go down with. But I understand that life happens. To list them all would keep us here for several hours. And even then I would feel like it wouldn't do the Ships justice. Because I love them all in different ways.

For those standing Ships, it takes a weight off my soul to know that my mutual Muns have taken the time to chip away the near indestructible wall of Jayden's exterior personality to get to that soft gooey center. That they can see she has flaws and still choose to love her on purpose. No matter what that love is.

Does one have to ask to ship with you?,

Don't get me wrong, I would like a head's up that it is something you, the Mun asking, is interested in. If it happens by accident, that is awesome. I'll be fair and honest, unlike my Muse, I am in real life oblivious to people flirting and the associated actions. So if you are subtle about it, I won't see it. And my goal is to not intentionally hurt someone because I was "Madam Not Getting the Hint."

And if I am asked, then I have a better grasp of what direction we want these stories to go. And yes it will change how my Muse interacts with yours.

How often do you like to ship?

I am not looking to force anyone into anything. As it has been a very large Issue in the RPC. Only getting followed for sex and nothing else just isn't my cup of tea. Not to say that you can't do that, I'm just respectfully bowing out of that.

I want us to know each other, to be able to be friends before putting a label on what our Muses are. But I would like to hope that our Muses could have at least and "I tolerate you" and "I would save you from being on fire" kind of ship.

Are you multiship?

I am. Each ship is in their own bubble pocket universes and timelines. Think of them as Pants of Time. There are two choices, and each one taken changes that timeline differently.

That is not to say that I can't enjoy watching other relationships come into being. Even if there are multiple crossover verses with several Muns, UNLESS TALKED ABOUT BEFORE HAND, there is very little butting into someone else's relationships. There is no "Oh my God, Becky you're dating my man! How Dare?!" Honestly cheating plots are not something I am all that interested in? But that is just me.

Are you ship obsessed or ship more-or-less?

I mean, kind of More or Less. If one happens I am here for it. But even if one never comes up, that is okay too! Sometimes you just see Bob Joe at the park when you walk your dog and exchange a "Still breathing?" in passing.

I have had a standing Mutual that at first our Muses would just annoy the shit out of each other for like a year's worth of multiple threads. And we as Muns were fucking tickled pink by it. To this day I am not sure if He considers Jayden His friend or that woman the bane of His existence. I am looking at you my feathered friend.

What is your favorite ship in your current fandom?

I have so many that it is silly and that there is very little time to explain them and why I will die on their respective hills.

Finally, how does one ship with you?

Talk to me. Be honest with what you want to see and I will do my damn best to make it happen for you. I sadly cannot read minds from my desk chair. SO in order for us to write something we are both enjoying, I need to have a head start and a map to get to the right path we want to take our stories into.

Tagged by: @brooklynislandgirl

Tagging: Look over there. It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a Meme you are now tagged in!

#More Memes for the Meme Gods | Meme #About the Stoat of Sarcasm l Mun Things #OOC | Notes from the Stoat

[nixnjix]

The Ho-oh flew ahead, "C'mon Ginjiro!" Zhen exclaimed, observing the Lugia lagging. He couldn't help himself. The flight brought about a change in him, excitement filling him, his heart soaring. He was a being of the skies, he felt at home in the clouds. He slowed his pace, using the thermals to stay aloft in line with Ginjiro. "It's not much further ahead." 

"What has a fire burning beneath you now?" Ginjiro mused, maintaining a slow beat of his wings. He was being cautious, aware of the strength of his wings. "Perhaps a walk is in order. I do not want to disrupt the land further." 

Conceding he had a point, Zhen lowered to the surface, his form shimmering to take his customary human form with Ginjiro following suit. They were a ways away from civilization, off the traditional map but Zhen knew where to go, extending a hand unabashedly. He was in an exuberant mood, grinning ear to ear, his hair windblown in such a fashion that made him look boyish. 

He could see Ginjiro's surprise at his unbridled excitement. It was truly rare for Zhen to be in such a mood. Full of life and joy. He came out a better man through his ordeal, his heart of gold beginning to shine. "Are you sure you aren't under the spirits' influence?" Ginjiro cautiously asked but held out his hand nonetheless. 

"No!" Without further preamble, Zhen grasped ahold of his hand, towing him along at a quickened pace. "Quit holding us up!" 

"Zhen!" Ginjiro narrowly avoided tripping. He righted himself swiftly, struggling to keep up with the brisk stride. "Slow down!" Despite his protest, Zhen's enthusiasm was catchy. He felt a smile of his own spreading across his lips. A sensation of youth, Gin felt it spread its wings in his chest as he bounded to match his gait. "And you haven't answered my previous question before we set out. Where are we going?" 

Zhen groaned, slowing into a walk. "All these questions. Can't you let it be a surprise?" 

"It certainly is a surprise still but-" 

Zhen placed a finger to his lips, effectively silencing him. "Stop talking and follow me." 

Ginjiro raised his eyebrow but quietly obeyed, highly intrigued by this shift. What more may he do? Anticipation rode him as he followed, raising along a hill. Zhen never lost his energy all the while. It steadily rose, eagerness as plain as day on his features. Caught up in the excitement, he wanted to bear witness as well. 

Zhen stopped as they crested the hill, releasing his grasp. He presented the meadow, his arms spreading wide. "This is what I wanted to show you!" A lush sea of green, a gale giving rise to a wave across the expanse. Flowers in bloom, adding life to the verdant sea, their delightful aroma filling the area. "I made this!" 

"You did this?" Ginjiro looked about twice more, astounded, "Oh my, it's beautiful!"

"Yes!" Zhen cheered. He continued the distance, cradling Ginjiro's face, beaming. "I brought this place back to life! I!" He swelled with pride. "I did it! Finally!" 

He released his hold, tumbling back into the sea of grass. "I have finally done it! I have finally become a God." The well of emotion brimmed over the rim. Tears welled within his gaze. "Not a monster who burns and scorches the Earth." 

He raised his hand to the sky, watching a rainbow make its way across the blue. His gift, his power. He rose, eyes warm, "Partly I have you to blame. You inspired me. To say I didn't think of you when I revived the life here would be a lie. What would Gin do? I thought."

He threw his head back and laughed, heartfelt and warm. "I'm so hungover over you but you helped me all these years. You were there for me. How could I not think of you?" 

He rose to his feet, moving to stand in front of the Lugia. There was no lingering fear, no embarrassment as he gathered Ginjiro's hands in his own. "What I mean to say is…

His smile was of the radiant sun. "Thank you." 

#Zhen #Ginjiro #Writing #Bitchcanpassoutnow

[the-rat-house]

Under the cut was the original thing I wrote for Galacta and Morpho.

THIS ISN’T CANON TO THE BLOG! And I should rewrite it to be it’s own thing to just. Post lol. And because I, like most things I write, wrote it in the middle of the night on discord.

But a little insight to the muses nonetheless.

Uhh warning for some repetition and Galacta internally being really mean towards Kirby specifically.

Again.

Again.

Again again again againagainaginagainAGAIN!

Freedom thrust upon him only to be wrenched away just as easily. Fights with people who don't know him; who use him. The Strongest Warrior in the Galaxy, naught but a fun little challenge. A plaything. A toy. His worth measured only in his power to entertain them. To stop them, to have them prove their worth.

Nothing but a man forced to live forever to be everyone else's tool.

Not allowed to die- no, no, he doesn't want to die. But he can't even if he did and by the stars he may not have been pure but this was far worse than even sealing life away in Jamba Heart; at least evil got to stay away knowing they were allowed to rest!

Pink eyes flick around fast. The pink one - KIRBY THE BASTARD IS KIRBY- and his friends- JUST WAIT JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE TOO STRONG, KIRBY, JUST WAIT- stand there. Staring. Watching. Preparing.

Another fight.

Again.

Not again, please not again not AGAIN-

A splash of orange above him.

He looks up. A butterfly. It glows. Energy emanates from it in waves. Hot like fire.

'It's coming to me.' He thinks. Of course it is; it's always him, is it not?

Of course it is. It lands on his lance.

'Aeon Hero.'

The voice is not something he can describe. Neither is the magic he feels coursing through his lance, its magic channeling abilities being thrust back upon him in firey glory. It burns- stars, it burns- yet it is most welcome. Unfamiliar and different. Burning like death...

Is he dying?

No.

No, he will not die.

His own power surges against the onslaught.

'What are you?'

'Judgement.'

Internally, he scoffs.

'Judgement!' Bright light begins to glow around him. The attackers are backing away.

'Many lives scream around you.'

What a strange way to word things. Nonsensical, really.

'Do they scream louder than me?'

'They do not.'

Can anything scream louder than him? How could it? He has been screaming for so long. It must have been forever, at this point. Across time, space, dimensions aplenty. Oh, how he screams. No one ever hears.

'I do.'

Galacta Knight closes his eyes.

'I will not die.' There is a certainty and will behind the thought that shakes everyone to their core, though it's impossible for them to know why.

'I will not die. But I will yield.'

The burning grows stronger, yet twists, bending to Galacta's will.

'I give myself to you in everything but my spirit. Judgement.'

The light explodes, forcing the onlookers to look away. Shielding their eyes as the Aeon Hero evaporates into-

Into-

Into-

...

Peace. Warmth. Solidity.

Galacta Knight opens his eyes. Right away he knows that this is somewhere within himself. He stands upon a ground of crystal, looking to a sky full of stars. Fire, so much fire, so far yet so deep within him.

How wonderful. How peaceful. Alone, by his own choice.

For the first time in so long, he feels happy.

'I do not understand.'

The voice rumbles around him, from nowhere, from everywhere. It's comforting.

'This is not freedom.'

"It is." Galacta says, shedding his armor and mask; there was no use for it here. It weighed him down. "I chose this. My freedom is choosing my isolation."

Silence booms around him for seconds - or perhaps hours. He can't tell. He doesn't really care. Opening his eyes, he sees an entity in front of him.

A Batamon, dark as void with beautiful red wings that make the air feel like hell itself. The sensation is wonderful. That must be his savior.

"Thank you, Morpho." The words flow easily, like he didn't have to move a muscle to even bring them into existence.

The butterfly knight tilts its head slightly.

'Morpho?'

"It fits you." Is all Galacta says in explanation.

It stares at him. Morpho stares at him. He smiles lazily at them.

'Very well.'

Whether it likes the name or not does not matter. Judgement is now Morpho. So says the Aeon Hero, whose screams had finally been met with kindness. No longer is this his fight.

Hatred burns as an endless fuel. Galacta Knight will provide that fuel.

#non rp #mun art #lore tag #(sorta? explains some things with gala and morpho despite being noncanon) #(also yes i definitely have mentioned this story and rewriting it before but i don't recall when that was) #(nor if i ever actually posted the story itself SO if i have made this exact post before im sorry akjlghsd)

[lovcalivc]

Tag drop: Avatar The Last Airbender/The Legend of Korra

#i can't cry and i can't start to crumble || mai reflection #better seen and not heard || mai headcanons #watch me burn across the sky || mai musings #i love him more than i fear you || zuko (mythunderlegion) #we're simply meant to be || maiko (mythunderlegion) #sunshine and chi-blocking || ty lee #you miscalculated || azula #don't you underestimate me || toph reflection #my voice drowned out in the thunder || toph musings #you can't keep me quiet || toph headcanons #i will never turn my back on people who need me || katara reflection #running through the waves below || katara headcanons #trying to keep everyone together || katara musings #i am a warrior but i'm a girl too || suki reflection #you're the man but i've got the power || suki headcanons #i'm the one who's in control || suki musings #makes me that much stronger || asami sato reflection #makes me work a little bit harder || asami sato musings #makes my skin a little bit thicker || asami sato headcanons #thanks for making me a fighter || hiroshi sato #people like us we gotta stick together || team avatar

[likeagcrl]

Tag Drop: Mai

#i can't cry and i can't start to crumble || mai reflection #better seen and not heard || mai headcanons #watch me burn across the sky || mai musings #i love him more than i fear you || zuko (grcwingstrcng) #we're simply meant to be || maiko (grcwingstrcng) #sunshine and chi-blocking || ty lee #you miscalculated || azula

[littlefreya]

Prince Of Darkness

Summary: There'll be no escape tonight, the devil always gets what he desires.

Pairing: Devil!August Walker x Unnamed OFC (3rd person pov)

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+, DARK! NonCon, kidnapping, stalking, breeding, exhibitionism, loss of virginity, supernatural stuff, sex in a cathedral, mention of heaven and hell. Please proceed with caution. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own

A/N: I have put a lot of effort into this story, and I’m really anxious af. We all like to see August as a demon, but I decided to go all the way... And I’m nervous at your response and going to die after hitting submit. So bye.

Many thanks to the love of my life @agniavateira​, for support, brainstorm and beta. And to @crimsonrae​ and @wondersofdreaming​ who held my hand. 

Please give feedback and reblog if you enjoyed my work. 🖤

Title: Prince of Darkness

Blood painted the streets, courtesy of the blinding scarlet lights that danced upon gravel and tar before dwindling into darkness. The soft, beaming glow pulsed with the muffled beats of a monotonous song that played inside the luxurious nightclub. Like thundering war drums, it rumbled in the ears of the elegant man who stood along the shadows. 

Leaning against the cement, he took a sip from a glass of spiced Bordeaux and brushed an index finger over his thick moustache to wipe away misguided droplets of wine. 

‘How could anyone enjoy this abomination?’ He wondered with a guttural groan, never quite grasping this electronic noise thing; but then again August was older than this music, and his tastes far exceeded cheap and trivial antics. He was a man driven by the appetite for destruction and forbidden delights, and tonight, he was finally about to obtain both. After decades of anticipation, the succulent fruit was ready to be plucked. 

Oh, what an intoxicating and delicious mist his unsuspecting beloved emanated, setting his heart aflame with her sheer ripeness.  

‘It’s been so long, so painfully long.’ 

Time had lost its meaning as he waited, curving and swerving into a stream of an infinite river flowing with decay and death. 

But as the old saying went: all haste comes from the devil. 

So the man lingered against the wall, a sparkle enkindled and crackled in his eyes, morphing into black wells whilst the waves of her honey-liqueured ambrosia grew pungent, seeping through his airways and sinking in his throat. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, revelling in the sound of harsh tapping heels that echoed louder with every step until she came summoned into the naked wilderness of the city street. 

‘Beautiful and innocent as the garden of Eden. Of course, of course...’

The stranger scrutinised the young woman with another sip from his wine and a bite of great intrigue - but stoicism and silence, for now, were his most valuable allies. 

Clad in a lithe black dress and a stylish leather jacket to keep herself warm from the chill autumn breeze, she fished for the mobile device in her purse while distress washed her wrinkling brow. Illuminated by the bright screen, her face sulked as for the seventh time in the last 30 minutes, her attempt to find an Uber bore no success whatsoever. 

Was there something about tonight that all drivers were kept occupied, or had her luck simply run dry? 

Showing her face to the moonlit sky, she sighed in great frustration. This must have been fate’s retribution to a mindless bad decision; she should have left with her friends, but staying alone to fruitlessly catch the eye of the uncaring bartender seemed more significant as the buzz of alcohol dimmed any ray of logic. Now deep into the night, walking home alone didn’t appear to be the most sympathetic solution, yet it occurred to her that there wasn’t much of choice.  

“You seem distressed.” 

Equal to a dark chant sputtering words of witchcraft, the low yet incredibly soft baritone of his voice slithered from the corner and crept down her spine with icy scales. A lurching hollow flared within her gut, her neck seized by the tight grip of a serpentine phantom. 

His vibrato sounded like a voice that called her through a dream she never had before; despite the unsettling arctic spasm gyrating through her shaky limbs, it lured her to return a stare and meet the cryptic face behind the seducing chant. 

Two sharp glaciers glimmered at her as the stranger sauntered into the penumbra, momentarily lit by another flash of neon red that broke onto his face and highlighted his ethereal features. Her lips drew open, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress as a shiver ran through her. To say that the stranger was handsome would be an understatement, as it almost seemed as if he was ‘designed’ by a sculptor - carved cheeks led a path to slightly pouted lips, and a stark, dimpled chin was shadowed by dark stubble. His chocolate-brown hair was elegantly combed to the side, with a couple of large lustrous locks gently nestling over his brow.

Though it wasn’t his good looks that left her riddled with prickly goosebumps, but the unprecedented magnetic haul that made her feel as if she was physically drawn toward this mysterious man. 

Frightened by the unbidden reaction of her own body, she quickly retreated to gawk at the phone and provided no answer to his inquiry. A strange yearning to submit grew between her clenching thighs, a primal response to his striking looks and charms. 

But she killed the seed before it set roots in her flesh. 

‘They said Ted Bundy was charming as well…’ she mused. Frivolous as she wanted to be, getting murdered was undoubtedly not among her plans tonight. 

Revelling in her silent reply with an arched brow, he tilted his head when a blinding flicker abruptly caught his keen eye. Kissed by the pale moonlight’s beam, a small silver cross rested upon her collarbone. His sharp fangs begged to peek with sardonic amusement, but he kept his lips clamped, not wishing to scare her too soon. 

There was to be plenty of that later...

“May I offer you my help, sweetling?”

Threading his long fingers between the smooth stem and clasping them around the bowl, he lowered the glass to the side of his hip, dragging the girl’s unwilling eye to the healthy bulge in his groin. 

Her lips drew open as a surge of staggering heat flushed at her apex. 

It seemed enormous... 

“Name’s August, like the emperor, but you can call me whatever your heart desires...”

Embers burnt at her cheeks; in her belly, the odd mystical calling continued weaving at her core in an urge to accept whatever it was he had to offer. Her eyes warred to tear her gaze away from his nether region as her lashes fluttered to meet the abysmal glance that bestowed both frost and fire through her tendons. 

There was something archaically familiar about this man as if she knew him before the days had names. Yet she swore, it was the first time she ever saw his striking face. 

“I can take you wherever you need to go.” 

Breath laced with wine titillated her nostrils as the words spilt from his lips, whilst another crimson ray broke upon the marble of his face. Never had he urged, but instead suggested with a tongue soaked with honey. Still, a blazing aura of danger encircled him. And even though the very natural fear of walking home alone grappled her, it still seemed like a much better plan than entrusting her life to a stranger who was twice her size. 

Deciding to keep her tongue knotted, she turned and began striding away. ‘Best not to engage him,’ she thought, but once she moved past his bulky figure, her heart suddenly picked up its pace and her legs refused to function as if they no longer belonged to her. 

Seconds stretched into eternity. The thought that this civilised savage will assail her and drag her into the night scratched at the back of her head. But the worst of it was the simmering throb. Unforgiving, like gathering storm clouds, it thundered the closer she walked by him and then gradually died out as she finally managed to move away and free herself from this invisible bond. 

Savouring the final drop of wine, August watched amused as the frightened little lamb quickly oscillated on her feet, scampering into the horrors offered by the dark. It was funny how fear made animals act so heedlessly and rush straight into the burning heart of peril. 

A toothy grin peaked his chiselled cheeks. Always the gentleman, he shifted from the concrete, discarding the glass carelessly to shatter on the sidewalk. His sinew stretched in a relaxed ripple of an apex predator before he straightened both vest and jacket and stroked his thick moustache. 

Though her heavenly fragrance still soaked the air, the girl was already gone from normal eyesight. It was a pity to see her leave, yet there was no need for him to rush.

There was never really a choice for her. 

Strangely, the night kept growing unnaturally darker. A great ocean of blackness and crystalised stars spread from above, casting looming shadows across the tall buildings that resembled a maw filled with rotten teeth. The tepid wind that blew between the vast concrete monoliths was nothing but the breath of a mythical beast intoning her name through the shadows.

Clawing at her forearms, she meandered through the inert street with a wary eye. Desolate neon signs flickered hauntingly, bequeathing a vibrant beacon of dread over the shimmering, onyx road. Not a living soul was in sight as if the world descended into stillness, dominated by an eerie, dead silence save for the harsh echo of her hasty heels. And yet, the long path felt anything but lifeless. With every step landed on the ground, she could sense the movement beneath the surface: swarming vile things, slippery and scaled. Unseen by the human eye, they hissed dirty little secrets and slithered with sinister hunger, drizzling down their fangs. 

‘You can already feel me inside you, can’t you sweetling…’ Remaining hidden, he had to admit that watching the little lamb leap shivering into the slaughter has been somewhat of foreplay.

A veil of fumes emitted from her parted lips. The air became colder, summoning a terrifying truth that made her lungs clench around the black void that abruptly filled them with the notion that maybe... maybe… that chill, liquid-like thing that threatened to touch her ankle wasn’t just in her crazy imagination.

There was something out there, something undeniably familiar. This unusual gust of wind brushing at her nape has accompanied her since she could remember herself, an unsettling breeze bidding that evil lurked between the creases, holding its sinewy fingers clasped together while waiting for her to answer his hushed calling.

‘And once you finally answer, there is no turning back…’ 

Fear gnawed its frosty fangs at her bones, puncturing tiny painful cavities that were needles in her flesh. Tonight, of all nights, the same hazy feeling became stronger than ever before. Deep inside, she knew she would meet her end. Pressing the oily pads of her fingers at the sharp corners of her pendant, she inhaled and chanted a prayer, refusing to succumb to the noxious malice when a frozen pin pierced her heart.

Like the lark calling on the dawn, an unbidden chant carried her name.

Drenched with frigid sweat, she exhumed a shuddering breath, praying to God that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her ears. 

‘The greatest trick he ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.’

Indeed in the darkness, leered the beast. All teeth and malicious glee, August moved from one shadow to another, feasting on the aphrodisiac that was the mixture of her harrowing terror and unveiled desire. If only she knew the trail her scent left for him to follow - he could smell her from miles away. 

The little flower between her legs began blooming the moment their entities finally encountered one another, and it was his ancient name her dew had dripped for.  

‘My sweet little thing, tonight I will finally grant you a purpose...’ 

Like a hound awakened from a deep slumber, he flexed his bulging muscles and tailed her in utter silence. The same spell that burnt in her core seethed the blood gathering in his ardent loins. Since the dawn of humankind, he had more women than any other man on this earth, yet none has evoked such hunger in him. 

