#[ || Stains Upon One’s History || ] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchlessdino · 2 months ago

Text

scream : the death of a nympho (m)

Pairing: ghostface!seungcheol x ghostface!wonwoo x afab!reader

Genre: horror, scream au, smut

Word count: 6.8k

rating: rated R for ROUGH FUCKING SEX (probably the meanest i've ever written anyone)

tags: THIS IS COMICAL BUT VERY DARK FIC, PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. CONTENT MAY NOT SUIT MOST READERS. Morally black woncheol with no redemption arc, VIOLENCE IMAGERY (stabbing, physical fights), mentions of knives, Mentions of blood, Mentions of alcohol, humiliation, degradation kink, name calling sexually and none sexually (bitch, slut, cum bottle, ECT), manhandling, slapping kink, deep throating, face fucking, double bjs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex

Summary: This worn-out little town has seen its fair share of bloodshed, but now there are two new Ghostfaces in town—and their eyes are set on you. Someone who craves intimacy just as much as they enjoy sinking their daggers into something.

author note: thank you @highvern for being a great betaread, they got some giggles in so i hope you guys get to as well! This idea was initially requested and offered by @smileysuh and I hope you enjoy the journey babes!!!

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys

The town has witnessed its fair share of bloodshed, with pages upon pages of stories about murders staining its history since its settlement. Transplants from the past couple of decades knew of the Ghostface murders, had experienced their horrors, and were relieved to finally learn the identities of what they believed to be the only culprits, known by the nicknames BL and SM. What they didn’t seem to grasp was that there was a lineage—a deep-rooted legacy that would take the eradication of many Ghostfaces to completely sever.

One that has yet to happen. But now there was another problem.

With nothing left but their dread, the townies embraced twisted ways of coping. They chased oblivion in reckless sex and drugs, feeding a festering culture of heightening promiscuity and sexual deviants to businesses catering to their darkest urges. But this decay only primed the ground for blood, making it easier to spill.

The Ghostfaces, known privately among themselves as the Spirituals, saw it as their duty to cleanse the town. In their eyes, there was no room for the filth that seemed to taint their almost perfect town, and so they took matters into their own hands, delivering judgment on their own terms.

Seungcheol took after his father, who was currently detained after being caught serving judgment to the town’s notorious transplant mayor, infamous for his monthly group-sex gatherings. Now, as the head of the Spirituals, Seungcheol was determined to continue following his father’s creed, not once forgetting the scripture carved into him as a child.

Whereas Wonwoo took after his mother, a caretaker of many children within their society's education system who had fallen in sacrifice for the greater good. Now the right-hand man to the leader of the Spirituals, once a soldier and now captain to many of its followers, he knew nothing but how to uphold and worship the Spirituals' beliefs.

They were a duo not to be reckoned with—the youngest in history to hold the highest possible ranks, and the most effective at slaying the vermin of the town. Unmatched to even their predecessors. If they wanted something to happen, they knew just how to do it.

Their targets had a history of overlooking them, their spry bodies and youthful faces seeming harmless to anyone they encountered—until their daggers found the light under a bright moon. They killed victim after victim, and were careful to not have a single clue that could be traced back to them or the society. It was the perfect ruse, ideal for victims like you.

Fresh-faced and eager to start your next chapter, you arrived in town for college and had stayed ever since. You’d dated here and there, with more than the occasional fling—so the thought of the murders never really intimidated you. As an aspiring journalist, you found the town’s dark history more fascinating than frightening. To you, it was just material for dark bedtime stories. Yet, while many who had survived the horrors saw them as more than history or folklore, those who had evaded them were a lot like you—they saw nothing to panic over, just a few rotten apples already put behind bars.

But you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been tempted to test some of the theories. Almost eager, you found yourself wanting to investigate the current-day Ghostface rumors, wondering if they might be linked to the recent disappearances.

You pondered even now, nursing your third glass of red wine, the deep red hue swirling in the glass, mesmerizing under the effects of a light buzz that calmed your body. You and the bartenders of the high end Diamond Club, Hansol and Chan, had gotten acquainted in your time here—perhaps more than necessary—so they had a good idea of your usuals, whether it was your drink of choice or preferred form of entertainment.

“Red wine tonight, I see,” Chan flirtatiously engaged, wiping down whiskey glasses.

“Tonight called for something sweet, a little treat for working so damn hard,” You replied, finishing the last bit in your glass. “Where’d Hansol go? He had just serviced me.”

“Just getting something from the back, probably more of your wine.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, setting the wine glass down politely in front of him. “You both do know me so well. I don’t suppose there’s room for me to check back there too.”

“No can do today, beautiful,” Hansol said, emerging from the backroom as he rolled up his sleeves. “We’ve got a big meeting tomorrow morning, so we need to be on our A-game.” He threw an arm around Chan, signaling caution to his coworker, then regretfully scanned your attire.