He would have eaten her alive and torn her to shreds if only he didn't have bigger plans for her.

Still hidden by the unnatural night, August stalked from behind, the blaze of his enkindling burn licking her path as he crept further to ensnare his prey. He wished she could see herself through his own flaring glance, how beautiful she was with tears of despair rolling down the tender slope of her cheeks. 

His beloved girl; his, by ancient law. Spirited as a rageful tempest, she insisted on escaping her prophesied fate. Muscles and bones strove against the panic that turned her boiling blood frigid. But no power, physical nor divine could revoke this otherworldly attraction that bound her to him. His bidding could never be undone and as much as his blood relished from the thrill of the chase, it was time to put an end to this dance and seal their union. 

Appearing from a stygian haze of a spectral nightmare, the beast drew his claw to grasp the fleeting girl’s shoulder.

The world froze along with the scream that died in her throat. Cold, slippery wet, the phantom serpents slinked around her ankles and held on to the ground as the thing behind her bit his nails into her collarbone. His touch was no ghost, but as real as the quiet moon that voyeured her fate from above and did nothing. A wretched gasp of anguish shuddered through her airways as his fingers stalked forth to cinch at her neck. 

His grip was tighter than the icy finger of death, yet its caress was the sensual lick of a gossamer tongue. 

It was almost as if he worshipped her. 

Shadows befell her as the assailant leaned close, wafting a mist of intoxicating fumes scented of poisonous elixirs and an ancient forest that laid deep between the veils of the underworld, hiding forbidden mysteries that none dared speak of. Seeping through her orifices, it stung her eyes and raked remorseful tears. 

“Please…” she broke into sobs, shaking her head at the dawning of her fate.

The man inhaled deeply. Though she could not see him, the joyful malice that danced on his pleased breath roared in her ears.

“Do not fear me.” The sonorous rumble caressing her ear was hardly a surprise in its familiarity.  It was him, the handsome bewhiskered gentleman from earlier. But of course, it was always him: the whisper in the dark, the slithering things moving beneath the tepid ground, and the smell of burning pyres. 

But who the hell was he?!

As if he read her mind, his hand twisted around her nape and with a careful sway, turned her to face him. The voice inside her head warned her over and over again not to look at him; yet the temptation was too great, peeling her eyes open to stare at the thing that made her heart drop to her gut.

Vast, raven wings spread from each side of an Adonis figure, their intimidating length denying her widened eyes to look at anything but the dark god that soared tall in front her. No, not a god, a devil. A pair of small golden horns peeked from the mane of long curls, and the heavenly icy gaze she remembered from earlier had melted into an abysmal lake of fire.

He was beautiful.

He was monstrous.

And just like that, she descended from the earth, swept into a thick swamp of darkness that swallowed her whole. Never letting so much as her feet kiss the ground, August scooped her into his strong arms. Peering down upon her, he broke into a delightful grin, already enamoured with his delicate new bride. The pang of lust tingled in his groin, though despite the raging need to claim her now, it was her screams he desired more than all as he would consummate their eternal marriage. 

Wicked tongues of fire licked up the shallow air, casting a faint amber glow into the abominable sombre of a vanishing nightmare. Shy as feral nymphs, the bursting sparks ascended melancholily, whispering tales of perishing days that fell to harmony with a strange mumbling chant. Still locked in a void of unconsciousness, the fallen girl shifted with disquiet, her hands restlessly clutching at a virginal silk gown that covered her body. 

Vaguely remembering a horrifying dream of a demonic entity, she woke with a sudden electric jitter. A peal of breathless pants pushed through her heaving chest before she slumped into the intense relief one experiences from a brush with either death or a ghastly fantasy. 

“Thank God…” she whispered with a fist pressed to her breast.

Yet, something was amiss. The low vocal melody continued despite her state of clarity, tangled with the eerie presence of a hundred cutting glares that stabbed her crawling spine. Slowly and carefully, she lifted her head and scanned her surroundings. 

The blood drained from her face.

Swaying like shadowy wraiths stood men cloaked in black velvet hoods. Tears of milky boiling wax trickled from the candles held by their stringy fingers, yet they didn’t seem to flinch as the burning rivulets seared their flesh. Their hollow eyes were fixated upon her while words of a dark sacrament sputtered from their lips and reverberated through the endless archways and ribbed vaults that towered above them. 

Her trembling muscles were briskly stifled under the unsettling realisation of her whereabouts - a cathedral, a thousand years old if not more. Burning torches lit crumbling pillars and statues of monstrous winged creatures that encircled them from every niche, their malicious shadows dancing upon dusty obsidian bricks. Unglazed windows were barred by black iron, the beautiful floral shapes preventing any means of escape. 

Only the fractured ceiling held a cheap shred of hope, as a vast rupture of broken stone exposed her to the scarred carmine wolf-moon.

If only she had wings…

Bones rattling beneath her crawling flesh, she sat upon the hard surface with wells of despair. Her hands clutched around the edge of the bed, only to be kissed by the sharp corners that pierced the delicate flesh. Hissing with pain, she lifted her arms and stared below at what appeared to be a midnight-black marble creased with golden veins and saplings-like patterns. 

It was beautiful, just like the creamy gown that covered her body.  

“Do you like it, bride?” 

Rising from the crowd like a flame among charred coals, appeared her handsome abductor. Suitable to a true evil prince, a long red cloak enrobed his broad, sturdy form, the velvet hem trailing behind him like a thick river of blood while he marched forward with no haste in his dauntless mien. Human once again, August offered the most endearing grin; two profound dimples embellished his scruffy cheeks, and his eyes shone brighter than a frozen sea. 

Yet in her sullen gaze, he was nothing but a monster.

Abruptly enraged and driven by pure instinct, she jumped off the marble and paced backwards. Tears of anger and fright rimmed her swollen lids and her bare feet nearly collided as she shook her head at August who was neither impressed nor concerned by this foolish protest. 

“You stay the fuck away from me!!!” She warned with a scream and hastily turned away. 

Lost in some trance, the praying mob never stirred, granting the girl a fair chance to escape the bewhiskered man who was still several strides away. Her feeble legs made three to four steps when her muscles swiftly turned to stone, and her stomach lurched. 

‘No! It couldn’t be! How?!’

Curls shining like precious coils of onyx, August emerged in front of her, continuing his relaxed gait as if this was a natural occurrence. His bright icicles melted into malicious dark pools of twisted desire, and his tongue briefly laved his plump lips at the sight of pure disbelief that cascaded over her face. He could feel right under her skin, hear the thrumming heart that both chilled and fumed for him. Further beyond her thoughts, his betrothed yearned to be defiled and torn open by him. 

It was her destiny, whether she liked it or not. 

Still she fought, so ferocious and defiant, flinching away from his attempts to seize her. It was almost comical to watch her deny him, knowing that her fate would be no different; she will spread her legs and submit to his conquest. And yet, her battle was immensely appealing; what better bride to the dark lord than a woman who breathed fire.

“Who are you?!” She cried, her trembling voice rising with panic and her cheeks soaking with tears, “What do you want from me?!”

August's face was devoid of mercy, her whimpering hisses did nothing to deter him and only further increased the appetite of the deprived wolf that circled in his gut. With a wring of his wrist, his fingers snapped at her elbow, hauling her against his rock-hard chest with such might her heels hovered above the ground. 

Writhing in his grip she flung her hands at his face, clawing streams of crimson to trickle down his cheeks. The notion of hurting this vicious man brought somewhat of a sick joy; but her onslaught died at once, and her mouth fell agape as his skin healed with not even a trace of injury. 

“Oh God, what are you?!” She shuddered. 

Still holding her elbow hostage, his free hand travelled to the hem of the white gown, the long, perverted fingers twisting around the fabric before yanking it off at once. A resounding rip echoed through the tall arches, causing the chanting choir to halt their susurrations at once. 

All eyes were afloat as the cold air kissed her skin. In vain, she attempted to cover herself only to be felled by the restraints of August’s grasp. 

“God?...” The man finally spoke, his melodic voice ending with a sonorous hum that sprouted through her arteries like a deadly toxin. Not less poisonous, his gaze trailed down her form, worshipping the very sights of his delightful prize. 

“Not God, but once I was an angel,” he suggested and leaned down to inhale her skin with a gratified growl before he flicked his wide tongue at her chest.

A groan of approval emitted from his lips, the sheer coat of sweat that layered her bosom was soaked of freshly brewed fear, his most favourite savour. His wet, velvety snake swept the sweet-briny wetness and licked further down her breasts, twirling around the erect nipple.

Unintended, she moaned. A river of delights rushed between her grinding thighs.

“No!”

Wrongful, unwanted bliss awoke in her. She felt desecrated and allured at once. Her fickle body deceived, mistaking this vile conquest as consensual. And the more August took, the more she desired; her dutiful womb demanded to consummate this bond, almost as if the beast had bewitched her a long while ago, embedding his essence in the marrow of her bones. 

August grinned against her skin, the scent of her arousal fresh in his nose while his lips travelled to kiss down her sternum and the slope of her torso. His thick whiskers left a trail of fluttering butterflies.

“Have sympathy, my love. I had built my own realm and waited in the forlorn abyss. Empires fell and worlds disintegrated into ashes while I waited for thou,” he explained and clutched the cheek of her behind in his claw, squeezing it possessively. “I have longed for your touch since the day your ancestor promised you to me, little lamb. A hundred years’ worth of waiting for the bargain to reach its end, and for you to finally be ripe.” 

The beast pressed one last languid kiss below her navel, a guttural hum exuded in between his lips, huffing hot against her belly. Slowly he rose to his full height, towering above his helpless victim who hugged her arms to cover her naked body and watched her nightmare unfold once more. Cold wind chilled her damp cheeks as August flung the blood-red cloak and exposed his naked figure before her.  

He was massive, a masculine build fit for a warrior angel, covered with thick bulging muscles and dark hair. Lips parted, she forgot herself, gawking in awe and allowing her gaze to trail down to his unapologetically monstrous cock. Firm and throbbing, it dripped with hunger, urging to find release inside her clenching cavern.

She didn’t even know a man could be this vast, but alas, he was no man at all.

It was at that moment when blackest wings spread before her that realisation finally struck through like a blunt hammer to the back of her head. Covering her mouth she cowered away, her exposed back hitting the raised altar behind her. 

August was no man nor god, but Lucifer himself. 

Seeing the hope die in her eyes, the devil sneered. 

“No, no, no! This can’t be real! This isn’t real!!!” She yelled, pathetic little hiccups sputtering from her lips.

August tilted his head, giving a scornful pout and scoffed with amusement. “Am I not?” He asked as he lifted an arm to flick his fingers, summoning two of the hooded servants to approach the dais. Their eyes were soulless gems embedded to a grey face that was cracked like a broken eggshell. 

“I am real, beloved, as real as the child you will conceive me tonight.” 

Shrills of terror flew through the great hole in the ceiling. Kicking and screaming, she fought as the men seized her arms and dragged her to the altar, forcing her flat down and holding her arms to prevent her from escaping. They never blinked at the ferocious war she waged against them, though an impish smile slowly possessed their faces as their master strode forward. 

“Sweet little lamb,” August chanted, enamoured with his fiery bride while he sauntered by the edge of the altar. His Adonis body golden in the candlelight, his fingers squeezed and pumped the ravenous demon that hung heavy between his legs. The twinge in her womb rose in response, a low roar thrumming as it yearned to succumb to its unbridled purpose. Sheen, the arousal trickled between her kicking legs and onto the smooth stone, making her cheek flame.

Much to August’s pleasure. 

“Our son will burn this world to cinders,” he promised and snaked his fingers at her ankles. Calmly deflecting her attempts to kick against him, he dragged her toward him until her knees folded over the edge and spread between his thighs. The platform was in the perfect height, positioning her delicious Eden at the height of his blessed demon. 

“You will make an excellent mother.”

Her entire body shook, her cunt clenching along her sobs in both defence and beguiling need as August leaned in and grazed the silky pink crown between her wet petals. She begged he wouldn’t be able to invade her, but her prayers fell to deaf ears.    

“Please don’t do this to me! I will do anything… please!” She wailed a bargain, still trying to escape the servants’ grip and looking at him pleadingly, “I… I...haven’t been with a man!”

“Oh I know…” August beamed and stroked himself back and forth between her engorged lips. Vamping flames tingled at her flesh, her core foolishly squeezing around nothing in demand for this wretched monster to defile her.  

“You’ve kept yourself for me, didn't you? I have waited for you too, for centuries even, but now our waiting has ended, and I can finally love you.”

With one brutal thrust, he breached through the gates of her sacred haven, corrupting her purity and ripping her open with the elegance of a savage. 

Exasperated bats fluttered their wings over the red moon at the sound of her pained howl. Eyes flared to the bleak sky above; the girl watched them in a daze, disbelieving the blazing demon that scorched her from inside as he nestled himself between her resisting gates with no intention to cease. 

In his villainy, August pushed further. Stunned thunders of ecstasy erupted from his lips, all to humiliate her along with the dark minions who circled the altar to pervertedly witness this sacrilegious ritual in which their master ravaged the unwilling maiden. Ignoring her body’s vehement protest, he forced himself unfathomably deep, only stopping until the head of his cock kissed the gateway of her cervix.

Crystalised tears rolled down her temples and stained the cold marble beneath her body. Slit impossibly sore, she twitched and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling of being invaded by another entity. Her once protected realm was now under the domain of a ruthless prince, and he took no prisoners and granted no mercy nor care at her vain endeavours to push him out. 

He would never stop. He would have her again and again until her sacred little womb would be plentiful with his seed. 

“Tight,” he blurted out in a blissful huff and reached his talons to bite into her quaking thighs. Spreading her wider, he hooked his hands below her knees, moulding her into a vessel to be fulfilled. Arctic orbs glazed down her naked figure, his plump lips cooing at her aching whimpers. The taut and hairy muscles of his gut flexed as he carefully withdrew his vicious cock, coated in the crimson sorrow of her maidenhood.

Hollow pain throbbed in her empty cunt as he suddenly abandoned her. Distressed and overwhelmed, she hoped he would stay out, yet her traitorous body coveted his return in a false faith that it would ease the fervid twinge that soared to her belly and even burnt in her breasts.

It was far from true.

No less vigorous than before, August plunged back inside her, stretching her again, shaping her as his own as she yipped and struggled to escape. His head threw back with a roar of divine pleasure, feasting at the thrill of her dauntless veils wrapping around him like a succulent flower. For a moment there, he wondered who preyed on who. Her concupiscent little cove sucked him so wantonly it threatened to swallow his raging cock. 

‘But of course, every virgin is destined to become my whore.’

Hot and heavy, his shaft seized the void that had always been inside her, their heaving organs collided in euphoric bliss like two broken shards that were lost for decades and finally pieced back together. And even though she seared with every jerk or shift he made, the impassioned flames licked at the seams of her twitching cunt in waves of ache and foreign desperation. 

“No…” she whispered, shame singeing her throat as the little pesky sparks enkindled where the devil had violated her. Vision blurry, she gazed at him utterly mystified. Part of her warred to stoke the fire that screamed heresy, while the other begged to yield to her demise.   

As August pulled away again and thrust harder, a breathless moan tore from her lips.    

A cutting grin radiated onto his face. “It feels so good inside you,” he sang and slid one hand to stroke all the way down from her sweat-ridden thighs to her belly, feeling the movement of his cock with every push and shove. 

He was taunting her, yet she couldn’t care less. Over the cinders of pain and virtue, a garden began to bloom. With every abysmal stroke of his swelling shaft, she could feel green saplings and coy vines growing within her uterus—soft, beautiful tendrils stalked through her arteries, sprouted through her cove, and engulfed his swelling demon as well.

She was no longer burning but becoming alive. Pained cries suddenly evolved into asphyxiation of bliss. Beyond her realisation, she undulated her hips in the desire to endure each of his wet claiming thrusts. Her spine coiled against the surface, further allowing him easier passage to nourish the wilderness that continued spreading through her blood. 

Noticing the change in her, approving groans rumbled in his throat; his little bride was growing tighter around his demon, her quivering lips and fluttering lashes the image of true Elysium. It was not long before he would plant his seed in her fertile lush. Her cunt milked and suckled around him, demanding to be bred by the devil. 

“Yes, my love! Give in to me! Give in to your primal sin!” August urged, enhancing the rhythm until he was thrusting into her like a battering ram, the sinful elixir of their union smearing on his groin and dripping down her rump. “Descend with me!” 

In her delirium she witnessed magical nightshades and sinewy stalks growing amidst the gritty bricks, encompassing the ominous cathedral with bright colours. 

It was paradise on earth, given to her by the unearthly rapturous joy of having this demon violate her, slamming harder with growing frustration until his thick girth ripped through the last threads of her self-preservation and that which she tried so hard to deny erupted through her clenching core.

Euphoria. 

For a lingering moment, she had wings of her own, pale as precious pearls and lustrous stars. Tingling waves of ethereal white heat burst at her seams, purifying her as she flew above the cathedral, and watched their ungodly union from above. But her wings suddenly caught aflame and before she knew it, she crashed onto the earth with a secondary, more violent climax. 

The beast’s roars erupted into a brutal thunder, causing the sturdy pillars of the cathedral to quake and crack like thin glass. With all his might, he clutched her thighs and hauled her against him, slamming his swollen cock deep into her belly and releasing his smouldering, milky essence until it seeped from her sleek. August’s wings flew open as he found his own rapture, blazes following through and consuming the ancient hall. 

This was no longer a hallucination. 

This was Inferno.

Still radiating with orgasmic glow, she screamed horrified as everything around them vehemently burnt to coals. Even the soulless servants crumbled into dust, accepting their fate without so much of a yip. The fire raged and died within seconds, leaving nothing but broken pillars and ashen smoke.  

Shortly, the tepid air of night caressed her naked skin as they remained alone in the ruins of what was once an ominous cathedral. Still buried in her viscera, August broke into a low, stretching groan of relief which made her immediately return her eyes to him. Shame rose bitter in her throat and new fresh rivulets trickled on her cheeks.  

After all that he had done to her, she could see nothing in him but a beautiful monster.

“My beloved queen,” August keened to comfort her and moved his hand to tenderly stroke her lower belly. 

A toothy smile broke upon his face, his eyes gleaming with surprise as he felt the life that had already begun growing in her angelic fortress. A son, strong and glorious as his father. For the first time in his long existence, the devil was truly elated and he vowed in that moment that he would give her much, and much more. But first, she needed to be cared for. 

Her assaulted hole convulsed with pain as he pulled himself out, leaving a trail of creamy fluids to dribble at his departure. Sniffling and shaking, she watched him bemused, as he climbed onto the altar and moved to lie beside her. Though she no longer flinched as he touched her, what was the point of it anyway? He had already destroyed her and stolen her innocent soul.  

“You make me so happy, my beloved queen,” August had murmured as he gripped her jaw and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss claimed her breath, pillaging whatever left of her chastity and wit until she absentmindedly kissed back, forgetting herself as his tongue bested her will. 

When he broke away, the taste of spiced ruby wine and blood lingered in her mouth. 

“An eternity awaits us,” the devil explained as he pecked her nose and her forehead lovingly, to which she shivered - out of fright or out of want, she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“You had made me the happiest, now give me the chance to grant the same favour, ask for anything you want in the world and it shall be yours,” he begged and wrapped her in the shelter of his strong arms to lie down with him on the smooth stone surface.

Absentmindedly, she welcomed the protection offered from his embrace and stared silently as flakes of cement broke from the remnants of the wall floated in the air around her before she opened her mouth. 

“I wish for…” 

Her whisper faded into the dark.

*Disclaimer: I do not own Mission Impossible or August Walker

Beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics​

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker x ofc

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 02

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 7k [2/6]

notes: looks like it’s a writing/editing kinda day, folks! hope you enjoy this installment, and let me know what you think! 

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink: a recurring yet warranted warning, jeon jungkook is a goddamn tease, smuuuut, oral (f receiving), jk’s got a big dick whoOPS, minimally edited bc i’m feeling lazy

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

Morning brings with it bright sunshine and fresh horror as the events of the previous evening come rushing back. You aren’t sure you’ll ever be able to look Jeon Jungkook in the eye again—or at least, not without being reminded of the way he’d plagued every single one of your dreams with devilish eyes and even more devilish fingers. Groaning, you scrub at your temples, as if that will help dispel the memories. After a few fruitless moments, you crawl out of bed and head for the bathroom, intent on washing everything away with a good, cold shower.

Try as you might, though, you simply cannot avoid your dark-haired neighbor. You’re in the kitchen sipping at your second coffee of the day and debating what you want for lunch when there’s a knock on the front door—a familiar rhythm that has your heart stuttering. “It’s open!” Jimin yells from the living room, and a moment later, the devil himself strolls in, wearing a plain black t-shirt with ripped jeans and well-worn Timberlands. Vaguely, you wonder when he made the switch from white tees to black, but your musings are cut short when he spots you in the kitchen, an impish grin settling across his face.

“Hey, Noona.”

“Hey.” You thank whatever god may be out there that your voice is steady. “Jimin’s in the living room.”

Jungkook tilts his head coyly and takes a step forward. “What makes you think I’m here for Jimin? Maybe I came to see you.”

Anxiously, you swallow down the memories of his warm hands that are trying to resurface. “I highly doubt that.”

“Really?” Jungkook takes another step forward and plucks the coffee mug from your hands. “What if I came over to finish what I started last night?”

Heat floods across your face. “That—that was… I mean, I don’t—”

“You don’t what?” Jungkook asks, raising a brow. “Want me? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, Noona.” Quietly, he closes the last bit of distance between you, and when he speaks again you can feel his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with every word. “You see, I think you want me. Just as much as I want you. Am I wrong?”

“Jungkook, we—”

“Dude, what’s taking you so long?” Jimin’s head suddenly pops around the doorway, and you nearly jump out of your skin in your effort to put some distance between you and your dark-haired neighbor. “I’m about to start the game without you.”

“Just wanted to grab some coffee and say hi to {Name},” Jungkook replies, raising your half-empty mug to his lips and taking a sip. “Did you want to join us, Noona? It’d be fun to watch you kick Jimin’s ass at Mario Kart again.”

You swallow, hard. “I can’t. I’ve got homework to do.” Not strictly true, perhaps, but you’d been planning on looking over the details of your internship again at some point, and now seems as good a time as any. “Sorry,” you add quickly, seeing Jungkook’s disbelieving expression.

“Summer homework? Gross.” Jimin pulls a face. “You’re still coming to Tae’s party though, right?”

You nod, unwillingly catching Jungkook’s eye again. He’s still sipping at your coffee, and you don’t miss the flagrant wink he shoots you over the rim of the cup. “See you later then, Noona,” he says, his voice practically a purr.

“Right,” you respond dully, your heart skipping a beat at the dark promise in his stare. “Later.”

Jimin and Jungkook disappear down the hall, but you remain rooted in the kitchen for a few minutes longer, listening as the music of whatever video game they’ve decided on starts playing from the living room. Heaving a sigh, you fetch a new mug from the cupboard and pour yourself some more coffee, grabbing an apple and a bag of chips as well. Taking everything up to your bedroom, you pull out your laptop and make yourself comfortable on your bed, plugging in some headphones to drown out the noise from downstairs. With any luck, you won’t have to see Jungkook again until you have to leave for Taehyung’s party, and you’re pretty sure that it’ll be easy to avoid him once you’re there.

In fact, you’re certain of it.

So with that thought in mind, you settle down with your coffee and open up Netflix, sinking into the pillows and pushing your dark-haired neighbor into the deepest recesses of your mind. It isn’t until your phone starts vibrating insistently against your thigh that you are startled out of your binge-watching, the screen lit up with two new notifications. Surprised, you realize that hours have passed, the sky outside your window deepening into the hazy blue of nighttime.

[6:02pm] Jungkook: you hungry, noona?

[6:02pm] Jungkook: for pizza, i mean. we ordered dinner

[6:03pm] Jungkook: but i’ll be your dessert if you want me ;)

You drop your phone as if burned, his final message playing over and over in your mind. It takes you a full minute to gather your wits again, stowing your device in your pocket without responding and carefully picking your way downstairs. Already, you can smell the cheesy grease, your stomach growling in anticipation.

Just grab the pizza and go, you think to yourself, formulating your escape plan and double-checking it for any holes. Dine and dash.

You’re walking past the foyer when there’s suddenly a knock on the front door. Curiously, you answer it, swinging it open to see a familiar grinning face standing on the doorstep. Lee Taemin is a good friend of Jimin’s, and your brother pokes his head out from the kitchen at the sound of your greeting, clearly expecting the new guest.

“Taemin! Get in here and have some pizza,” Jimin says, his mouth full. “You too, Noona. We got plenty.”

Instead of immediately heading for the food, Taemin wraps you in a hug that has you wheezing for air. “Long time no see, huh? How’ve you been?”

You squirm in his tight embrace, raised to your tiptoes. “Put me down, you heathen. I’m fine right now, but I won’t be if you suffocate me.”

Taemin chortles good-naturedly and releases his grip, ruffling your hair. “Good to see you too, {Name}. Honestly, it hasn’t been the same around here without you. How long are you back for? The whole summer?”

You shake your head. “Just a couple weeks. I’ve got to get back for an internship.”

“Already a hotshot, huh?” Taemin grins. “What are you going to be doing?”

The topic of your summer job is a welcome distraction from the way Jungkook’s dark gaze trails after you as you tread into the kitchen alongside Taemin, slapping two slices of pizza onto a plate and glancing around for a napkin. You can feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull, prickling your skin with electricity, but continue your conversation with Taemin as if nothing is amiss.

“You gonna sit down or what?” Taemin gives you a quizzical glance as he pulls a chair out from the table, joining Jimin and Jungkook who are already seated. You do your best to ignore the way Jungkook’s jaw flexes with every chew, somehow managing to look infuriatingly handsome despite the mouth full of dough and pizza grease staining his chin.

“I—” Your mind whirs, searching for the excuse you had planned. “—I still have some work to do. Reading and whatnot.”

“Nerd,” Jimin snorts.

Taemin shrugs. “Okay, then. Suit yourself, I guess.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything. But you feel his eyes burning into your skin as you head back upstairs, and it isn’t until you are safely back in your bedroom, sagging against the closed door, that you can finally breathe properly again.

///

You end up departing for the party nearly twenty minutes after the official start time of eight o’clock, caving to Jimin’s insistence on being fashionably late. Personally, you think he just wanted the extra time to work on his hair—making sure every strand is perfectly, effortlessly tousled—and call him out on it as he locks the front door behind you.

“I didn’t spend that long on my hair,” Jimin sniffs defensively. “Besides, you’re the one who needed to run back in and get your wallet. What do you even need your wallet for? We’re walking like, four blocks.”

“Better safe than sorry,” you retort. “What if I get murdered and they need to identify my body? What if I get mugged? You never know!”

Taemin falls into step beside you. “What if we need to tip a stripper?” he chimes in.

You nod and raise your hand for a high-five without taking your eyes off your brother. “Exactly! You have to tip your sex workers, Chim!”

Jimin waggles a suggestive eyebrow. “I think I’d rather give them a different ti—”

You push him off the sidewalk before he can finish speaking, pulling a face as he stumbles into the street in a fit of laughter. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, you perv!”

The remainder of the short walk to Taehyung’s house passes uneventfully. Jimin doesn’t bother knocking, throwing open the door like he owns the place, and you trail after him with Taemin and Jungkook on your heels. Immediately, you’re assailed by a cacophonous sea of conversation and thumping music, people milling around in the dimly lit interior.

“There you are!” The voice comes from your left, and you barely have time to register the speaker’s face before she’s gasping and engulfing you in a hug. “{Name}, you made it! Hi!”

You laugh, squeezing her back. “Hi, Chaeyoung. It’s good to see you. Sorry I didn’t catch you at graduation.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving you off. “We have all the time in the world to catch up now. Let’s get you away from these boys and find you a drink, shall we?” Flipping a lock of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder, she loops her arm through yours and begins steering you toward the kitchen. “So what are you in the mood for? The beer’s shit, so I’d stay away from anything in the cooler, but everything else is actually drinkable.”

“Shocking,” you remark, peering at the mess of bottles and cups lining the kitchen counter. There’s a massive bowl of a horrifyingly neon green concoction as well, and you take one whiff before backing away again, nose wrinkling in disgust. “I see Tae’s still making punch.”

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Chaeyoung advises. “He’s somehow managed to make it twice as sugary and three times more alcoholic than last year’s. Pretty sure it’s worse than moonshine at this point.”

You grin and locate an empty cup, raising it in her direction. “Thanks for the heads up.”

Chaeyoung refills her own drink, and you settle on a simple blend of cranberry juice and vodka. Together, you head back in the direction of the living room, where Jisoo and Lisa are chattering away on a couch in the corner. They look up at your arrival, greeting you with smiles and hugs, and quickly usher you into a seat beside them.

“So,” Jisoo begins, leaning forward. “How’s college?”

“Tell us everything,” Lisa adds, propping her chin in her palm. “Is it nice living away from home?”

Jisoo waggles her brows. “Forget that. Have you met any guys?”

Unbidden, Jungkook springs to the forefront of your mind, dark eyes staring at you from beneath equally dark hair as he leans down, down, down—

“Nope!” you blurt before your thoughts can progress any further. “I mean, I share a suite with a couple guys, but that doesn’t count.”

“Are they cute?” Lisa prods.

“They must be more mature than these high school boys,” Chaeyoung sighs.

“Hardly,” you snort. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

The gossip continues. More people arrive as the night wears on, the living room filling up with dancing bodies. A few girls you don’t know join in your conversation, perching on armrests and ottomans and the carpeted floor as a last resort. Across the hall in the dining room, you spot Taemin setting up a table for beer pong, a triumphant shout going up when Taehyung procures an unopened package of balls from somewhere in the hall closet.

“This is gonna be tournament style, got it?” he announces as he tears the package open. “Winner goes up against the undefeated champs—Jungkook and Yugyeom!”

Even from your comfy seat on the couch, you can see the arrogant twist of Jungkook’s mouth as he leans over to give Yugyeom a high-five. You can’t tear your eyes away from the way he tongues his cheek, lounging back into a chair to watch the first round of the game. Jimin steps forward alongside Taehyung, and you watch as your brother scrutinizes the pyramid of cups, poised to make a throw that lifts his shirt just enough to expose a flash of his admittedly toned abdomen.

“He wore that shirt on purpose,” Jisoo accuses, and you huff out a sound that’s more snort than laugh.

“Please, it’s just the only shirt he owns that isn’t dirty. Trust me.”

“I don’t even care,” another girl you don’t know the name of pipes up. “I’d still let him blow my back out.”

You grimace. “And on that note, I suddenly need another drink,” you announce, to giggles. Wrenching out of your cozy seat between Jisoo and Lisa, you wave your near empty cup in farewell and make your way toward the kitchen, carefully skirting around the dancers and beer pong spectators spilling out into the hallway.

The kitchen is deserted when you walk in, everyone having flocked to the dining room to watch the beer pong tournament. Humming along to the music, you open up the fridge and survey its contents, hoping to find something decent. Curiously, you pick your way past a few cans before turning a dark glass bottle around to read the label.

“Are you avoiding me, Noona?”

The voice comes from behind you, deep and sinfully resonant, and you don’t even have to turn around to know that he’s standing just inches away. His breath ruffles through the hair at the nape of your neck, sending gooseflesh prickling across your skin, and when strong hands curl gently around your hips you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“I missed you, y’know,” he continues, his mouth finding its way to your ear and nipping lightly at the lobe. “You didn’t talk to me all day, even though I was right there in your house. Ran like a scared little rabbit when you saw me in the kitchen, didn’t you?” Softly, his lips ghost along the column of your throat, pressing a kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder. “So, now what? Are you gonna run from me again?”

You don’t think you could if you tried. Your feet are rooted firmly in place, your entire body frozen as you await whatever he’ll do next. And when he urges you to spin around and face him, you obey immediately, your hands coming up to splay against his chest as he presses even closer and rewards your compliance with a kiss.

“Jungkook,” you breathe against his parted lips. “Jungkook, god.”

Slowly, he trails down your neck, leaving soft nips in his wake. “Yes, Noona?”

“We can’t,” you whisper, even as your head falls back to allow him more access to your clavicle. “Jungkook, we can’t do this.”

Your companion raises his head then, his dark gaze meeting yours. “Tell me to stop,” he says quietly. His thumbs dip beneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing circles into the soft skin of your waist, and you inhale sharply at the feeling. “If that’s what you want, Noona, just tell me to stop and I will. I promise.”

He’s palming along your hips now. The warmth of his palms seeps into your body, rendering it increasingly difficult to concentrate. His mouth returns to your neck as he awaits your answer, and you don’t miss the way his lips curl into a smirk against the delicate skin of your collarbone when you hesitate a moment too long.

“Well, Noona?”

Fuck it. Your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between your bodies. “Jungkook, kiss me,” you breathe, throwing all remaining remnants of caution to the wind.

Jungkook straightens up to his full height, his smirk widening. “Anything for you, princess,” he remarks before leaning down, winding one hand in your hair and finding purchase in the curve of your waist with the other. The newfound pet name ignites a tendril of heat in the pit of your belly, and when Jungkook finally closes the gap between your lips, you release a breathy moan that he eagerly swallows. The hand in your hair tightens its grip to pull you even closer, tongues and teeth clashing as he deepens the kiss.

It’s only when the need for air becomes critical that you break away from him with a gasp, your lungs aching. Jungkook isn’t faring much better, his chest heaving beneath the thin white material of his t-shirt. He releases his grip on your hair, his thumb grazing across your cheek gently instead, and when he leans in to plant another kiss on your mouth, you exhale shakily. “God, Jungkook.”

His arm tightens around your waist. “What do you need, princess?” he asks, and you can’t deny your delight at his continued use of the nickname. His teeth find the lobe of your ear again, and you release a breathy moan as he delivers a particularly sharp nip to the soft flesh before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive spot just below it. “Tell me. Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you anything you want.”

You slide your hands along his broad shoulders and up to his nape, brushing the silver hoops in his ears before tangling your fingers in his silky hair. “You’re teasing me.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue and pulls away, your arms falling uselessly to your sides as he takes a step back. “I just need to hear you say it, Noona,” he chides, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I need to hear you say that you want this. That you want me.”

A shiver dances up your spine, and you aren’t sure whether it’s due to his wicked lilt or the sudden absence of his body heat. “I want you,” you whisper, reaching out to touch him. “Jungkook, please.”

The smirk that spreads across his face is absolutely devastating. “Then come with me,” he commands softly, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together. You leave behind the thumping music and the loud chatter of the party, allowing Jungkook to pull you into one of several rooms lining the hallway and squeaking when he shuts the door and immediately pins you against it. His mouth slants across yours, hot and urgent, and you moan into the kiss as your hands fly up to grip his shoulders.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Jungkook breathes, pulling away just enough to whisper the words against your lips. “Fuck, princess, look at this tiny little skirt you’re wearing. You’ve been killing me all night, you know that?”

He punctuates the words with another kiss, nipping harshly at your bottom lip. His hands slide down to the curve of your ass, and you gasp when he scoops you up effortlessly. “Legs around my waist,” he orders, readjusting his grip as he begins walking you further into the room.

It’s the laundry room, you realize upon closer inspection. Jungkook’s busy mouthing at your neck, but he breaks away with a smirk when he finally reaches his destination, plopping you down atop the cool metal of the washing machine. “Shame there’s nothing in here,” he remarks, kicking the side softly. “I really wanna fuck you with this thing running one day. But for now…” His smirk widens, his hands settling on your knees. “This’ll do.”

In an instant, he’s pushed up your skirt and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down and off your legs. He drops to his knees, smoothing his hands along your inner thighs, and your cheeks flush when he urges you to spread them further. “Jungkook—“ you mumble, thoroughly embarrassed as he stares reverently at your exposed core, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Quit staring at me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmurs, leaning in and pressing a soft trail of kisses along your thigh. “You’re so beautiful, Noona.”

“You…”

You trail off, unsure of what to say. What do you say when your little brother’s best friend is staring at you like you’re a desert oasis and he’s been wandering, dehydrated, for days? What do you say when the scrawny neighbor kid you’d grown up with is caressing every inch of your legs, soothing the soft skin with his fingers and lips?

What do you say when you realize, once and for all, that Jeon Jungkook is undoubtedly—unabashedly—a man now?

You swallow, hard. Jungkook is nearing your core now, his hair tickling your thighs, and you gasp when he slides a finger up your slit experimentally. “You’re so wet,” he breathes. “So wet, and so—” He touches the pad of his finger to his tongue, grinning up at you as he laps up your essence. “—delicious. Fuck. You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

And then he leans forward, boldly licking a stripe up the length of your entrance. Strong arms wind around your legs to hold you open, and when he shoves his face even deeper, his nose brushing against your clit, you let out a strangled whimper. “Fuck, Jungkook—”

The sound of his name draws a pleased hum from the young man nestled between your thighs, rumbling through his chest and straight to your core. Your walls clench, but Jungkook stubbornly refuses to dip his tongue inside. Instead, he teases at your folds, spreading them apart with two fingers and licking ardently at your leaking juices before kissing a short trail up to your clit. “Can you cum like this?” he asks curiously, thumbing across the sensitive bundle of nerves.

His answer comes in the form of a breathy gasp, your hips jerking upward to seek out more friction. Jungkook chuckles and obliges your silent request, dark eyes flickering up to meet yours as he begins rubbing slow circles around your bud. “Guess that’s a yes,” he murmurs, pressing yet another kiss to your thigh. His gaze remains locked on yours as he rubs a little harder, dragging your juices up from your slit and digging in deep until you are moaning aloud, your hands coming down to fist in his silky hair.

“I-I’m close,” you keen. “Please, Jungkook, please.”

Jungkook hums and leans back. At the same time, he slides two fingers inside you, curling them upward, and the sudden surge of fullness is more than enough to tip you over the edge. His name escapes your lips in a garbled moan, your walls spasming around his hand as he continues teasing your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you finally whine from oversensitivity and bat him away. Obediently, he withdraws, rising to his feet so that he towers over you once more.

“Holy fuck,” he murmurs, staring down at you with an expression caught somewhere between awestruck wonder and unbridled hunger. “You’re so pretty when you cum. So pretty and perfect and—” He swallows, his throat bobbing harshly. “God, I need to fuck you. Can I fuck you now, Noona? Will you let me stretch open this pretty little pussy and fill you up with my cock?”

Your breath hitches. Never in a million years could you have imagined that your brother’s mild-mannered best friend could have such a filthy mouth, but you cannot hide the way your core clenches at his words. Slowly, you raise your arms, winding them around his neck to pull him closer. “Yes,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his. “Fuck me, Jungkook.”

A groan escapes him, deep and cavernous in a way that sends heat spiking through your veins. Jungkook doesn’t waste any time, his mouth chasing after yours as one hand finds the back of your head, pulling you into a bruising kiss. The other slides down to the waistband of his jeans, freeing himself from the confines of the denim. He doesn’t break the kiss for a moment, even as he grabs your hips and pulls you closer. It isn’t until you’re seated on the very edge of the washing machine, wrapping your legs around his waist to steady yourself, that you pull away and let your gaze fall to his newly revealed cock. Jungkook is long and deliciously thick, and you let out a shaky breath when you see the pearlescent white drops beading at the swollen tip.

“Oh my god.” The words bubble up automatically, escaping you in an airy whisper. “How are you so big?”

Jungkook huffs out a hoarse chuckle, amusement glittering in his dark irises. “Think you can take all of me, princess?”

Your gaze falls down to his length again, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “Put on a condom, and let’s find out.”

Jungkook grins and produces a little foil wrapper from somewhere in his back pocket, tearing into it with his teeth. You help him roll the condom over his cock, and as soon as it’s in place, he’s lining himself up and pushing inside you. A deep groan escapes him as he parts your walls inch by torturous inch, and you moan as your pussy is stretched to its limit, molding to his shape and sheer size. By the time he bottoms out, he’s almost prodding at your cervix, and you grab breathlessly at his bicep.

“I—I need a minute,” you gasp, your body spasming around him as you fight to adjust to the surge of fullness.

“Me too,” Jungkook rasps, his voice strained. His eyes flutter shut as he inhales deeply through his nose, cursing again when you clench around him unconsciously. “Fuck. You’re so tight.”

For a few moments, there’s only the sound of Jungkook’s labored breathing, his head falling forward to rest on your shoulder. His breath is hot against the exposed skin of your clavicle, and you sigh when you feel him mouthing at the delicate skin, nipping softly before soothing across it with his tongue.

At the sound, Jungkook raises his head, dark eyes meeting yours before dropping down to where the two of you are joined. “God, you look so good like this,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “So pretty, stuffed full of my cock.”

You clench around him again—this time more purposefully. Jungkook’s mouth falls open, a silent question on the tip of his tongue, and you answer it with a deliberate roll of your hips, wordlessly encouraging him to move. Gingerly, he obeys, retreating until only the head of his erection remains inside you. His hand drops down to your clit, and you keen out his name when he surges forward at the same time he flicks his thumb across the sensitive nub. Pleasure licks at your spine, replacing the discomfort. Jungkook lets out a pleased hum.

Slowly, he works up a rhythm, keeping his thrusts shallow as he begins rubbing circles around your clit again. With his other hand, he slides the straps of your top down your shoulders, tugging the bodice down just enough to free your breasts. Your nipples harden at the exposure, and a moan escapes you when he immediately takes one between his fingers, rolling and pinching at the peak. The additional stimulation, paired with the heavy drag of his cock along your walls and his insistent thumb on your clit, has you teetering dangerously close to the edge, your tummy tensing.

“Jungkook—” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. He grunts in response and picks up the pace, rolling even more fervently up into your clenching heat, and you gasp when a particularly hard thrust sends you scooting backward atop the washing machine. “Fuck! I’m close, Jungkook.”

“Me too,” he grits out. “Come on, princess, cum for me. I know you can do it, just let go for me one more time—”

And with one final flick of his wrist and a thrust that’s so deep you can practically feel him in the back of your throat, you come completely undone, spasming wildly around his cock. It all proves too much for Jungkook, who’s groaning right alongside you as he reaches his high, spilling into the condom. He chants your name like a prayer as his hips gradually still, and his lips seek out yours almost instinctively as his cock softens inside you. The kiss is lazy and languid, contentment settling in your veins. Jungkook wraps you up in a warm embrace, his tongue dipping inside your mouth to explore.

It isn’t until a loud cheer rises up from the front of the house that you snap out of your blissful haze. “We should get back to the party,” you mumble into the kiss, pushing against Jungkook’s chest when he only pulls you closer. “Jungkook, come on. People are gonna get suspicious if we’re gone too long.”

“You know what else will make people suspicious? You, coming out like that.” He gestures at the skirt hiked up around your waist, a slow smirk playing at his lips as he gives you a once-over, his gaze lingering on the wet sheen streaking your inner thighs. “As much as I’m enjoying the view.”

You swat his arm. “Stop that!”

Jungkook snickers and bends down to pick up your discarded panties, swinging them around his index finger. “Stop what?”

“Oh my god, Jungkook.”

Cackling, he returns the lacy undergarment to you, watching as you pull the material up your legs. You adjust your shirt while he disposes of his condom, and when you hop off the washing machine, he offers you a hand that you gratefully accept, gripping his arm as you steady yourself on shaky legs.

“You should leave first,” you tell him, smoothing out the wrinkles in his t-shirt and relishing the way his muscles twitch beneath your fingertips. “It’ll look weird if we leave together, and I need to pee, anyway.”

Jungkook grins and catches your wrists, swooping down to plant a quick kiss on your mouth. “As you wish,” he says, offering you a playful wink.

Then he’s straightening back up to his full height, checking his pockets and running a hand through his mussed hair. You watch as he walks over to the door, putting his ear against it for a few seconds before determining that the coast is clear and slipping out into the hallway. As the door clicks shut behind him, you hear someone—you’re pretty sure it’s a drunk Yugyeom—greet him with a resounding clap on the back. “Dude, where have you been all night? We’re getting our asses handed to us. Minho and Taemin are winning.”

“Sorry, man,” Jungkook half-shouts, and you realize that he’s making sure you can hear him. “Come on. Let’s go get that crown.”

Leaning against the door, you listen as their voices recede down the hallway. You count to five, and then to ten when your thumping heart refuses to slow. At nineteen, it finally calms down—enough that you feel comfortable leaving the laundry room and slipping into the bathroom to clean yourself up.

There’s a massive crowd gathered in the dining room by the time you rejoin the party, and you easily slip unnoticed into the mass of people eagerly watching the final round of the beer pong tournament. Jungkook stands at the far end of the table beside Yugyeom, poised to throw.

He catches your eye at the same time he releases the ball with a flick of his wrist, a knowing smirk settling on his face as triumphant cheers break out all around you.

///

It’s well after midnight by the time the party begins to wind down. Chaeyoung and Lisa are nowhere to be found, and several other girls are lingering near the front door saying their goodbyes before heading out. You find yourself seated on the couch between Jimin and Minho, watching as the latter helps clean up by hurling beer cans at the wastebasket on the other end of the room.

“Man, no wonder you suck at pong.” Jungkook walks into the room and plops down on an end table, a faded cardboard Burger King crown sitting rakishly on his head. “Want me to show you how the champs do it?”

Minho snorts. “Fuck off, man, you barely won that second game. Besides, we totally would’ve won if Taemin hadn’t spent half the time staring at Lisa’s tits.”

Taemin, who’s perched on a corner of the coffee table, raises his hands innocently. “Hey, don’t look at me. I scored most of the points that round.”

Minho huffs irritably and tosses another can at the wastebasket, cursing when it bounces off the rim. Taehyung wanders in and picks it up, throwing it back at Minho before squeezing into the miniscule amount of space between you and Jimin on the couch.

“Jesus, Tae,” you grunt, shifting to give him more room. The movement tilts you toward Minho, smushing you against his side, and he shoots you a playful grin and a wink.

“Cozy?”

“Cozy,” you confirm with a laugh.

“Good,” he says, freeing his arm and throwing it across the back of the couch to give you a little more space. “It’s nice having you around again, Noona.”

Jungkook’s head whirls around so quickly you fear he might have given himself whiplash. His stare zeroes in on Minho’s arm, eyes narrowing at the proximity, but the other boy remains blissfully unaware as he leans back against the couch cushions. Subtly, you lean forward, trying to put some distance between your bodies.

“It’s nice to be back,” you tell him. “It feels like I missed so much, but at the same time, it’s like nothing’s changed.”

“Choi’s aim sure hasn’t changed,” Yugyeom remarks from the doorway with a handful of empty beer bottles. “Still can’t land a shot, even after all these years.” Raising a bottle, he hefts it toward the wastebasket, smirking in satisfaction when it sinks perfectly inside the can.

“And not just with pong,” Taemin goads. “How did things go with Sana again?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “Like you’re one to talk. Besides, we’d all probably stand a better chance if Jeon over there would leave some girls for the rest of us.”

“You’re just jealous because Sana likes him better than she likes you,” Taehyung says with a snicker. “Yo, Jeon! Didn’t you guys make it to third base at Jackson’s party?”

Your stomach sinks as all eyes in the room turn to Jungkook, whose eyes go wide at the sudden attention. “What?”

“Sa. Na,” Taehyung repeats, emphasizing each syllable. “Hottest girl in our year? Third base at Jackson’s? Or are you having a hard time remembering since you wound up leaving with Jihyo?”

Yugyeom chortles as he plops down onto the carpeted floor. “Fuck, man, I forgot about that. Jesus. Just last year you were still shitting yourself at the thought of talking to a girl. Who knew you secretly had so much game?”

The room is beginning to feel stifling. Every breath you take feels like you’re inhaling ash, like a volcano that has lain dormant for ages has suddenly and without warning erupted inside your chest.

He’s playing you. And even worse, it seems that this is a game he’s played before—many times, if his friends are to be believed. Your stomach turns at the thought.

From his perch on the end table, Jungkook scoffs out a stilted, staccato note. “Right. I guess any nonzero number would seem high to you guys, huh?”

Loud jeers break out from the surrounding boys, and you do your best to melt back into the couch cushions. The way you’re squished between Taehyung and Minho makes it impossible for you to find any leverage to stand, so you settle for leaning your head back and staring at the stucco ceiling, willing your heartbeat to slow. Gradually, the noise of the party fades into the background, as do the voices of your brother and his friends. It’s only when Jimin pokes your shoulder, singsonging your name, that you break out of your trance.

“What? Huh?”

“The lake house,” Jimin says, looking at you as if you’re stupid. “You down?”

You can only blink at him, repeating the words back to him dumbly. “The lake house?”

Jimin raises a brow. “Yeah, the lake house. You know, our lake house? The one we drive up to every summer? Where we’ve been vacationing since we were like, five?”

You scowl when he pinches your cheek like you’re a child again. “Yeah, I got that. What about it?”

A snort. “Jeez, have you been listening at all, Noona? We’re talking about going up there for a few days.”

“Oh,” you croak. Unwillingly, you find yourself glancing over at Jungkook, your face growing warm when you see him staring right back, his expression careful and composed. “Right.”

“You should come, Noona,” Taemin pipes up. “You’re here for the next few weeks, right? Might as well have some fun.”

“I don’t know—” you begin, but Jimin cuts you off with a raised finger and another pinch to your cheek.

“You can’t just do homework the whole time you’re here,” he says. “Come with us, Noona. Live a little.”

“It’ll help get your mind off your internship, too,” Jungkook remarks softly. “You deserve a break. Just a few days won’t hurt.”

The fact that he remembers your internship woes shouldn’t make your heart lurch. You know it shouldn’t, but you can’t help the way your chest swells dangerously. “Fine,” you concede, reaching over Taehyung to pinch Jimin’s cheek in retaliation. “I’ll come, I guess.”

Taehyung and Taemin cheer, and Minho wraps his arm around your shoulder and squeezes you tight. “We should invite the other girls,” he points out, chuckling when you splutter for air in his ironclad grasp and try in vain to shake him off. “Don’t want it to be a total sausage fest.”

“Penis party is a much better term,” Taehyung interjects helpfully. “It’s alliterative.”

“You want alliterative? How about a cock carnival?” Jimin supplies, before doubling over in giggles.

You huff, exasperated at the ludicrous turn in conversation. “I can’t believe I’m coming with you guys.”

Minho snickers. “Title of your sex tape,” he jokes, punctuating it with a suggestive eyebrow waggle that sobers your brother up immediately. Jimin straightens up and fixes Minho with a glare, and despite your brother’s smaller stature, the older boy still shrinks back slightly.

“Dude, that’s my sister.”

Minho raises his hands apologetically. “Sorry, sorry. Automatic response. My bad.”

You just roll your eyes. “Are you twelve? God. I don’t know how the girls put up with any of you.”

Gradually, the night draws to a close. The number of people milling about dwindles, and Taehyung fiddles with his phone, letting out a satisfied hum when he finds the playlist he wants. The music transforms into something low and smooth, the soft R&B beat filling the room. You feel your eyes begin to droop.

“We should probably head home,” Jimin says, stretching his arms lazily overhead. “Noona here has to get her beauty sleep, and I don’t feel like carrying her back if she falls asleep here.”

“Shut up, Chim,” you mumble, but there’s no real bite in your tone. Jimin just chuckles and stands up, tugging on your hand until you’re on your feet as well. Jungkook straightens up too, and together, you bid farewell to the others and head for the door.

“{Name}, wait a second.”

You turn at the sound of Jisoo’s voice, tilting your head curiously as she lays a gentle hand on your arm and ushers you off to the side. “Yeah?”

Jisoo casts a furtive glance around the hallway, lowering her voice to a murmur. “I see what’s going on with Jungkook,” she whispers once she’s sure the coast is clear.

You stiffen, your mouth opening and closing a few times before you manage to find your voice again. “You… you saw us?”

She nods. “He’s been watching you all night—it’d honestly be harder not to notice. I just…” She sighs and looks around again, missing the relief that must be etched across your expression as her gaze lingers on where Jungkook and Jimin are loitering by the door. “…just be careful, okay? Jungkook—he’s changed this past year. I mean, I don’t know if all the rumors are true, but… he’s not the same guy you probably remember. He went out with Chae for a few weeks, did she tell you that?”

At your look of horror, she sighs. “Figures. She hides it well, but I know she’s still torn up about how he ended it after they slept together. So watch out for him, okay? He’s a heartbreaker. And he never, ever stays until the morning.”

Every word that leaves her mouth stings, but you don’t let that show on your face. Instead, you force a smile and pat her hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me,” you tell her. “I’m not going to get involved with him.”

You repeat that to yourself the whole way home, trying not to focus on the young man a few paces away and the way you can still taste him on your tongue.

#jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #bts imagines #brother's best friend!au #lia writes

[qah-naarin]

PLEASEEEEE I AM BEGGING U FOR MORE MIRAAK N ARPINA CONTENT!! “  surely you must know what you do to me.  ” would be perfect 😭😭😭

xoxo from @reachfolk

IT IS PERFECT,,,.,. i thought of them so fast when i saw it 😭 u just get me 😭 bestie i was hit with the most genius idea ever. so. this is a part two of the one bed ?!?!? post i originally thought of making all non-main fic works in arpina's pov but alas this just works so much better in miraak's pov

✧ word count: 988 ✵ warnings: none ✧ tags: musing, not much dialogue, lots of Thinking  ✵ ship: arpina sun-stealer/miraak ✧ characters: arpina sun-stealer, miraak ✵ tag list: ask to be added!

The first thing Miraak notices when he wakes is the gentle weight of something across his chest and over his legs. It's rather pleasing, like an embrace. He wasn't expecting that from the sheer, barely there blanket he and Arpina were resigned to the previous night, but—

Oh. He stops watching the sun ray filter through the slightest cracks in the door, stops following the line of brightness from one wall to another. Instead, he looks down, angling his head just to the side the slightest bit. His eyes fall on fire red hair, a curling mess obscuring the face of the woman pressing against him.

He knows his first reaction must be shock, or perhaps, distaste. It is what he tells himself he ought to be feeling. Not comfort, or something soft that makes his breath catch in his chest.

Miraak is still a little sleepy. He can excuse his thoughts with that.

(Arpina, he notes, makes a fine blanket.)

His eyes trail down from her shoulder, bare as her sleeve is caught under her arm, to the way she tangles her legs with his. It's amusing, how comfortable she is, how deeply she is sleeping. Arpina isn't one for waking bright and early. He's well aware of her tendencies to sleep like the dead, but only now does he realizes that he has not minded in a very long time.

(It is a little too much to admit himself that, truthfully, he may have never minded at all.)

Miraak swears he has seen this before. Or perhaps, experienced it. Not with Arpina, no, because he would have remembered it well, but he cannot get the thought out of his head. He knows this has happened before.

When?

Where?

"We call it déjà vu," Arpina tells him, concern on her face as she sits with him at the fire. She doesn't seem to mind his pique of frustration, that point where he has had enough of not knowing his memories well enough to tell from where or from when. "That feeling when you know something has happened, precisely the same in that moment, but you do not know from where, what, or when."

He doesn't manage to say anything in response just yet, but he cannot help but feel grateful that she had told him that. There is comfort, he realizes, in feeling that you are not entirely alone. That it is not like the whole world has abandoned you when it comes down to the most crushing experiences.

The flame burns brighter, licking at the cool night sky.

"It is not so bad to know," he starts quietly, unwilling to meet her eyes, (because he would crumble, that way. he doesn't want to admit to himself why—he is not even sure if he knows) "that there is a word for it."

"Precisely," she hums, and does not bring it up further. He is grateful again.

It doesn't matter where he's seen this before, when he's felt this before. All it matters, he supposes, it means enough to stir such feelings of recollection.

Her cheek is on his chest, eyes shut as she sleeps. It is nice, he will admit, to see that she is sleeping well. On the occasions she does sleep well, that is when she sleeps like no war could wake her. He's heard her gasp and cry out in her dreams when sleep evades him. It had hurt to hear that. It was a tangible pain in his chest, like a fist clutching his heart.

(He would never admit that was why he always woke her from her restless dreams. Will you sleep easy? I cannot sleep because of your obnoxious snoring, he had always told her. And then she would jest, oh, please, between you and me, you snore louder. And he would reply, is that an admission, then? That you do snore? And they would talk and she would fall asleep first, and then there would be far less very, very quiet sobbing as she slept.)

Funny, he thinks, how she admits to snoring when she does not. It's almost endearing. He catches himself quickly enough to only call it that.

It is so quiet he can hear his own breathing. He can see it, the way his breath curls in the air like a puff of steam. It's peaceful—the aftermath of last night's snow storm. The silence preserves the brilliance of the moment. Or not.

"Ow," he says very quietly, and shifts his arm under Arpina's shoulder. He can't really feel it, but he can feel how uncomfortably squashed it is. He tries to move it again, moving her closer to him. Better than that lose his arm to her sharp shoulders.

The sunbeams tilt and shine into his eyes. Must be a cloud deciding to blind him. Miraak lifts his arm over his eyes, only barely glancing at the scar lines on it. Dawn-thief, he cannot help but think at just the very sight of it.

It has plagued him for millenia. Five of them, precisely. He can't expect it to stop now.

What are you stealing, Dawn-thief? he wonders. Is it the sun? I have my own, right here.

(Why did he think that? It must be the effects of being unable to breathe with a person sleeping on him. His quickening heart rate does no good especially with the way Arpina seems to render him breathless. He should move her off him.)

"Surely," he murmurs, unable to help himself, "you must know what you do to me."

Miraak does not move Arpina off him. Instead, he catches the edge of her shirt, the neckline that was pulled off her shoulder, and puts it back. It is cold, after all. Cold, even for him. Even as the sun shines, he's aware that it is still early. He goes back to sleep, content with the sun at his chest.

#oc: arpina sun-stealer #miraak #ship: dusk and dawn #skyrim #tesblr #tes5 #teddy writes #god this was fun to wite #write* #esp the ending #cozy ty for the prompt #all the time i think og the brilliance of the time of day motifs #im a genius #why are you in the tags reading me feed my ego?? #anw. they're so cute they make me sigh #just make out already!!

[divine-bangtan]

- mirror, mirror on the wall | ksj (m)

⤏ vampire!seokjin, pwp, medieval!au

⤏ word count: 6.5k

⤏ Being a vampire prince, Seokjin is used to feeling everyone’s eyes on him. In fact, he’s come to expect it from his subjects. So when you won’t look at him of course he’s not happy. After all, didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude not to stare at him?

a/n: listen,,,this is unedited and overdue bc I am trash. Also for someone who doesn’t like humiliation and degrading sex I sure had way too much fun writing this I have nothing 2 say for myself okay enjoy. Happy birthday Seokjin!

⤏ vampire prince!seokjin, human servant!reader, exhibitionism, degration, nipple play, fingering, slight anal play, squirting, biting, blood drinking, orgasm denial, spanking, candlewax play, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, seokjin is fucking hung and his precome is an aphrodisiac, bath sex, mirror sex, cockwarming, creampie, what even is aftercare lol.

One minute had already passed, your trembling hand still hovering in front of the door while you worked up the courage to knock. A single bead of sweat which had gathered at the nape of your neck dripped down your skin, and you swallowed hard in an attempt to quell your nerves. Your attempt at delaying this was inevitable, he was expecting you, had summoned you personally and he could likely tell how long you’d been standing there as well. 

With that driving thought in mind, you chewed on your lower lip for another second and moved your hand to finally knock. 

 “You may enter,” came from within the room before your knuckles had even made contact with the wood. The deep voice was slightly muffled through the walls, but nonetheless it still made you shudder with its authority. Swallowing again, you leaned most of your weight on the solid wood to open the door. Something sinister hung in the air, and you stood rooted in the entrance of the prince’s private chambers, entire body thrumming with trepidation.

Glints of gold caught your gaze, coming from every corner of the space as the candles flickered and shadows seemed to grow and lurk where your stare didn’t quite reach. Everywhere your eyes landed screamed lavish riches. If it was not pure gold, the furniture was dripping in rich, red velvet. Curtains so thick they were easily able to block out the brightest sunlight cascaded down the walls, half concealing the intricate tapestries that adorned them. The entire space had a mysterious feel to it, with an underlying sense of danger that made your heart skip a beat. 

The entrance room alone made your head spin, and an unknown force pulled you further into the labyrinth, your feet moved as if possessed, deeper and deeper into the lion’s den. A gust of wind made the curtains rustle, carrying whispers you couldn’t quite understand. You moved to look closer at the paintings on the wall on the other side of the hallway, to inspect the scenes of battle they seemed to depict. However, something stopped you dead in your tracks, a powerful presence behind you. It had you whirling around, staring through a lavish open doorway.

You gasped softly when you turned and your eyes landed on the bathtub in the centre of the room, so large it was almost taking up half the space. Wisps of steam floated from the surface of the water which gleamed iridescent in the candlelight, no doubt filled with expensive lotions and perfumes. What was more impressive, however, was the many flower petals which adorned the water. 

Your eyes lifted to finally meet the eyes of your prince, Seokjin, who reclined against the edge of the tub with an air of relaxed ease. His arms stretched out either side of him, the slight bulge of muscle beneath his honeyed skin causing you to swallow extra hard. The position made his already broad shoulders look even larger, like they could block out the whole sky as he looked down at you. It suited him well. Regality, beauty, immortality. When he raised his dark eyes to pierce yours you felt as though you’d been lured right into the lion’s den, and he was about to devour you alive. A smirk tugged at his plush lips and his gaze burned a hole right through you, the carpet quickly became your solace. 

 “How may I serve you, your excellency?” You murmured, trying to keep your tone steady, yet you knew his supernatural senses would pick up the slightest tremble. There truly wasn’t anything you could hide from him.

A long silence came from his direction, filled only by the pounding of your heart. Warmth crept up your neck, heating up your cheeks under his intense scrutiny and you squirmed slightly, feeling the tops of your thighs already growing damp.   

“Wet…” he softly noted with humour, your human ears barely picking up on it. Embarrassment caused your heart to practically halt in your chest, could he really tell so easily? “My drink.” He spoke again, much louder this time and you jumped as you snapped out of your stupor. That was until his words registered. Drink? He wanted to drink? From you?

“My wine, over there. Bring it to me,” he pointed lazily toward a table across the room before sinking into the water until he was completely submerged.

 Oh. You couldn’t help the slight pang of disappointment that you felt at the fact that you weren’t going to experience a vampire bite. From what you’ve heard they were incredibly pleasurable, some even achieving climax untouched. But to be fed from by the prince himself, of course it was foolish of you to think something like that would ever happen to you. Blinking back frustrated tears you trudged over to the table, picking up the golden tray with the pitcher and goblets already placed on it.  

Complete silence filled the room after you set everything down next to the tub, warily eyeing the dark surface of the water. However, you were unable to catch a sign of the prince and took it as your queue to leave, defeated at having gotten your hopes up. He likely knew what he was doing, bringing you here to torment you. It was obvious how painfully attracted you were to the prince, how much everyone was. Others were definitely not shy in their affection yet you were unable to even look at him for longer than a few moments.  

A loud splash was all the warning you got before suddenly Seokjin broke from the surface of the water, standing to his full height in all his naked glory. Droplets of water clung to his golden skin, adorned by the occasional flower petal and it took every ounce of your restraint to not look down. One of his hands lifted up to sweep his wet hair back, exposing his forehead to your eyes and even that part of him was exquisite. The other reached to pick up his golden goblet, and he smirked in your direction before taking a sip of his wine. God, you truly did not know where to look, eyes raking over the expanse of his naked chest.

He smirked as you finally kept your eyes glued to his face, refusing to look even past his chest. Instead you paid particular attention to the rose petals which adorned his skin.

The two of you remained locked in a silent standoff, one that you knew you could not win. As if sensing your admittance to defeat, he sipped his wine, savouring the taste and you swallowed hard watching his thick, vascular neck move with each swallow. As if hypnotised by the depths of his rich pupils, you couldn’t seem to look away as he gazed so intently at you.

Leisurely he licked his lips, seemingly had enough wine, and the action caused your eyes to drop and watch his tongue swipe over the pillows of flesh, and for a microsecond his incisor could be seen.  Hook. The leer returned when he knew he had you, and his grip on his goblet accidently slipped, causing the liquid to run in rivets down his chest. But you knew vampires did not do anything by accident. Line. No, there was always an ulterior motive with vampires, an intention. He tossed his golden goblet aside, a dull thud coming from across the room where it landed on the carpet. Sinker.

“Oh dear, I seem to have spilled my wine. Clean that up for me, won’t you? The flowers too, they do wonders for my complexion but getting them off me is so bothersome.”

You nodded silently, quickly glancing around the room to find a washcloth. Where, where did his other servants keep them? You’d never been in here before, being a lowly servant yourself you’d never even been to this part of the castle before.

“Here.” He quipped, breaking your panic, and cocking an eyebrow when you gaped at the cloth that seemed to have materialised in his hand. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“N-no! Of course your grace,” you spluttered, almost tripping in your haste.

“Good.”

Now closer than ever, were able to get a much better look at your prince. But in consequence, he was also able to get a much closer look at you. At this proximity, his aura was intense, the width of his shoulders blocking the rest of the room from your view. He had no shame in his nudity, as if it were a gift to your eyes.

Frankly, it was.

Palpitations fluttered in your chest as your eyes took in the chiselled planes of muscle across his chest and abdomen, stained slightly pink from the spilled red wine. As you moved the fabric down his chest you swallowed hard, realising how far down the spill actually travelled.

Part of you ached to even lick his skin clean, secretly wishing he would ask you to. Your own cheeks pinked at the thought, at how you’d get on your knees for him in an instant. It was well known that it was even an honour to merely be degraded by him, let alone other things.

When most of the spill on his upper half was cleaned, you began plucking away at the flowers that stuck to his skin. You reached for a rose petal on his pec when Seokjin grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Leave it. I’m cold now, and bored. It will wash off rather easily in the water I think,” he mused, quickly turning to step back into the tub. 

“I can fetch your grace something that might entertain you?”

Perhaps that was all, he had merely brought you here to remind you of your place. A simple human, an ant under his foot. The thought of getting to leave the embarrassing situation had you feeling as though you could breathe easily again, until his next words came. “You will be my entertainment. Join me.”

 “Your grace! I-I,” you spluttered, cheeks warming at his brash words.

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure you wanted this. But I can hear the way your little heartbeat quickens when I look at you, such a desperate little slut. How in that millisecond when I hold your gaze how excited you become, how much you squirm and look away. You know, it’s rude not to stare at me.” He growled. “Now strip, or I’ll come get you myself.”

With haste, you began to unbutton your dress as to not keep him waiting, although each felt like an eternity to unfasten with him watching your fingers slip several times. Your hands shook as you peeled your clothes from your warm skin, but it was only partly out of nervousness.  

The cold air of the room immediately caused your nipples to harden as your undergarments dropped to the floor and you were left bare in front of him. Seokjin’s eyes were trained intensely on the swell of your breasts, and you could have sworn you saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips for a moment.

You lowered yourself into the warm water slowly, yet you shivered at his eyes on you. Only able to stand his ogling for a few seconds you sank the rest of the way into the warm water, feeling your bare skin engulfed in the opaque water. Once again Seokjin stretched out against the side of the tub, looking like a lion sunbathing, but even at ease they were ready to attack at a moment’s notice.

“Come here.”

The water swirled around you as you inched toward him, heart palpitating at the uncertainty of it all. The temptation of teasing him crossed your mind, a hesitation, keeping you just out of his reach. Clearly this did not please him, as he tutted and lurched forward to grab you by your elbow.

“Uh uh uh, I don’t think so. Here,” he suddenly growled as you were pulled toward him, and you felt his bare chest suddenly pressed against your back. “I want to watch you, watching me. Look,”

One of the largest mirrors you’d ever seen sat opposite the tub, trimmed with gold and illuminated by at least a hundred candles. The splendour of itself was enough to leave one breathless, but the vampire whose fingertips were creeping up your side was making it much more difficult.

You arched your back, thrusting forward your decolletage as an open invitation. Surprisingly, his touch was warm, and an involuntary gasp slipped from your lips as you finally felt him cup your breasts in his hands. You watched him knead the soft mounds of flesh, the water level stopped just below your chest. Seokjin’s dark eyes drank in the sight of you, and the feather light brush of his thumbs over your nipples had you squirming all the more.

Like pleasant torture he continued to torment you with the barest of touches, not quite exerting the pressure you wanted, the brute strength you knew he possessed. It would have to be tempted from him.

“You’re like the evil queen from that fairy tale,” you taunted as he continued to stare at your reflection in the mirror. Exactly as you had predicted, Seokjin was quick to chastise you with a harsh pinch to your sensitive nipples.

“I’d watch that pretty little tongue of yours, if you want to keep it.” What you hadn’t expected, however, was the way he was able to growl.

“Are you going to ask if you’re the fairest of them all?” Came your jaunt, rising to the challenge.

Quick as a flash his hand was closing around your throat, fingers pressing into the sides cutting off any blood flow and the room around you began to spin.

“Eyes on me, keep them open.” He rumbled, his breath warm at the shell of your ear. “I’m tired of you looking away, such disrespect to your royalty.” When you pried your eyes open again you saw something glinted in his eyes, and his fingers pressed a little tighter against your throat and you whined breathlessly. “Listen to your little pulse quicken, even when I hold your fleeting life in the palm of my hand you moan like a whore. I could kill you right now and you’d probably come.” 

Right as you felt blackness creeping into the edges of your vision he let go and air rushed back into your lungs. The dizziness made you slump back against him, your eyes slipping shut as your surroundings were blurred. With a disappointed tut he pinched your breasts once more, drawing a whimper from you.

“Not so tough now, are we?”

Instead of answering him, you squirmed away from his ministrations, your behind effectively grinding against the length of him, hot and heavy under the water. Every second he went unanswered his displeasure grew, the fire in his eyes only burning hotter.

“Since you can’t seem to be an obedient little slut, I suppose some discipline is in order.” Swiftly you were reminded of his vampiric strength as he stood from the water, pulling you up into his arms as he sauntered over to a chair. He took his time, dropping you before he slumped into what looked like a velvet throne. Right in front of it sat another enormous mirror – how many could one person own?  

Seokjin pulled you out of your thoughts and down onto his lap, manhandling you until you lay face down, ass up. You shivered at the ticklish feeling of his fingers running up the backs of your thighs, which had broken out in goosebumps from the cold air of the room. His fingernails brushed over your rump before he grabbed each of your cheeks in his hands, kneading them before spreading them.  

The feeling of your glistening folds being exposed to the cold air had you gasping, involuntarily clenching and you knew he was watching intently. Seemingly pleased by what he saw, Seokjin blew on your pussy which had you squirming harder from the strange sensation. That, however, did not please him. Your hands which had been resting in front of you were twisted behind you, one of his hands circling your wrists like iron.

 “Still.” He pressed his thumb against your clenched rim, and you paused at the unfamiliar feeling. “It’s tempting, to fuck your tight little asshole. Hmm, maybe I should.” The tip of his thumb ever so slightly dipped in, but then he withdrew it to land a hard slap on your rump. He gripped the flesh in his palm, massaging it to soothe the sting and parted your thighs more. “Tempting, but no. Your pussy looks far too appetising tonight, especially with how wet you're getting. Do you like being over my knee? So eager to become my little human fucktoy.” 

Three more slaps landed on your ass, each one leaving a delicious sting in its wake and your breathing grew more jagged after you finished yelping. He continued to grip the globes of flesh as your aching cunt clenched, and he paused as you shivered.

“A little cold, hm?” Seokjin teased, knowing full well what it was that caused you to shudder. “Let’s warm you up then.”

Bracing yourself for another slap, a gasp of surprise left your lips when you felt little droplets of hot wax instead. Each one had you jolting, not able to move much due to him holding you down. But you were enjoying it, he knew you were enjoying it. Your back arched off his lap, the contrast of your cold skin mixed with the warm wax had you moaning louder with each droplet. The wax was almost too hot. Almost. But it cooled quickly, and if you were going to fuck with vampires you need to be able to enjoy pain with pleasure.

“Look at how nice and warmed up you are now, and how wet. You’re such a little slut for punishment. Is that why you purposefully provoked me into doing this? So I would have to punish this desperate little cunt of yours? Look at it,” he smirked, suddenly pulling you up and turning you so you sat with your back to his chest once more. He reached forward and yanked your thighs apart, so your soaked folds were on display in the candlelight. 

You just love being handled like this, like a whore. Consider yourself lucky, for I could have anyone that I please on their knees for me. So, show me how grateful you are, on your knees.”

Not wanting to displease him you quickly obliged, grateful for the soft cushioning carpet. However, it only drew more attention to the aching throb between your thighs, and the faint warmth of your sore asscheeks. Looking up from admiring the thickness of his thighs, you gasped.

In front of your face was the largest cock you had ever seen, his size was truly inhuman. He was larger than any lover you’d ever had before, his length alone put every man in the kingdom to shame. You licked your lips in a rather unsubtle manner to which he tutted.

“If you’re so desperate for it, do something,” he practically purred, one hand twisting in your hair to drag you forward. He was in no way gentle you thought as your scalp ached, but the way it had your pussy clenching - the way he knew it turned you on - certainly didn’t have you complaining.

The tip of his cock brushed your cheek, smearing a few beads of sticky precome with it and you were quick to turn your head to the side and run the length of your tongue along the throbbing vein. You chased the little drops of precome that ran down the underside of the length, lapping all the way up to the mushroom head of his cock. You moaned at the taste of him as you gave little kitten licks to his slit. His grip in your hair only tightened and you looked up at him with hooded eyes, your sopping core clenching when you saw how dark his gaze had gotten. 

It was unlikely you would be able to wrap your hand around his girth, and even less likely you would be able to fit him in your mouth. But still, you were eager to at least try. The tip of his cock slipped past your lips easily, and you suckled which drew a long moan from Seokjin. He pushed on the back of your head, and you pushed back in fear at the size of him.

“Don’t worry, it will fit. Vampire precome is a bit of an aphrodisiac, now open wide for your prince,” he told you with a glint in his eye. As if his words were compelling you, your jaw laxed and his shaft eased further past your lips. Eager to please him you released your grip only to steady your hands on his delectable thighs. He cocked an eyebrow at your action, but his steely expression broke when you opened your mouth ever wider and took him all the way in.

“Fuck!” Came from his plush lips and he threw his head back, hips rocking slightly. 

Surprisingly, you felt no discomfort and your gag reflex seemed almost non-existent, and you began to bob your head back and forth.

“Fucking hell…mm. You're such a good little slut,” Seokjin grunted as he began to thrust harder, the way he began to look wrecked had your cheeks warming. You swallowed around his length and he almost snarled, his grip on your scalp tightening. His cock plunged into your throat over and over, his endless precome filling your mouth with sweetness each time he pulled out so the tip rested on your tongue.

“You’re going to make me come, little human. Such a perfect mouth for- ugh - me to fuck.” He pushed in once more, pulling on your hair until your nose touched his abdomen, and you could feel your cunt weeping uncomfortably from his praise. “Look at the way your throat is bulging. You’re enjoying this too much, making such a mess on the floor.”

A small puddle had gathered beneath you, your need growing more and more, and the suddenly need for relief hit you hard. One of your hands let go of his leg to snake down your abdomen to ease some of the ache.

“Absolutely not.” He snapped, shoving himself down your throat again. “You’ve been such a good girl, don’t misbehave now. You will wait until, mfph, after I’ve come, and you will swallow every drop. I’m close.”

His grip on your hair grew brutal yet it only drew more moans from you as you had a high pain threshold. It was a beautiful sight as his thrusts faltered, the way his pillowy lips parted, the thick column of his throat flexing and his body trembling as his orgasm washed over him. Not to mention the heavenly moans he let out.

Ropes of his warm, thick release spurted to the back of your throat. It was far from unpleasant, however, nothing like the salty, almost bitter taste of human cum. Just about everything about vampires was designed to lure you in, and you moaned a little while swallowing the thick white liquid. 

“Good girl,” Seokjin cooed at you as you licked your lips. 

“Please, your highness. I need to come. Please make me come, it hurts.” You begged, practically whimpering at his feet. In his post orgasm bliss, he gently cupped your cheek, even stroked your hair a little with the other hand while he looked at you tenderly. 

“Come sit my sweet, let me ease your pain,” he cooed as he sunk back into his chair, easily tugging you around and catching you before you stumbled on wobbly legs. “Face the mirror.” A small whimper left you as you felt the length of him pressing into your lower back as you were brought flush against his chest.

“Hmm, let’s see. I wonder if I can make you squirt. Now wouldn’t that be fun,” he growled into your ear, grinning at the way you mewled and begged. “You’ve never squirted before, have you? That pathetic human boy I know you let fuck you behind the stables always left you unsatisfied.”

Your eyes widened, alarmed that he knew such a thing. “I’ve been watching you for some time, prey are always fun to stalk. Fuck whoever said you shouldn’t play with your food, they obviously don’t know how to have fun.” 

Your whole body trembled as he gripped the flesh of your thighs, hands tugging them wide open so your swollen folds were on full display. They were glistening from how wet you had gotten, your engorged clitoris pulsing from your increasing heartbeat. It was almost painful, the throbbing in your nether regions.  How your skin tingled and grew hot.

Each pound of your heart thundered in your ears like a drum, the aphrodisiac spreading through your bloodstream. It was like delicious poison, and you were dying a slow but beautiful death at the hands of a deadly predator. The only cure was to draw the poison from one’s body through release, through climax. Your cure was his body, his fingers, his cock, his bite. 

“Look at that,” Seokjin teased, a single finger swiping through your lips to collect your sticky juices. With a feather light touch he teased the slicked digit over your clit and you clenched helplessly at the promise of stimulation. You snapped your legs shut, trapping his hand between your thighs to antagonise him. “Keep them open” he growled into your ear, supernatural strength tearing the apart again. His hand drew away, only to come back with a sharp slap on your poor pussy. Out of instinct your thighs tried closing again, but Seokjin was quick to reprimand you again with a succession of harsh slaps. Each one made you almost jump out of his lap, but you quickly learned to force your legs to stay apart. It took a few more slaps which left your thighs trembling, but you managed.

“Good girl,” he cooed when finally, you did as you were asked. Your chest rose and fell from your heavy breathing, and his flattened fingers rubbed over your sopping pussy lips. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shook your head, unable to muster the words. However, a near scream came from you as two of his long fingers plunged into your wet heat, which was practically screaming for relief, crooking them and seeking out your most sensitive bundle of nerves nestled inside your cunt. You needed no preparation at all, the sheer amount of slick staining the insides of your thighs a testimony to that. 

“Another time I’d very much like to do this with my cock buried deep into that tight little ass of yours, sluts like you always seem to squirt more when you fuck them there. What do you think?”

Before you even had a chance to answer, his hand wrapped itself around the column of your throat, fingers pressing into the blood flow and restricting your pulse. The action left you lost for an answer, all your other senses suddenly skyrocketing because of the light headedness. At that exact moment when the room began to spin, his fingers pumped ever fasted, and mixed with the aphrodisiac that had your entire body tingling with electricity you found yourself hurtling into your first orgasm. 

However, it seemed the prince was intent on finding your breaking point. A wicked smirk spread across his face as you writhed in his lap despite being held firmly down, eyes rolling back as the room spun and you felt yourself gush around his fingers with a scream. 

“That’s it! Good girl, soak my fingers, c’mon. I know you can come again for me.” 

His assault on your most sensitive spot didn’t stop, and your thighs trembled as he relented his grip, air filling your lungs once more. You weren’t sure if your first high even finished before a sudden overwhelming feeling of pleasure gripped you, and your bones melted as you climaxed and squirted again.

Thankfully he showed some mercy, allowing you to grind yourself on his fingers at your own pace. The last waves of your orgasm ebbed away as you moaned softly, but you were far from satisfied. No, if anything you were just getting warmed up. While his fingers had felt nice, you needed the deep feeling of his cock or you felt like you might die.

“Please. I want you, I need you to fuck me. Nothing else matters right now,” the sound of your voice was pure desperation. 

“Nothing else matters?” Seokjin drawled, pushing your hair to one shoulder. “I could do anything right now if it meant I gave you what you want?”

“Yes, anything. Anything!”

The first brush of his fangs against your throat had your racing heart stopping, but he was quick to pull away. 

He lifted your body like you weighed nothing, manoeuvring you with his inhuman strength. The tip of his already erect again cock brushed against your entrance between your slick, swollen folds, and he began easing in. If you weren’t already so worked up the stretch would surely have been painful, but your cunt easily took him inch by inch. He hadn’t even bottomed out before you gripped him tightly, trying to rock for some friction but he held you still. 

“Look at me,” he growled in your ear, and your gaze met his in the large mirror right as he bottomed out and the tip kissed your cervix. Despite his strength you still managed to squirm somewhat, whimpering at the pleasure his cock brought. He seemed to relax his hold on you a little, allowing you more freedom to move which you quickly took advantage of. 

“Oh f-fuck, Seokjin,” came your breathy whine. His face twisted in pleasure and he seemed to give in, shifting his large hands down to your hips to aid you in your grinding. Back and forth you moved, panting heavily, skin glistening in the golden light as Seokjin watched the way your soft breasts moved and your belly bulged slightly.

“Sit forward,” he half grunted, half moaned as he slumped back in the chair. His words barely registered with you until he tugged on your hips, using his strength to begin fucking you harder on his length. With a yelp at the sudden change in pace, you grabbed onto his knees and your eyes rolled back in your head, helpless to do anything but allow him to do as he pleased. “You have such pretty tits, I love watching them bounce as you take my cock so well.”

His words of praise had your toes curling, that building pleasure in your abdomen growing tenfold, and it only made you want to please him more. “I love it, I love having you fuck me like this. You can have me whenever you want!”

“How delectable you are. I ought to punish you for keeping yourself away from me. For letting others whom are not worthy sample your sweet nectar. But alas, it was only a matter of time before you gave yourself to me,” he moaned, sitting forward so his mouth was right up against the shell of your ear. “Now, your reward for being such a good girl.”

As fast as you could blink, one hand snaked up under your chin to hold you in place. His pillowy lips brushed the flesh of your neck, seeking out right where your pulse was strongest. For half a second you felt a sharp prick, terror momentarily gripping you as the tips of his fangs found their mark. Seokjin bit down into your flesh like butter, the razor-sharp incisors burying deep. However, there was no pain, only a deep warmth that bled through your neck from where he bit you.  Within seconds he began ever so gently moving his hips, his cock still buried inside you brushing against your g-spot. The warmth began spreading across your whole body, melting your bones and your cunt began throbbing, an orgasm building very quickly.

“Oh- Seokjin, I-” Before you could even finish the sentence it hit all over, making every muscle in your body quake with pleasure. Thankfully he was equipped with adequate strength to hold you in place, like the perfect predator he was.

It went on and on, your muscles quivering, your cunt quaking and your little pants and gasps filling the room as he swallowed mouthfuls of blood. 

“So sweet,” he gasped as he pulled away, finally giving you reprieve. “Delectable.” His plush lips were stained pink from the little drops of blood that had escaped, some even dripping down your shoulder as you twitched from the aftershocks. 

His hot tongue swiped over your skin, cleaning any spots of blood that had been left. A wave of sudden nausea washed over you and you slumped forward, luckily for Seokjin’s reflexes his arms wrapped around you before you fell.

“Do you want to stop?” He whispered with a sudden tender note, hands cradling you gently when you couldn’t hold yourself up.

“No! No...please. I just need a moment...m tired,” you mumbled, eyes drooping. 

“It’s normal, don’t worry. I have something that will make you feel better, here.” Gently he began easing you off his lap, his length beginning to slip out but you whined in protest. “You have to let me move princess, don’t worry. I’ll fill you up again in a moment.”

Somewhat pacified by his promise, you allowed yourself to be lifted and before you could blink you were sinking into the soft cushions of the chair. Your eyes slipped shut after Seokjin had vanished suddenly, and you heard him rummage around the room behind you. 

“Here,” he murmured, and you opened your eyes to see him kneeling in front of you. His hand tenderly cupped the back of your head as he pressed a glass to your lips. 

The liquid was delightfully warm, tasting of plum and spices and you hummed happily as you swallowed it down. He whispered little encouragements to you, tipping the cup when you needed until it was empty.

“Good girl. It happens to all humans after feeding, you’ll be fine in a moment.” With that he disappeared, perhaps getting himself a drink while you recovered. The potion was fairly quick to take effect, filling your tired muscles with a thrum of newfound energy. One that had your libido coming straight back from the lingering aphrodisiac in your veins. 

“I can keep going,” you told him, standing with an air of determination. Seokjin was quick to rush to your side again, steadying you when your legs wobbled a little. He arched a brow in question, not quite believing you. “Please, I don’t want you to stop.”

“If you say so.” He appeared behind you, drinking in every inch of your naked skin like he was ready to devour you all over again. Seokjin hooked his arm behind your elbows, pulling you flush to him and effectively pushing your chest forward. 

“You’ll have to stay on your toes, do you think you can do that little human?” His teeth grazed your earlobe as he whispered into your ear. Eagerly you nodded, standing on the balls of your feet, entire being thrumming with a newfound energy as you felt the tip of his cock brushing through your folds.

Once again he sought out your entrance, easily sinking back into your warmth and you whimpered at how deep he reached from this new angle. Immediately he set a brutal pace, loud slaps echoing about the room along with your cries and his low grunts.

“Please, harder! I don’t want you to be gentle.” Came your cry, attempting to drop down to meet each move of his pelvis. Only a feral snarl came from the vampire behind you, fulfilling your wish by now slamming himself into you.

With each thrust his hip bones dug into your ass cheeks and your breasts bounced. The thickness of his cock had you moaning like a whore each time it split your walls open, his tip kissing your cervix. The angle of his hips was expert, he was obviously an experienced lover but you didn’t expect him to be this good.

“Look at me. Who’s fucking you like this? Who?” He growled into your ear. 

“Seokjin!” You wailed as he once again speared you on his length. A sharp slap to your clit had you keening, rising to your tiptoes again from the sharp stab of pleasure. “Prince Seokjin!” You hastily corrected, his slight discipline also reminding you to keep your gaze on your reflexion. 

“Good girl. Such an eager little slut, so ready to serve your prince.” 

“Always. I’ll always be ready and willing for you to use me as you please. Oh! I’m gonna come again!” 

“Good girl. Fuck, you can really take it. Come for your prince,” he growled, hand snaking down to rub circles on your clit. 

Muscles tensing you shuddered, feeling the euphoric feeling wash over you once again as he fucked you through your high. If it weren’t for him holding you up, surely your legs would have given out from how much they shook. A sudden wave of tiredness washed over you, the potion’s effect exhausted and you slumped in Seokjin’s arms.

He pulled out and you moved suddenly with a whoosh of air, soft sheets underneath your stomach. Seokjin was on you again straight away, picking right back up where he left off and parting your thighs, you moaned at the sudden stretch as he buried his cock into your cunt once again.

 “M-gonna, fill you uh- up, fuck!” He panted, thrusts growing sloppy as he panted loudly on top of you. Leaving no room between your sticky bodies, he draped across you entirely, barely keeping his weight off you. It was strangely comforting, making your toes curl pleasantly in your post orgasm bliss as Seokjin shuddered above you. Heavenly moans and profanities spilled from lips as he came, warmth spilling inside you with a few last thrusts. Lazily you reached beneath you, rubbing circles into your throbbing, blood fattened nub to ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Still panting, he leaned down to whisper something in your ear as you drifted off to sleep before disappearing like a shadow in the night. Spent and muscles aching, you laid on the soft sheets as the sun rose, his words finally sinking in.

“See you tomorrow night.”

#bts smut #seokjin smut #vampire seokjin #bts imagine #seokjin imagine #kim seokjin #kim seokjin smut

[realcube]

'you're..you're wearing that-' he hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, 'for me?'

navi | taglist | nsfw part two

summary ➵ on your first date with tamaki, he’s already wondering why you romanticise a guy like himself

content warning ➵ reader wear make-up, a dress and the accessories pictured above, very insecure! tamaki, mild angst & fluff

credit ➵  thank you to @suneater18​ for the request and the pics belongs to hippieartesanatos

the moonlight penetrated through the sombre clouds which waved overhead, creating a picturesque night sky for you to admire on your date; as if the heavens were smiling down upon you, congratulating you for scoring such a nice guy.  

well, at least, that is what you would’ve thought if your date was sooner to start. currently, you were shuffling on a park bench, fidgeting with your phone as your eyes flickered between the screen and the gorgeous sight above you, anticipating when your date will finally arrive so you can admire it together.

however, twenty minutes had passed since nine o’clock — the time you had both agreed to meet each other at — yet you were still sitting alone, tamaki no where to be seen. what make it even worse was that he was ghosting all your messages and calls. 

perhaps it was the first-date jitters speaking but there was a voice lurking in the back of your head, whispering that you have been stood-up. however, you were too ashamed to just get up and leave now, so you figured that you may as well call your friend and ask them to join you.

your eyes burned with tears which you choked back as your fingers worked on their own to search your contacts for your friend’s number. there was a part of you that believed you were being to hasty but you truly couldn’t bare to just sit here and act ‘hopeful’ any longer. with shaky hands, you tapped your friend’s contact as your thumb hovered over the phone icon.

“(y/n)!” 

you froze upon hearing your name called from a distance, your immediate reaction being to whip your head around to see who — or what — was in such desperate need of your attention that they were willing to yell your name from half-way across the park. 

and of course, it was none other than tamaki amajiki himself; dashing towards you at full-speed in a torn suit, muddy shoes and..his hair seemed to be unevenly cut. he wore a determined yet petrified expression as he came hurdling in your direction, a single stray tentacle dragging behind him as he ran.

a smile of both confusion and relief tugged at your lips, the pads of your fingers dabbing lightly under your eyes to rid of any puffy skin or dampness while simultaneously ensuring that you wouldn’t mess up your lashes or eyeshadow. 

“tama! you’re here!” you squealed, your hands automatically clasping together in excitement as he approached the bench, about to fall into the seat beside you due to how tired he was but pausing as he watched you spring to your feet and open your arms for a hug. his lips slowly curled into a weak smile, his expression softening and he didn’t waste a single second before throwing his arms around you, pulling you in for as tight of a hug that his worn biceps would allow him to.  

despite the fact he reeked of an ungodly amount of body spray, you still basked his embrace since this is the moment you spent the last three hours or so preparing for. you were quite shocked at how shabby he looked but you decided against questioning it, out of courtesy. but on the bright side, it really made you feel better about the outfit you had spent hours styling, yet you were still not completely sure about.  

tamaki suddenly pulled away from the hug so he could fall back onto the bench, letting out a hefty sigh and momentarily zoning out in order to catch his breath. you weren’t too sure whether it was appropriate to giggle or pout at the sight so you chose to not do either and instead, just awkwardly stand and stare at him.

a sharp inhale was all tamaki needed before he was finally able to sit up slightly and bow his head, folding his hands to you before blurting out, “i am so sorry i’m late, (y/n)!” and before you could even get a word in, he began his breathless explanation, “i got a small tear in my shirt and mirio said he’ll fix it but he made it even worse. then nejire said she’ll style my hair but she only knew a few male styles and said my hair was too long and before i could say anything she was chopping away at my hair-- and somehow mirio’s dog got ahold of my suit and it made the tears even worse! i was so stress and y’know when i’m stressed i stress-eat, so i began eating fish snacks and before i even knew what was going on, it was nine o’clock. so i ran here as fast as i could and i tried to manifest tentacles to help me move faster but it turns out i didn’t eat enough fish snacks so i only have one tentacle and i can’t even move it properly- look!”

the fact he said all of that in seemingly one breath left you stunned in place, with you eyes fixated on his rapidly moving lips until they instinctively shifted onto his single tentacle, laying dejected by his feet until it started squirming around. however, that was all it seemed capable of doing — squirming. 

“uuh,” you hummed, trying your best to stifle a snicker as tamaki was clearly in genuine destress. “it’s fine, tama! i was a bit worried that you wouldn’t show but it doesn’t matter, you’re here now so let’s focus on that.” 

your words somewhat calmed him down as his shoulders visibly relaxed, his red eyes tearing off the concrete ground to meet your kind gaze. a slight gasp escaped his lips as he noticed how gorgeous your make-up was, but before he could utter a compliment, his eyes went further downwards as he tried to process the whole of your outfit.

his cheeks immediately burned red at the sight; your stunning purple dress, shimmering heels and matching crystal accessories which were evidently worn to complement his own aesthetic. a certain piece which he was drawn to, was the golden, gemmed ear cuff you wore with pointed tips to form a similar shape to his own ears — one of his biggest physical insecurities.

“you look..” tamaki mused, momentarily cutting himself off to think of a word that would do you justice, “perfect.” his voice was hushed, hardly above a whisper but you were still able to make out what he said and a sheepish grin crept onto your features.

“thank you, baby!” you chirped, perking up slightly and giving him a little twirl, causing a burst of red to explode on his cheeks which he was quick to try cover with his hands. it was moments like these when he wished that hoodies were first-date appropriate, that way he could just sink back into his hood and pretend he doesn’t exist.

“you look really nice too.” there was nothing wrong with a little white lie every now and again. however, it wasn’t even said with the intent of being a lie as you secretly thought that the scruffiness kinda suited tamaki, like, he looked badass! like your prince charming who accidentally fell into a ditch.

your compliment didn’t help the increasing temperature of tamaki’s cheeks either, causing him to slump farther back in his seat as he muttered garbled speech under his breath. it took a good few seconds but eventually he was able to peer at you with a single eye through the inbetweens of his fingers,  “a-and i like your little ear cuff thing.

everything he said only widened your beam and make you feel more giddy, to the point where you were practically bounced in place, “thanks, tama! i saw it and immediately thought of you, so i bought it.” you stifled a squeal at how observant tamaki was being, praising all the small details of your attire which you thought would go unnoticed. “i decided to wear it today because remember how you showed me the tie you bought for our date?” you explained, vaguely gesturing at said tie which hung in tatters around his neck, “yeah, so, i thought we could match.”

it took him a few moments to process what you just said and while his brain was running on overdrive, you were met by his rapid blinking and frozen stature. having known tamaki for a while now, you knew how this was a fairly common occurrence when was truly stunned by something, so you allowed him some time in silence to consolidate. 

“so..” he started, trembling hand dropping from his face and onto his lap so you could see his whole bashful appearance. his gaze seemed to be trained on the floor, until he finally looked up to reveal the twinkle in his eyes, “you’re..you’re wearing that-” he hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in his throat, “for me?”

the thought that you were ashamed to be with him was something that constantly taunted him from the back of this mind. you were heavenly in a way that his words simply could not describe, though that didn’t stop him from trying. it was beyond him how a person as divine as yourself would even give him the time of day; let alone insist that he was beautiful, leave encouraging notes in his locker, comfort him when he shows even the smallest sign of being upset, give him praise on all the thing he was insecure about and so much more.

when he looked in the mirror, he did not see what you see. he viewed his ears as creepy and not a feature he should put on display, hence a part of the many reasons why he’s so fond of his hood. but here you were, all dolled up in his favourite colour just to showcase that you were with him. your ears decorated with pretty cuffs that made them look a similar shape to his, at first glance.

when he’d walk beside you through the corridors of the school or under the shade of the trees in the park, he’d feel the eyes of jealous passersby burn holes through his skin; despite the fact you weren’t even dating him yet, people just hated seeing a guy like himself by your side, apparently. 

he stopped eating before meeting up with you so he wouldn’t have any weird manifestation that could draw attention to himself. he started wearing his hood up at all times so people wouldn’t judge him for his elven ears. he refused to touch you just in case people thought you were dating and became envious of him, which would quickly turn to hatred. 

so why would you want to look like him? why would you want people to know that you are on a date with him? why did you act proud to be with him?

you quirked a brow at how confounded he sounded, thinking over your answer with a hum; you wore this outfit for tamaki and yourself because you thought it was pretty and it suited you. however, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that there was no need to give tamaki the full truth right now so instead you allowed him to enjoy his rare surge of confidence by replying with simply, “yeah, for you.”

you weren’t going to be surprised that he was flattered, by now you were well aware that tamaki held all your opinions on him in high esteem so that’s why you always tried to be as nice to him as possible — that, and it was just in your nature to be kind towards him when he’s been nothing but respectful to you back.

however, what you didn’t expect was to hear faint sobs from behind his hands and watch as crystalline tears poured escaped from the inbetweens of his fingers, racing down the back of his hands. “tamaki..” you murmured, reluctantly taking a seat next to him to wrap your arms around, rubbing comforting circles in his shoulders like you usually did when he was sad. although, you weren’t even completely sure that he was disheartened by your statement. 

“i’m sorry.” you spoke in a hushed voice, leaning in close to his neck until your nose brushed against his skin, resulting in him tilting his head so it rested upon yours. “are you okay?”

“please don’t apologise.” he croaked, stifling his snivels to try show that he wasn’t upset. “you did nothing wrong. in fact, you’ve done everything right. i’m the one who’s been messing up.” he felt your hand ghost over his own and without a second thought, he intertwined his finger with your own, freeing his other palm to place it on your shoulder and exposing his pale, tear-stained face is the process. 

“i know it’s hard but you should tell me what’s on your mind, tamaki.” you hummed, gently caressing the back of his hand with your thumb and planting a kiss on the damp skin of his cheek. his cologne was still suffocating strong but if you were to die, it would ideally be while cuddled up to him, under the celestial night sky. 

opening up had never been an easy task for tamaki; especially about a subject that concerned his physical appearance and emotions. but there was a knot in his chest that would simply come undone when he was with you. he couldn’t explain it, but all the barriers and walls he had established to avoid getting his feeling hurt or heart broken would come crashing down whenever he was with you. perhaps it was a familiarity, maybe it was your reassuring presence or might just be pure love and adoration. 

either way, he found him himself babbling on about anything and everything that bothered him with little regard for his own pride or secrecy, he voiced every thought that came to his mind in the moment. he told you just about it all — all his problems and insecurities —and you listened, offering him encouragement whenever he’d cut himself off, saying something along the lines of, ‘i-i’ll stop now, i sound silly’ or ‘you’re probably tired of hearing me prattle on’. though, of course you didn’t want him to stop until he had gotten everything off his chest as it was a rare sight for him to talk for such lengths at a time so the last thing you wanted to do was discourage him.

“i just..” tamaki stammered, coming to the end of his passionate ramble, “don’t understand why you want to be seen with me, let alone wear those.” he raised his shaky hand from your shoulder to gesture to your ear cuffs, “don’t get me wrong, they look cute on you, but i just don’t get why you’d want to have ears that look like mine.”

“because yours are beautiful!” 

he winced at the compliment and at how sincere you sounded, “well, i’m glad you think that, (y/n).” he muttered, not even having to finish his statement as the dejection in his voice made it obvious that he did not view himself in the same light. his gaze dropped to his feet which were shuffling uncontrollably,  “i don’t know why i’m making such i big deal about this. aren’t you annoyed?” 

your let go of his hands only to slip them around his neck and pull him into your embrace, you felt him tense up in your arms but slowly allow himself to relax his cheek onto your shoulder. “i’m not annoyed, baby. i get what you mean and it’s horrible that you feel that way.” all tamaki could do would tick his tongue in agreement. 

“i know i tell you this all the time but i honestly think you’re so attractive, inside and out. i was so excited when you agreed to date me, i could’ve died of happiness on the spot!” you chirped, momentarily jerked your head backwards so you could peck the tip of his nose, giggling as he scrunched his face up cutely at the sudden touch.

your angelic laugh rung through tamaki’s head, forcing his lips into a smile as he gawked at your adorable action. “i love you..” tamaki uttered, raising his voice ever so slightly to ensure that you heard what he said, “so much.” thanks to you, his sobs were now just mere sniffles into the crook of your neck. 

you inhaled sharply, eyes-widening at his words; you would’ve never thought he would be the first on to say ‘i love you’, but you were far from disappointed, in fact you felt yourself melting further into his touch.

you felt his grip on you tighten, his breathing slowly retuning to it’s regular pace as he squeezed his eyes shut, cancelling out all his other senses so he could focus on the way your body felt against his own. 

he wanted to be confident. he wanted to take pride in himself for you. he was tired of restless nights filled with tears due to his worries berating him for simply existing in your presence. 

it wasn’t going to be easy but he needed to start acting on everything you said. because eventually, it wouldn’t just be for you, it’d be for himself.

and of course, it didn’t go unnoticed by you when he started wearing his hood less often, when he began holding his head up higher as he walks by your side, the way he now shoots warm smiles at people who try to glare at him.

and five years later, how he didn’t bat an eye at deadly glare that the waiter — that had been subtly flirting with you all night — shot at him as he got down on one knee, in front of the whole restaurant. 

#amajiki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #amajiki fluff #amajiki x y/n #bnha x y/n #amajiki tamaki x reader #bnha tamaki #mha tamaki #bnha x you #bnha fluff #tamaki fluff #tamaki x you #tamaki x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #mha fluff #tamaki amajiki #mha amajiki #amajiki x you

[therealjammy]

The Lady of Half-Death

Hi, hello, posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, in case you don’t feel like venturing to Ao3. 

This work’s alternate title: “Lucky One” 

Content Warnings: Very NSFW, a brief but graphic depiction of violence. (This work is meant for 18+ only!) 

It’s also told in first person POV, the Forbidden Perspective, so sorry if that’s not your jam.... Thank you for reading xx

--

I.

November, 1937

On a bitter November day, early in the morning, I was roused by the tinkling of the bell hanging beside my bed. Being Mother Miranda’s most competent servant, I was long used to a summons during the small hours of the dark. She was night’s creature, bent over her studies and her subjects until a bitter sun lit the sky, almost unaware of time’s passage, while her servants kept in perfect time with every striking hour. I splashed sleep from my features with bitterly cold water from the basin on my dresser and wrapped myself in my warmest robe. I lit a candelabra, savoring its small warmth as I donned my silver mask. It had frightened me at first, how the servants wore these metal things elongated into an elegantly startling bird’s beak, but when serving the Lady of Ravens, one had to know to whom they pledged their loyalty, both inside and outside the house’s grounds. Though the metal was light, it still made one’s head ache after only a few minutes of wear, and was a constant irritation after many hours. But like a pain that was more a nuisance than anything, it was easily set aside.

           I walked quickly through dark hallways and creaking staircases, passing through rooms whose furniture was covered in sheets and rooms whose contents were not. Each was quiet as the long-dead.

           The doors to the laboratory opened on soundless hinges. Inside, there was only a spotlight on the latest occupied table and the stoic figure of Mother Miranda leaning over it, her hands coated in deep crimson, her subject unmoving. Her face was drawn into a deep, displeasured frown.

           “What may I bring you, ma’am?” I asked carefully.

           “Tea, Trudy,” replied Mother Miranda. By the ancient tiredness in her voice, I knew the kind I ought to fetch.

           Staying true to her grief, Mother Miranda had a fondness for black tea, steeped for five minutes to be strong, made stronger with a dollop of Sanguis Virginis, a sweet but robust red wine made by Lady Dimitrescu. She kept the largest bottle for herself, but sent a smaller one to Mother Miranda every winter. The bottle was red and adorned with golden flowers crawling up its sides.

           By the time I brought the fresh tea to her, Mother Miranda’s hands were washed of blood, and the subject on the table was covered with a white sheet, slowly turning scarlet. I set the teacup and candelabra beside her and gave a professional distance.

           “The nature of science,” Mother Miranda said, picking up the teacup, “is to fail again and again.” She held it delicately. There was rage underneath that delicacy. “Every vessel thus far has been unfit, even if it’s accepted the Cadou, and with each unfit one I feel as if I am losing her more.”

           “You might feel like Tantalus, ma’am,” I said after a pause, “with your goals evading your grasp, but I rather think you must be like Orpheus.”

           “Attempt until death,” she murmured. “Yes, child, I believe you’re right.” A long sip of tea. Underneath her golden mask, her pink lips turned a deep red. She set the cup gently in its saucer and rose from her chair, black robes shuffling quietly. “Come. Let us begin anew.”

           I lifted the mutilated subject from the table, wrapping the sheet about her carefully, and carried her fresh limpness to the courtyard with the others. Her cooling blood seeped from the sheet and onto my robes, and it dripped onto the bricks and my feet, leaving a sticky trail. It was cloying, but it was a sweet perfume compared to the rich decay that wafted from the courtyard’s cold soil. In the dark, I saw there was already a space made for her. I lay her carefully in it. A good sacrifice deserved gentleness once the deed was done, after all. In that sense, I was more merciful than Mother Miranda. Once a body was no longer of use, she would carry it out herself and toss them hastily aside, for only one body mattered above the rest.

           “In life and in death,” I said over the grave, “we give glory to Mother Miranda.”

           I sprinkled a handful of dirt over the covered girl and left her to the bitter, near-winter air.

           Inside again, I scrubbed the table twice with soapy water and dried it thoroughly. I lit more candles, placing them around the table’s edges, away from the notes that Mother Miranda spread across the surface. While she organized them, I brewed another pot of tea, bringing it and the gifted bottle of Sanguis Virginis with me. When I had poured my own cup, Mother Miranda gestured to the wine. Pour that in, too. I obeyed without question. Grey eyes watched me drink, unchanging even when I made no face at the taste of wine and blood mixing with strong black tea. I’d learned long ago that reactions caused reactions. I remained impassive, though my stomach still curdled and rebelled at the taste of the sinful wine. To the others—Mother Miranda and Lady Dimitrescu— the wine was a sweet and prized possession. If ever it was sold, it would be incredibly expensive.

           I brought a chair and perched myself next to Mother Miranda. It was always a thrill to be at her side, to study her volumes of notes and drawings and glimpse the way her mind worked. But more than that, I cherished the nights like this, when it was only the two of us. I enjoyed her company. I desired more of it, because I desired her. At times I believed she knew this, but then she would dismiss me so easily, brush by without a care, and I’d question if she knew at all.

           Attraction, I reminded myself, was a science, too, and like an experiment gone horribly wrong, it was best if one didn’t share the results.

           I cleared my throat and straightened in my chair. “We should begin where this one failed,” I said. “Pinpoint a reason, compare it to the rest.”

           We pored over notes for hours, comparing observations, Mother Miranda writing furiously in her looping scrawl underneath a page titled Quinn. The candles burned low, and the sky lightened outside the laboratory’s several windows, revealing a cold, white-filled dawn.

           “The conclusion is painfully obvious,” Mother Miranda sighed at last, pushing her nearly empty teacup aside. It’d turned cold hours ago. “I must find a truly unique vessel. The village is rotting with diluted blood and therefore cannot be used again. Three of the Lords—those children!—were ones I found outside. Diluted in other ways, perhaps, but strong enough.”

           “Yet you declared them all unfit,” I remarked.

           “Because they were too much,” Mother Miranda said stiffly, “and the rest have been too little. They served their miserable purpose and now I must find yet another clean slate! And to think I’d chosen so carefully…” A hand curled into a fist, clenched improperly due to taloned fingertips.

           “Send me to the field, Mother Miranda,” I said. “I will search for you.” But it was the wrong thing to say, for her other hand darted quickly out and knocked her teacup and saucer from the table. They shattered on the floor, black-red tea pooling around their remains.

           “Do not be dim, child; it cannot be done by you. It must be me.” She paused for a long moment, coming back to herself with a single, sharp shake of her head. “Please,” Mother Miranda said around a breath, “forgive my outburst.” She moved smoothly to the shattered teacup just as I did. We knelt out of time but reached for the same piece, her gold-plated fingers brushing my bare ones, sending a brief, hot shock through my being that ended in my chest.

           “You need never ask my forgiveness, Mother Miranda,” I said, slowly withdrawing my hand and reaching for a different piece. “A woman in grief doesn’t know her own actions.” And it was her grief, I thought then, that made my heart ache for her. That made everyone’s hearts ache for her. Mother lost a child, they’d say. No greater tragedy exists. We must be kind.

           “Grief is some people’s undoing,” Mother Miranda said. She had stopped picking up shards of teacup, a few pieces cradled in a hand. Her gaze was on the puddle of bloody, wine-soaked tea. “It festers like a splinter left in too long, or a piece of metal unable to be dislodged, and it consumes, until its host perishes with it. I’ve known it for many stretches, but rather than give myself to despair, I have chosen determination; for the parasite cannot fully live while its host fights it. So fight I must.”

           Her face was a pale reflection on the tea’s surface.

 II.

The next morning, a snowy one, Mother Miranda went for a walk. In her absence, her rule passed to me, and then to the Head Housemaid Vera, a stout older woman who kept the other servants in strict line. I was, however, only consulted for advice or for orders. Other than that, I was blessedly alone, a spectre haunting the laboratory while I organized Mother Miranda’s notes and gave into my own musings, letting my mind take up the cluttered space. Many things ran through it: thoughts of my former life, of the people I’d once seen and never would again, and if I followed that line, I knew exactly how I’d come to be here. Sitting alone in a tepid laboratory, surrounded by paper, rotting with attraction.

           It’d been there from the beginning, for there was always attraction to a leader, and many reasons behind it. People were attracted to safety and to comfort, to promises and protection, but highest of all, a deity that preached all the above. People backed off their words more often than they gave in to them, but a deity never would; their word was given and kept. It was learned, it was ingrained, and so like everyone else, I held that same attraction. I gazed upon the same likenesses of Mother Miranda and prayed for protection, for strength. I prayed to one day work for her—the highest blessing of all!—and that prayer was answered. She came to my door in all her godly glory and the paintings held no candle to her real beauty.

           The attraction molted once I’d begun to work for her properly. She was aloof and cruel and methodical, but there was talent and beauty, too, and soon enough I began to realize there was a person underneath the deity. And it was the person whom I thought of, now, wondering where her walk was taking her, who she was talking to, what she was thinking. I imagined her underneath a cold white sky, ashy flakes of snow sticking to her black robes and veil, the harsh, mountainous landscape reflecting her own desolation back at her.

           I thought, as I filed the last of the notes away, that I would make her return easier. Oftentimes her walks changed her mood; one never knew the sort she’d bear when she walked through the doors. It could be the silent sort of rage, during which she’d seal the doors of her laboratory shut and refuse to emerge for days, or the one where she’d return with a deadly ice in her eyes and drag the nearest servant by the wrist to her chambers. Sometimes they’d be alive and shuffle from the room with their clothes barely on; other times there was an unfortunate mess to clear away.

           During my luncheon, I called Vera to me and ordered the most frequented rooms be given a thorough cleaning, excluding the laboratory and Mother Miranda’s bathroom.

           “And her dinner?” asked Vera, once she’d given the orders to four maids. “Something comforting, I assume, as the latest loss is still ripe in the courtyard.”

           “Yes,” I agreed. “A shepherd’s pie with marmite in the gravy, and the bottle of Sanguis Virginis.”  

           “Very good, Miss Bevan.” Vera bowed her head and left.

           I went over the bathroom myself, being careful to put every object in its proper place. I drew a bath, the water unbearably hot, but by the time Mother Miranda returned, it would be perfect.

           I loitered for a long while in the bathroom’s silence, sat on the chessboard floor, gazing out the window to the snow-covered hills, the occasional drip, drip of the tub’s taps serenading me into a trance, filled with visions of blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and impeccable hands.

           I wasn’t the first to think of her in this light. Far from it. Worship came in many forms, after all, and many people fell to this one. Except mine was to the woman I knew, not to the idol emblazoned on a shrine dangling from a peeling wall.

           Unable to think of nothing but the bathroom’s suddenly stifling heat and the absent Mother Miranda, I left, unaware of where I was going until I collapsed on the chair I’d occupied earlier, everything about me aching for someone who saw me only as a servant in high regard—but a servant nonetheless. The fact, I thought, unbuttoning my uniform enough to feel cool air caress my chest, made me desire her all the more.

           I propped a shoed foot on the seat’s corner to give myself better access and began my pleasure gently, my head falling against the back of the chair once the rhythm was established, my free hand indecisive on where it wanted to stay—a breast, the chair’s edge, the table; at least until my mind offered me a vision of Mother Miranda ordering me, from between my thighs, to keep it planted firmly on the chair’s edge. There it stayed while my other moved, and behind my closed eyes I saw a skilled tongue working me up, teasing, licking slowly as if to claim ownership to even that part of me; I saw intense eyes meeting my own, telling me to give myself over; in my mind I whispered my glory to her. I twitched erratically, my movements almost clumsy; a few moments more and I’d be tumbling into the blissful void—or would have, had I not heard the door open and the familiar, near-silent movement of the woman living in my head.

           The silence that beat between us lasted only a moment and yet it felt like centuries. Mother Miranda’s eyes narrowed to deadly slits, and before I could manage to stumble out an explanation, she strode to me in five heavy steps.

           “You dare defile this space with your musings?” Mother Miranda hissed, her grip on my wrist vicelike. “Do you not know how ill I find this gesture? How ill it makes me to think you care naught for the meaning of this room?” Claws slashed at my cheek, the first sting of it only surprise at first; it burned when I realized she’d cut flesh. I felt blood welling, but I could not bring a hand up to staunch its flow. Nor could I staunch the fresh wave of heat that pooled in my core at Mother Miranda’s fury. Cold eyes darted from my still-wet hand to my face. Mother Miranda scoffed, roughly releasing my wrist. “Attraction is a damned wicked creature,” she said. “It morphs perspective and thought. It makes one act rashly, makes one believe they’re subtle. You think I’ve not seen your lingering gazes, child? How you bask in my company the way you would underneath the sun? How you are afraid of my rage but it arouses you all the same?” She chuckled lightly, dragging gold-tipped fingers over my cheek, the metal blessedly cool against my heated skin. Having spent so much time in close quarters with this woman, I was no longer terrified by the talons. Their scraping made the coil in my belly curl tighter, and if she were to slip bare fingers against me, she would find me all too ready for her. I met her eyes with a steely look of my own, hoping she wouldn’t see shame, but Mother Miranda was wise in ways I couldn’t fathom. She saw through people as if they were cheesecloth.

           She hummed, fingers roving lower, tracing my pulse hammering in my throat. “Is there any shame about you, Trudy? I should think so, as you are not my equal.” Moving lower still, to the buttons I hadn’t undone, hovering like she wished to tear them—and perhaps she did, for her hand gave a small twitch. “I am higher than you will ever be, yet you stand here, gazing at me so defiantly, trembling with your want of me… Do you think it will make you rise to my level?”

           Her words were fog clouding the forests of my brain. I could think of nothing but how I wanted to serve her, to fall to my knees and pledge fealty, even if it was sworn with her hand guiding my mouth between her thighs. I said, “No, Mother Miranda.”

           “No, indeed. But,” a taloned thumb slid over my lower lip, “it’ll bring me pleasure to see you try.”

           When she kissed me, it was with a slowness that one could believe was care, but I sensed the possession. I opened my mouth to it, leaned into it, every nerve alight at the thrill of kissing someone I had once dreamed of serving under. Her hands drew me close to her, splaying across my back, bunching up my uniform, and her kisses became rougher, filled with need. I met every one with a need of my own, my shaking fingers undoing the rest of the buttons down my front. The movement caught Mother Miranda’s eye; she pulled back, her gaze intense, the color high in her cheeks, watching intently as the top half of my uniform parted and revealed bare skin. She reached out, two fingers gliding smoothly over my collarbones, my sternum, tracing the swell of a breast; gooseflesh rose in the touches’ wake, and my breathing trembled.

           “You are practically untouched,” Mother Miranda said quietly. There was, to her, no greater sin than a specimen that remained unstudied and uncatalogued.

           “Only practically, Mother Miranda,” I returned.

           She leaned down, burying her face against my bloodied neck. Lips pressed softly, tongue lapping slowly— tasting me. “Have you not known love?” she said. “Or devotion?”

           “Fleetingly.” There was the blacksmith, Cristian, in whose strong arms I felt safe. There was Tatiana, who made me feel at peace even after our desperate acts. But with this life, they were fleeting. To serve one of the Lords or Mother Miranda herself, it was until death. “The only devotion I know,” I continued, my voice growing thinner the lower her mouth travelled, “is to you.”

           Mother Miranda hummed against my chest. “You worshipped well, then, Trudy,” she said, rising, taking my chin between two fingers and tilting my face up to hers, “but what of now? How shall you prove your worth to me?”

           I grasped her unoccupied hand and pressed it against my breast, holding it there. I wanted her to feel it, to feel my heart underneath it, to know she could reach in and take it because I offered it to her. “Take what you will,” I said.

           What was left of her resolve crumbled. Mother Miranda swept me into her arms with a low growl, lifting me as easily as she would a child and setting me hastily onto the table we’d cleaned the night before. Impatient fingers worked the rest of my clothes away. She tossed them aside and pressed me into the cold wood, impossibly dark eyes drinking me in, lingering on my neck, my breasts, my thighs. Places I hoped she would kiss. Places she did, in that order, her mouth untamed, leaving harsh love-marks behind. Throughout that act, she didn’t once touch me; I was strung so tightly that even one finger tracing me would’ve been my undoing. It was a sort of torturous study, I realized, clamping my tongue between my teeth when it nearly made me beg for release; she was seeing me as a case, testing my own resolve. How long could she make me wait before I begged forgiveness? Time ceased to exist. I could not tell how long she made me hang.

           When she finally did touch me, I was relieved. Instead of a sigh, a long whimper escaped my mouth. Mother Miranda groaned in response, her fingers twitching and pausing against me, surprised at the slick want they found. Her second touch was heavier, more confident. My hands couldn’t help but cling to the back of her neck, which was covered by a thick cotton veil. I realized I’d touched her without her consent, but when I made to pull away, her free hand came to rest over both of mine, and together we slid the veil from her head.

           Blonde hair, a darker gold in the dim light of the laboratory, fanned around her face, gracing my bare forearms, soft as silk. Without the veil, it was tantamount to seeing her naked.

           “Cling to me,” Mother Miranda breathed.

           It was as much permission as I was going to receive.

           I buried my hands in her hair and leaned up to kiss her. I accepted her tongue when it slipped between my teeth. I opened for her when, at last, she slid fingers inside me.

           And when she truly took me, she devoured me, sprinkling evidence of her use across any expanse of skin she could reach, uncaring if teeth dug in too much, if my back was rubbed raw from the wooden table, if her golden talons left angry scratches. I clung harshly to her during my crisis, my cries only winding her further, for when I was barely limp, she withdrew entirely and carried me to her own chamber. Deposited on her bed, I watched through bliss-filled eyes as she undressed.

           Black robes pooled at her feet. In the blue-white moonlight, she was harshly ethereal. Everything about her seemed to glow, including her eyes. And sprouting from her back were five pairs of midnight wings. I wanted to catalogue it as a dream, a delusion caused by a mind still recovering from an intense crisis, but the wings, like Mother Miranda’s arms and legs, were very much a part of her.

           “Look while you can,” she said. “Commit it to memory, for true revelations are rarely given so freely.”

           She stood for study, allowing me to take in every inch. My eyes lingered where hers had lingered on me.

           “Do you reject me, Trudy?” she questioned softly.

           “No, Mother Miranda,” I replied. I offered her my hand. “I’d fall to my knees in prayer if I were not otherwise occupied.”

           She accepted my hand and leaned over me on her bed, naked and otherworldly, and in my long, exquisite worship of her, I met death eye to eye and thought there would never be another equal.

#resident evil #resident evil village #fanfic #mother miranda #mother miranda x oc #mother miranda x reader

[beardrabbles]

composed together. [ ♡ ]

characters: venti, reader

warnings: alcohol mention

word count: 3,029

notes: been trying out venti as a muse on a roleplay blog i have, but I wanted to have a crack at writing a reader with him. i'm not a poet in any sense of the word, so i'm sorry if isn't up to venti's standards lmao. if you tolerated all the rhyming, you deserve a gold star and a high-five.

You had tried so hard to make it back in time, but were disappointed when you returned to find Mondstadt barren of the usual Windblume decorations. There were no wreaths or elaborately decorated banners, no potted plants sporting twirling pinwheels. The scent of fresh flowers and baking goods persisted, but it didn’t carry with it the festive spirit. People were, once again, content to ask for help rather than tend to their own needs.

‘ And that’s why I missed out.  .  . ’ You brooded. It was because you offered yourself as a member of the Adventurer's Guild that you had found yourself pulled away from your home. You had been promised that the job in question wouldn’t take you longer than three days, give or take a day depending on how well you did. But, as it turned out, you had been gone for an entire week. And in that week, the festival had come and gone.

Windblume had never been about the romance for you. Every year, you looked forward to the food and atmosphere, letting the spirit carry you away. This year, however, you had held onto the fleeting hope that someone might show interest. Or that you might gather the courage to approach the one you so adored. You knew it was a lame excuse to depend on one holiday to steel your nerves, but the time and your chance had dashed past in the blink of an eye.

“Shouldn’t have taken the damn commission.” You slumped at an outdoor table near The Angel’s Share, a half-empty tankard of cider resting in your hands. You drummed your fingers along the side of the tankard, willing yourself not to be bummed. The holiday would come around again next year, you reminded yourself as you downed another gulp. “But I’ll probably get sent out then too.”

You stooped forward even further, cheek nearly pressed flat to the table when the familiar sound of plucked  lyre strings thrummed in your ear. You sat straight so abruptly that you made yourself dizzy, your need to look around rapidly for the source not helping the fuzzy feeling in your head.

“Venti?” You called his name with such unbridled hope that he couldn’t keep himself hidden for long. A giggle sounded above you, and you felt your diminishing mood soar when you spotted the colorful bard sitting along the eaves of the tavern, beloved lyre in hand.

“The one and only!” He cooed, soaking in your glee. “Looks like you started without me.”

You frowned and peered down at your table, noting the two other empty tankards. Cheeks flushed from embarrassment, you pushed them aside, as if that would make them ( and your shame ) disappear. “Look, I just got back and I find out I missed out on Windbl——!”

Eyes up, you realized too late that Venti had vanished from the roof. You blinked once, then twice, your cider-addled mind slow to catch up. Where did he go?

“I was wondering where you’d gone off too.” His voice bobbed along the air, light and playful, and it tugged your attention like a hook pulling along a caught fish. He sat across from you, his chin resting in his palm and bright eyes twinkling with eternal mischief. “Missed Windblume, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You grunted and polished off the rest of your drink, mood dropping again. “I was looking forward to it too. Did I miss anything important?”

Venti hummed and leaned back in his seat. Absentmindedly, he toyed with the strings of his lyre. “Let me think. Margaret thought of a new, non-alcoholic drink and it went over pretty well with the kids and those looking to keep themselves a little more dignified during the festivities. Our own Honorary Knight was named this years Windblume Star! Oh! That’s right, I taught a class on the art of expressing ones love though poetry.”

You snorted.

“You taught people to write poems?” Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “At what cost?”

“Come noq, Y/N, do you really think I could put a price on the ability to write out what a person’s heart yearns for most?” He paused, saw your deadpan stare, then let out a nervous chuckle. “A few bottles of holiday-exclusive wine is all I asked for.”

“Begged is more like it.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “How many bottles exactly?”

“Enough to tide me over.” Answered the bard vaguely.

“Is there any left?”

His silence was all the answer you needed. You groaned, let your head hit the table, then left it there as your forehead throbbed. Venti, sporting the rare flicker of guilt across a normally jovial face, leaned forward to pat at the back of your head.

“Hey, don’t be down. I have an idea!”

You lifted your head, but your eyes were downcast and dulled. “Is it a bad idea? I don’t think I want to mess with anyone right now, Venti.”

“I thought of the idea, so of course it’s a good one! And we’re not going to mess with anyone.” Venti grinned from ear-to-ear and stood, offering you a single, delicate hand. You gave it a hard stare, wondering what sort of troublesome plans he had brewing in his head. Unfortunately, you weren’t able to come up with a believable excuse as to why you couldn’t indulge him.

Leaving your empty tankards behind, you stood and took Venti’s hand. You stumbled the slightest bit before finding your footing. “What’s your idea, O Great and Fantastical Bard?”

“Since you’re being so kind as to lavish me in well-deserved compliments, I’ll tell you.” He winked at your withering glare. “You’re going to help me compose a song!”

“How is that going to cheer me up? I’m not poetic.” You grumbled. Venti clicked his tongue as he guided you away from the tavern and towards the cathedral.

“That is wildly untrue, Y/N! Everyone is capable of expressing themselves through poetry.” He argued.

“But I’m not good at rhyming or thinking of pretty words.” You countered. Venti sighed and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.

“That’s not what it’s about. No one said that poetry was meant to impress people. If it does, that’s a bonus, but the point is to shape your feelings. You write how you feel, not how you want to sound. If you don’t rhyme, that’s fine. If you want to use big words, then by all means! Short words are still words, and they can still carry your thoughts with them. There are no rules with it comes to poetry, no matter what some stuffy scholar might say.” He tugged your hand and pulled your arm up high, leading you into an impromptu twirl. Unable to help yourself, you fell into a fit of laughter that instantly lifted your mood.

“I guess you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.” You followed along, a new spring in your step. Venti shrugged.

“Practice means progress!” He clearly wouldn’t allow you to wallow in your negativity, and you were quietly grateful for it. If there was anyone that could lift you out of a funk, no matter how deep and depressing it may be, it would be him. 

Venti lead you past the statue of Barbados and around the side of the cathedral, where he perched on the side of a stone railing. Beyond you sat the lake, it’s surface a constantly shifting sheet of vivid oranges, cheerful yellows, warm reds and sleepy blues. The sun was setting, and soon night would fall, but Venti didn’t seem concerned. If it didn’t worry him, then it didn’t worry you, so you found a seat beside him and made yourself comfortable.

“The breeze is nice.  .  .” You let your eyes fall closed, skin kissed by a gentle twirl of the air against your heated cheeks. You couldn’t see then how Venti’s lips quirked up subtly, an adoration in his eyes that not many earned. He watched you for all of one, still moment before your eyes opened and he was forced to look elsewhere.

“Yeah, it is. So!” Quick to discard the hammering in his chest, Venti pulled forward his lyre and cleared his throat. “About that song——”

“What is it about?”

“Unspoken love, the kind that lives in your chest and makes every moment spent with the person you adore both exciting and painful.” His fingers strummed one string, then another. You frowned, the first few notes squeezing at your heart.

“Why is it unspoken?” You wondered, keeping your voice low.

“Because, sometimes, confessing is more selfish and cruel than never saying anything at all. Because opening up one’s heart may lead to more pain than you first expect.” The melancholy notes only proved to add more hurt to your chest, but still the bard smiled.

“Do you really want to write a song that sad?” You weren’t sure that your flimsy mood could handle thinking about such a morose subject.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand, dear friend~ The reason for love’s silence is upsetting, but the love itself is anything but!” Venti began to swing his legs, and you felt the breeze pick up. Green eyes turned up towards the sky, while a subtle tinge of pink touched his cheeks. “I’ll think of the first few lines, then you chime in with whatever your lovely little mind and heart think of first. Alright?”

“If you say so.”

“Great!” Skilled fingers began to play, the heart of the music beating in time with your own. “I want it to start like this: I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes.  .  .”

You waited for more, but were met with a calm quiet. A single glance from the bard, and you suddenly felt as is everyone in town could hear and see you. Face burning hot with embarrassment, you looked out towards water rather than at your companion.

“I want always to treasure your warm soul and kind eyes. Hmm.” You breathed in deep and muttered the first thing that came into your head. “Every smile and glance like a hard-earned prize.”

“Good! And you said you weren’t skilled at this.” Venti beamed, the sheer glee behind his praise lifting your mood higher still. “Let’s keep going. Next line: Your voice it rings like the sweetest prayer.  .  .”

You thought hard again, arms crossed tight and lips pursed. This was as difficult as you thought it might be, but Venti’s enthusiasm was infectious. So, again you offered the only words that rose to the top of your mind. “.  .  . a blessing from lips so fair.”

Venti hummed, the sound soft and low in his chest. “Indeed they are.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Moving on!” He slipped from the stone railing and came to stand in front of you, posture loose and playful even as he came dangerously close. “I adore you, I do. My heart is yours, it’s true. Little skips and steady pounding, my dear, you are astounding.”

Feeling him so near, his eyes mirthful and intent on you, you couldn’t help but to shrink into yourself a little. You grasped the railing you sat on and hunched your shoulders, eyes glued to your feet. If only those words were meant for you. Oh, but then what would you do?

“Is this meant to inspire other people to think of their love, or are you thinking of someone in particular?” You couldn’t and wouldn’t dare to hope, but you had to ask.

The strumming stopped, but you didn’t turn your gaze up.

“Perhaps I am,” Venti purred coyly, “why? Is there someone you’re thinking about?”

“Don’t be such an imp.” You kicked a foot out, but he was quick to step aside. Your aggression, though harmless, pulled a laugh from the bard. “I might be thinking of someone.”

“Who is it?” Venti pestered. “Do I know them?”

“Maybe.” You sported a cheeky smile of your own. Venti moved in an inch or two more to your side, leaving only a breadth of space between the two of you.

“Do they inspire you?” He asked. You sighed, completely unable to contain the need.

“He does.”

“Oh, so they’re a he, are they? That narrows it down.” He tittered and let himself play a soft, ambient tune. “Does he know how you feel?”

“No way!” You let out a bark of laughter. “Been trying to keep it a secret.”

“Why?” Venti blinked, appearing thoroughly baffled. “He should know!”

“What was it you said? Confessing is selfish sometimes.  .  .”

“Using my words against me. Cruel.” Venti sighed. “You really won’t tell him?”

“Not until it’s right, and not until I’m strong enough to accept the possibility that he might not feel the same.” Your smile was feeble and didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Chances come and go, away with the wind they blow, so I hold these lovelorn words inside my chest, never to be confessed.”

Venti frowned, watching as your fingers pressed and rubbed at the sudden ache right where your heart sat. His own reacted in kind, the horribly familiar grasp of doubt squeezing at his chest. He knew those thoughts and feelings all to well.

“In your heart the feelings run deep, but darling, don’t put them to sleep.” He reached out again when you dismissed his lyrics with a scoff, only this time you didn’t hesitate to place your hand in his. He didn’t drag you away from where you sat, but let his fingers slip between yours. Your heart stuttered a moment, the gentleness of the gesture filling you with gratitude and trace amounts of confusion.

The breeze picked up again, and you thought you could still hear the gentle song of the lyre despite him being preoccupied.

“Look at me.” He voice dropped to a whisper, so soft and airy that you almost didn’t catch it. But when you did, you bashfully locked your gaze with his. The sweetest smile pulled at his lips, the glimmer in his eyes so sincere that it made your own eyes prickle at the very corners.

Why did you have to fall for someone like him? Why couldn’t you have fallen for someone forgettable, or someone that wasn’t almost always within reach?

“Listen to my words, find them true, only a moron would reject you. You are wanted, loved and adored, you are more precious than any treasure hoard.” Venti arched himself forward, his forehead meeting with yours. Music continued to play in your ears, making the air around his words sweet. Could you believe them when they came from someone as flighty as him? You wanted desperately to, but you had to argue, to contest his open fondness for you.

“By the time the day is done, you’ll have said that to everyone.” You countered. Venti couldn’t hold back a laugh, his head moving away from yours. Already, you regretted sassing him. Come back, stay close.

“You’re getting better at that. While it’s true that I love to sing peoples praises, what I give you aren’t throwaway phrases. You’ve caught me, dear heart, and I want to surrender, allow me to bask in your unending splendor.”

You snorted and gave him a harmless shove. Venti grinned and gave in to your push, but he was near again in an instant.

“It can’t be that hard to believe that someone would love you. Don’t you believe me?” His question hung heavy in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth opened and closed, and each time your words failed you. Only after a long moment of listening to you stammer did Venti cautiously lean in. “Should I be selfish?”

“What does it mean for a bard to be selfish?” After a moment of mental screaming, you felt a smirk tease at your lips, but it was short lived. “Aside from drink all his wine before sharing it with someone?”

“Selfish bards do many, many things.” He spoke slowly, making sure each word dragged and lured you in. “I’ll admit it was silly to drink all the wine without you, but I can make up for it.”

You hummed contemplatively, each passing second tugging you closer and closer.

“How?”

“More wine?” He offered. You pulled a face.

“Mmmn, maybe. And?” Your mind was numb at this point, the idea that you two were so close making every inch of your body squirm. You had only daydreamed of sappy little scenarios like this, so living one out felt too good to be true. You were waiting to wake up, in fact, because this couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be tempting the idea of confessing to you when the entire world of Teyvat could offer him better.

“Songs written just for you?” Venti’s grin broadened, but there was a hitch in his breath when you nudged the tip of your nose against his.

“Anything else?” You egged him on, catching a flare of darker green in his eyes. He said nothing, but the way he moved his hand to touch your cheek spoke volumes. “How about a share of the apples you pick every day, or some mora, or——?”

“You’re talking too much.” He muttered, lips only a fraction away from yours.

“That’s rich coming from you.  .  .”

His breath was warm and welcome and mingled with yours for all of one second before you felt the notion of a kiss. It was then that the bell above the cathedral chimed, it’s proximity and the intensity of the clap jarring you and the bard from your shared trance. You jerked away, flushed and wide-eyed, while Venti clicked his tongue. Vexed, he glared up towards the cathedral.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I need to go.” You scrambled from your spot, heart hammering so hard in your ears that it almost drowned out the sounds of the bell. “I forgot to see Katheryne about the commission!”

Venti arched a brow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” You vaulted over the railing and contemplated running off without another word, but it didn’t feel right. Rather than succumb to cowardice and embarrassment, you turned to face the bard. “Tomorrow. We’ll do this again, I promise, and.  .  .”

“And?”

“We’ll finish where we left off.”

“I was hoping you’d say that!”

#venti x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #( almost got a smooch! ) #( it was another long one dang ) #( i get too wordy sometimes :/ not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing HMM ) #( tried to keep this one gender neutral but if I slipped up at all please let me know )

[avarkriss]

paradise; (with a nasty bite)

✭・.・✫ 

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Female Reader

Rated: E for Explicit, 18+ Only 

Word Count: 3.589k

Summary: Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Commander Cody, and one very ticked off Jedi Reader get pollened on what should be a very quick and simple mission 

Song/Title Inspo: Control by Unknown Brain ;; a huge thank you to Elisha (@beskars​) for encouraging/proofing these shenanigans

Warnings: Threesome - F/M/M; Sex Pollen and therefore automatic DubCon; Sass; Force Projection; Force Sensitivity and Mind Reading; I Know That’s Not How The Force Works Don’t At Me; Boys Kissing; Oral Sex (M/M, F/M); Masturbation and Mutual Masturbation; Kissing; Shameless Bisexuality and Smut; Vaginal Fingering; Spit as Lube; Spit Kink; Fucking on Obi’s Cloak Kink; Beach Sex; Double Penetration (Vaginal); Very Light D/S tones, Poor Ani

Image credits: unsplash  

Author’s Note: My first pollen fic!! I do apologize if I miss any grammar/spelling/formatting issues, this was primarily written on my phone in the middle of the woods lmao. I love a good threesome, I hope you to too! Plus we’re getting delivered early because I got home early :) Enjoy, share what you can, and be well ~

The heat on Borleias was oppressive.

It was sticky. 

Heavy. 

And you swore to the Force you were inhaling as much water as you were drinking. 

The worst part though? The very worst part was that the beach was so close you could kriffing smell it. 

Cool relief called to you from just a few meters away, the melodic crashing of the waves lulling you into a state of serenity you didn't think was possible in this hellscape - something else to focus on besides the salt crusting on your skin from where your sweat had evaporated.

Until you heard his blasted voice crackling in your comlink, cursing that crisp Coruscanti accent for pulling you out of the only moment of peace you've known since landing in this Force-forsaken jungle. 

The sound was slightly muffled, humidity having crept into the smallest of cracks in the watertight seals on the device. 

"I need you to stay focused," Obi-Wan reprimanded. 

“Of course,” you grumbled, tugging at the neck of your tunic while inwardly groaning at the way the coarseweave stuck to your skin. “Have you placed your beacon yet?” you grumbled, the hilt of your lightsaber slipping in your palm. 

No one saw you fumble it, certainly. No one except for apparently Cody, who you heard choke on a laugh from three meters away. If looks could kill he would have been wounded but he just couldn’t contain himself - you had to be the second clumsiest Jedi in the Order with that thing, the first of course being General Kenobi. 

You waited five more standard minutes before lifting your wrist to your mouth, hissing into your comm. “Well?” 

“You’re so testy in the heat,” Obi-Wan grunted from behind. You startled and nearly dropped your lightsaber again, glowering at him as mirth dared to dance in his eyes. 

“Great. You’re back. I’m going to the beach so I can soak the sweat off,” you snarked, making a concentrated effort to push through the foliage in front of you, desperate for the ocean to cleanse your spirits. 

“Seems that the heat is getting to her, sir,” Cody remarked, watching Obi-Wan gently shake his head before trudging after you. 

When the two men emerged from the forest they found your boots, belt, lightsaber, and pants strewn about the beach in a haphazard line straight to the water where they could see you floating on your back, dimly lit by the moon. 

“Must you leave a mess everywhere you go?" Obi-Wan shouted, bending down to gather your things in a neat pile. 

You rolled your eyes heavily, knowing he couldn't see you in the water. "I'm going to shake Anakin if I don't die here first," you grumbled to yourself, begrudging the day you were assigned to this mission because he had " urgent business on Naboo ." 

Obi-Wan thumped to the ground next to the pile, neatly folding your pants as Cody sat down next to him, removing his helmet. 

"I've read about this planet sir, there's a meteor shower every year," Cody mentioned, hugging his knees to his chest as he looked at the stars along the horizon. 

"I believe you're correct Cody," Obi-Wan mused, taking in the way Cody’s curls seemed to have tightened with the planet’s humidity, basking in his calm while he looked out across the ocean. 

"I can't believe it," Cody gasped, suddenly sitting straight before scrambling to lay on his back. Obi-Wan curiously followed his gaze, tilting his chin skyward to find the shimmering tails of a cluster of shooting stars. 

"It's nice to enjoy this," Cody mumbled, speaking to no one but himself.  

"It is," Obi-Wan agreed, smiling at Cody before calling out to you, beckoning you to the beach before pointing at the stars. 

You slowly removed yourself from the water, coming to stand next to Obi-Wan. You bit back a scoff when you saw the way he had neatly folded and arranged your belongings, crossing your arms as you looked to the sky. 

"As much as I can't stand this planet, being here for the annual meteor shower is pretty amazing," you thought aloud, sand sticking to your toes and ankles. 

Obi-Wan hummed in agreement as he moved to lay down, the top of his head brushing against Cody's. You shrugged and decided to join them, toes towards that cursed jungle as you laid down, your wet hair joining theirs. 

The three of you laid there for a while, relaxing against the warm sand while the planet slowly dropped in temperature, becoming only slightly more bearable. You had no idea how much time had passed when a breeze finally picked up, carrying glittering silver grains in its wake. 

You ran your finger up your arm, examining the sparkles when you realized it was pollen from the jungle. 

"Curious," Obi-Wan said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, slowly sitting up. 

"Obi-Wan," you warned, sitting up yourself as he began to walk up the beach. Cody scrambled and lightly jogged to catch up with him. 

You watched them at the forest line, Obi-Wan carefully studying a lightly colored flower - the source of the pollen, you were sure. He plucked one and returned with it and Cody, sitting down next to you.

"I've never seen such a thing before," you marveled, reaching out your hand to hold the flower. 

It was palm sized, the petals so thin that if there was just one you could have made out the shape of your finger behind it. The edges of the petals were nearly metallic in their argent color, gently rippled and curled. At the center of the flower was a milky white stamen that seemed to glow in the moonlight, studded with the last remnants of silver pollen that hadn't been taken by the wind. 

"We didn't see any of these on our way in," you mentioned, turning the flower in your hand. 

"No," Cody confirmed, extending his hand so he could study the plant. "But there are many flowers that only bloom at night." 

"I think it may be some type of aestus flower," Obi-Wan mentioned casually, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. 

"You can't be -" you started, stopping before you realized you were being ridiculous. The family of aphrodisiac flowers was so valuable they'd be well documented on this planet, known for being exceptionally poor in natural resources. 

“An aestus flower, sir?” Cody questioned, tilting his head as he lifted the flower to eye level. 

“They’re a… a flower known to produce various aphrodisiac effects,” Obi-Wan explained, quickly continuing when he caught sight of Cody’s furrowed brows. “But they’re known to work very quickly, so this may be a distant cousin of sorts.” 

“Regardless, I’m sitting over there,” you threw your thumb to the side, gesturing to a large smooth rock in the sand, “until we’re sure it’s not what you think it is. I could use a few hours of quiet.” 

Obi-Wan nodded his head as you stood, slowly moving himself closer to the tree line. “Just for precaution,” he smiled. 

Cody nodded too and moved a few meters away himself, your close circle turning into a giant awkward triangle on the beach. 

You settled on the stone, feeling the heat of the planet push against your chest once more. 

But as time started to slow and the weight increased, you began to fear that Obi-Wan was, once again, absolutely correct. 

“Just meditate through it,” you whispered to yourself, crossing your legs underneath you while you rested your wrists on your knees, palms facing the sky. "Just breathe." 

You slowly closed your eyes and took the deepest breath you could manage, reaching out to connect with your surroundings. You were searching, looking for something cool, something calming. 

You needed to ground yourself, build an unshakable foundation to ward off the storm you could feel brewing in the pit of your stomach. 

The stone beneath you was too warm and the ocean always took extra concentration, concentration you couldn't spare as you desperately tried to block out the growing heat between your thighs and the gentle groan you heard from somewhere down the beach. 

"Breathe," you spoke to yourself, reaching for the trees. You found them hot, burning from the aestus flowers and resistant to your touch. You sensed something alluring and cold nearby, creeping towards it until you realized it was Obi-Wan, pulling away before you made the mistake of making him your home. 

"Breathe," you spat from between gritted teeth, eyes scrunching with the involuntary flutter from between your legs. You reached into the sand, desperate, aching. But it fell from your grasp slowly, mocking you. Taunting. There was no stability to be found in sand.

There was another ragged moan from down the beach and you ground your teeth down, placing the tips of your fingers against the flat stone, clinging to the steady vibrations between every molecule. 

Heat grew between your thighs as something cool lapped at your back, calling to you like gentle water. 

Relax, little one. 

You couldn't help the growl growing in the back of your throat, letting it escape briefly before swallowing it back down. His voice was honey thick; sticky and warm and pulling you in. 

The groaning from down the beach intensified, joined by stumbling footsteps that climbed away from you, drawn in by Obi-Wan's cooling aura. 

Cody, you panicked, reaching out for him until you realized Obi-Wan had brought him to the safety of harbor first. 

You felt him pull away from you, keeping a connection at the small of your back. You felt like your skin was going to burn off of your bones, thighs slicking as your arousal began to pool. 

Groans turned to whimpers, threatening to break your concentration as you dove deeper and deeper, fighting the pull that threatened to drag you to the surface. 

It was when things finally turned quiet that you straightened your spine, breathing deeply until you felt a familiar flicker somewhere in the corner of your consciousness. 

The sound was different now - wet and messy and your throat felt like it was starting to close until a strangled moan erupted, pulling you out of the shelter you had forged. 

Your protective walls were down and you were exposed, every nerve ending combusting at once until the projection of pleasure slammed into your chest. 

You felt relief for the briefest of moments until it ebbed away, fleeting glimpses of bliss strangling your heart every few seconds until tears began to fall down your cheeks. It was going to make you lose your sanity, bouncing between the burning heat of desire and the sweet relief of satisfaction being sent through you. 

You pulled yourself up and started to walk towards the tree line, vision blurred and gait unsure. You were ready to scream, ripped open and raw and hurting and alone -

"I hate -" you sobbed, falling to your knees at the sight of Obi-Wan on his, Cody’s cock buried in his mouth while he choked on his own relieved cries. 

Your words died on your tongue and your mouth parted as you studied them, beautiful in the moonlight. Cody was bare and had his head thrown back, his hands tangled in Obi-Wan’s auburn hair as he thrust into his mouth. 

You reached between your thighs as you watched - Cody stuttering in his rhythm while Obi-Wan stroked himself, hand moving under his robes. 

Your fingers danced around your aching clit, craving relief that evaded you at every turn. Obi-Wan's projection was constant now, his pleasure mounting with Cody’s. When Cody came the projection pushed you onto your ass, hitting the sand with a gentle thud. You groaned and thrust your fingers into your aching pussy, watching Cody join Obi-Wan on his knees, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Their tongues danced together and your lips tingled with ache, mouth and throat dry while you panted. 

Please , you pleaded, reaching out to tangle yourself with Obi-Wan as Cody kissed him and took his cock in his hand. When Cody began to pump him up and down Obi-Wan pushed so hard against you that you fell onto your back breathless, rapidly thrusting in and out of your heat. 

You couldn't see it when he came but you heard him moan, feeling the pleasure ripple through your tummy and up your chest. You threw your head back into the sand, screaming out in frustration as hot tears simmered on your cheeks, begging for your own release. 

Someone knelt down next to you, their hand on your forehead sending a jolt down your back. You whimpered as you arched under the gentle touch, chasing the connection as the hand pulled away. 

"General," Cody murmured, slipping it under your neck to help you sit up. You pulled your fingers from within yourself and curled into Cody, crying against his shoulder. 

"I - I -," you stammered, struggling to find your words as you continued to clench around nothing, aching to be filled. 

"We know what you need darling," Obi-Wan rumbled, spreading his cloak onto the sand. "We're here now." He was attempting to send a calming rush towards you, finding you unresponsive to it as you kissed across Cody's shoulder. 

Cody’s lips fell to your neck, mouthing at your skin as you grew impossibly hotter in his arms. 

"She needs more Cody," Obi-Wan pointed out, helping to roll you onto his cloak as Cody settled between your legs. "Taste her," he suggested, shrugging off the rest of his robes. 

As soon as Cody's tongue made contact with your soaked folds you let out a wrecked moan, twisting against the cloak until Obi-Wan settled next to you, leaning down to pull your soaked tunic off of you before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. 

You succumbed to him immediately, letting his tongue push against yours as he licked into your mouth. He still tasted of Cody and you moaned below him, fisting one hand in Cody's hair as the other searched for Obi-Wan's cock, joining his own in stroking himself to relieve the fire slowly consuming you all from the inside out. 

Obi-Wan spread a hand over your breast, slowly tweaking one of your nipples while Cody lapped at your clit. He was groaning into you as his fingers searched out your entrance, index and middle slipping in with ease. 

Your hips arched off the cloak to meet his eager mouth, moans filling the air as Obi-Wan broke away from your mouth to take your nipple between his teeth, leaving a trail of stars blooming across your skin in his wake. 

Obi-Wan, please - 

Your walls were down and he was starting to crumble. 

"Cody," Obi-Wan whispered, running his hand through his hair. When he lifted his head from between your legs his eyes were shining as much as his mouth, slowing his fingers inside of you. "Sit back a moment my darling." 

Cody sat back on his knees and dragged his fingers slowly out of you. You keened at the loss until you saw Obi-Wan lean over to Cody, taking his fingers into his mouth, groaning at the way you tasted on his salty skin. 

Obi-Wan cast his eyes down to you as he palmed at your breasts, pulling off of Cody's fingers when he was sure that they were clean. He came back to your tips, tapping them open with a gentle finger before spitting into your mouth, tasting of you and Cody and something uniquely him. 

After leaving a parting bite on your lower lip he helped you roll onto your stomach, gesturing for Cody to resume his place between your legs as he stroked himself and came around to your mouth. 

Let him fuck me, please - 

Your thoughts were loud in your head as Obi-Wan moaned, giving voice to the desires you couldn't speak. 

As Cody lined himself up to your entrance Obi-Wan found your mouth, each man pushing into you, synchronous with the other. 

Your groans were muffled around Obi-Wan, eyes fluttering closed as relief settled into you, the fire shrinking with every thrust of their cocks. 

Cody had you stretched in the most delicious of ways, moaning and cursing as he thrust into you, one hand pressed against your pussy and the other resting on Obi-Wan's. 

They both started to say your name louder, your body shaking between them, threatening to break if you didn't find release soon. But as Cody timed his thrusts to oppose the press of his finger on your clit and Obi-Wan pulled your hair while hissing from the way you traced him with your tongue, your vision went white and the world finally stopped spinning. 

Your euphoria was short lived, quickly replaced by deep heat between your legs. Cody and Obi-Wan found their release shortly after, spilling inside of you as they each moaned out your name. 

They parted from you for a moment, pausing to kiss each other before coming to your sides, each man laying next to you. 

"It's not stopping soon is it," you panted, looking to Cody and then to Obi-Wan who both shook their heads. You let out a shaking exhale as the pain grew stronger. You couldn't fight it anymore, leaving yourself wide open, thoughts so obvious that even Cody could gather what was on your mind. 

Obi-Wan shared in your sensation and grabbed at your waist, urging you to straddle him. Once you were comfortably seated Obi-Wan set a punishing pace, snapping his hips up into your while he kneaded the flesh of your ass between his fingers. 

Cody watched for a few moments before taking himself in his palm, stroking in time to Obi-Wan's thrusts. His face began to contort with pain when a thought burst through your fog. 

Self-stimulation is ineffective, isn't it? 

You were interweaving yourself with Obi-Wan, clinging to the cool of his force signature as he slowed just a touch, breathing out a shudder confirmation. 

With that you turned towards Cody, gently calling his name as Obi-Wan slowly rocked into you, expression curious. 

"I'm so wet," you moaned, looking him up and down. 

"You are," he confirmed, putting his hand where your body met Obi-Wan's, the other still wrapped tightly around his cock. He teased you both for a few moments, running his fingers across both of you at once. 

"I can take you both together." 

The words rolled off your tongue before you realized you had said them, both men moaning as Cody began to work a finger and then two into your pussy without hesitation. 

"You’re sure?" he grunted, wrapping your hand around his cock as he pushed his fingers deeper, working in tandem with the subtle roll of Obi-Wan's hips. 

"Yes," you cried, voice strained as he pushed in a third. "Can't stand to see either of you in this pain." 

Cody hummed against your skin as he kissed you, helping you adjust to the stretch before pulling away, coming behind you. 

With a firm hand to your back Cody pushed you forward until your chest was nearly flush with Obi-Wan's. You heard him spit against you, rubbing at you with his thumbs before pressing his head against your entrance, easing himself inside. 

You and Obi-Wan moaned from the pressure, stilling as he worked his way in. You swallowed your cries as Obi-Wan bit into your shoulder, hands firm on your hips as he tried to hang onto the last bit of his mental wall. 

That, however, came crashing down as soon as Cody began to move, the force of his pleasure knocking the wind from your chest. When you opened your eyes you could see your tears mixed with his, leaning down to lick them away before he began to work in tandem with Cody - thrusting in as he pulled out. 

They worked against each other and you were seeing stars, becoming wetter and wetter with every orgasm that rushed through your body. At some point you realized that the wetness was their come leaking out of you, both men showing no signs of easing up anytime soon. 

You couldn't be certain how many times any of you came, riding out high after high, changing positions, coming in and on each other as you lost yourselves in the pleasure, desperate to keep the burning pain away. 

At some point though the effects of the pollen had worn off and the three of you collapsed together, sticky and sweet and warm. Time had returned though sense was still absent. 

You and Cody had each curled around Obi-Wan, legs tangled together and arms entwined. Eventually you each slipped into a heavy slumber, shared murmurs of thanks fading away as your eyelids drooped. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Slowly you began to rouse, feeling the heat of the sun beginning to sear your skin, quickly coming to your senses when a high pitched shriek jolted you all awake. 

You startled to find Captain Rex doubled over in laughter as Anakin threw his cloak over the pile of limbs you were wrapped in, head turned away and paler than you could ever recall seeing him. 

"Anakin, aren't you supposed to be on Naboo?" Obi-Wan questioned, slowly sitting up. He was blinking in the sun, memories slowly returning as you and Cody unwrapped yourselves from around him.

"I was until the Council told me they never heard your team check in. They sent me here and I find this," he gestured dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned away. 

"Like I needed another reason to hate sand." 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Full Masterlist // Star Wars Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Tags - Tumble has a tag limit and we’ve exceeded it (which is so cool I can’t believe that many of you are interesting in reading my work!) so we’ll be switching to comment tags, this should also mean that everyone’s tags will work for once!! 

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#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #commander cody #commander cody x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader x commander cody #star wars #star wars smut #obi-wan kenobi smut #clone smut #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader x commander cody #obi wan x reader x commander cody #sex pollen #sex pollen fic #star wars sex pollen #writing this in the middle of the woods was an adventure #but it was so fun #cody and obi and especially together is my weakness #nsft