Hansol’s gaze traced over the perfect lines and curves of your dress as he tightened his grip on Chan’s shoulder, both of them watching as you patted your lips against your napkin, leaving a kiss stain in mauve-red lipstick. He knew soon enough he’d regret his responsible decision-making. “But we’ll be sure we’ll leave a slot available for you after.”

Hansol turned toward Chan, looking for reassurance as the other man held the middle seam of his pants. “Right, Chan?”

“R-right,” the other bartender responded with a tinge of disappointment.

You softly pouted. “Okay. Another time. I’ll let you guys get back to work.”

The prospects tonight were slim, but not impossible. There were group gatherings and couples, but no one alone like you—that made it more challenging, and you loved a good challenge. You turned away from the bar on your stool, twirling your freshly topped-off glass from a new bottle, and scanned the room for another late-night treat.

In the corner, you spotted a diamond in the rough—a pair of men who couldn’t seem to tear their eyes off you, each idly toying with the dark liquor in their glasses. You flashed them a sly grin before turning away just enough to keep them in your peripheral vision, watching as they drank you in. They smiled back, one darkly handsome man to the next, their gazes unmistakably intrigued.

“Isn’t that a beaut,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath, hiding it under his glass drenched in bourbon.

“They are,” Wonwoo agreed. “Their reputation precedes them. We complete our duty tonight.”

Before Wonwoo could stand to approach you, Seungcheol tugged him back down, something more than authority in his gaze. “Hold on, brother. What’s the rush? It’s not every day we come across a sacrifice as…delectable as this one. I say we take our time.”

“But, sir… Seungcheol,” Wonwoo corrected himself, remembering they were in a public setting. “We shouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“And we’ll make sure of that.” Seungcheol grinned at his capable, steadfast captain. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at them. Don’t pretend you didn’t, soldier.”

Wonwoo had looked at you—perhaps longer than he should have. Sinful deviant or not, he could understand why others found it impossible to resist you. You were a vision to behold, a captivating stain on the town he might have allowed to linger under different circumstances. But there were no exceptions in the scripture. You would meet the same fate as everyone else they’d killed.

“Nonetheless, we have demands to meet… Seungcheol.” Wonwoo’s tone was even, but his eyes held a flicker of impatience.

The elder man sighed, swirling his drink with a slow, deliberate motion. “Sure taking advantage of my given name, aren’t you…Wonwoo?” He raised a brow, an amused glint in his gaze, though his words held an edge.

“We must stay focused, even if the distraction is so… distracting,” Wonwoo replied, his voice steady but his gaze briefly drifting to you before snapping back.

Seungcheol smiled cunningly, leaning back in his chair as he let his eyes settle on you. “All I’m saying is, why not reward ourselves with a taste of their mercy? Give them a final moment of sin before they see the flames of the inferno where they belong.”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. “And would we not be sinning too, brother?”

Seungcheol’s smile faded, and he leaned forward his captain in arms, voice low and commanding. “You dare question my judgment?”

A silence hung heavy between them before Wonwoo let out a resigned sigh. “We need our affairs in order,” he murmured, his tone weary yet resolute.

Seungcheol scoffed, rolling his eyes as he straightened. “Fine. We’ll do it your way,” he conceded.

They adjusted their jackets, sharing a brief, knowing glance before rising from their seats and approaching you with a leisurely stride, intrigue glinting beneath their composed expressions. Seungcheol met your eyes first, flashing that boyish dimple—the one that had gotten them out of more than a few tight spots.

“Mind if we join you?” he asked, his tone smooth, and inviting, but with an edge that hinted at something far less innocent.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip as you gave a slight nod. “Both of you?”

“If that doesn’t intimidate you,” Wonwoo replied with a polite smile, the bar light catching his glasses and casting a faint glare that concealed the depths of his true intentions.

“Not at all. Sit.”

And they did, boxing either side of you, each exuding an intoxicating mix of decadence, spice, and something darkly earthy. The scent was almost hypnotic, stiffening the hairs on your neck.

Every glance, every subtle movement, spoke of a carefully restrained danger, like a coiled snake waiting to wrap around its unknowing prey. Their intensity crackled in the air around you, unsettling yet somehow magnetic. Something about this pair was dangerous on belief and your gut was screaming it loud, but instead of listening, you were anchoring yourself in place, wanting to find out just what it is you should be afraid of.

“I’m Seungcheol, and my colleague here is Wonwoo. And you are?” The dimpled man asked.

As you introduced yourself, both men let your name roll off their tongues, savoring each syllable as if committing it to memory. Wonwoo angled his body toward you, his gaze intent. “That’s quite nice to say,” he murmured, repeating your name slowly, watching closely to see how you reacted to the sound of it on his lips.

“What brings you both here?” you asked, subtly crossing your legs with a teasing smile. “Date night?”

Both men chuckled, clearly amused by how effortlessly they’d caught your attention. “Something like that,” Seungcheol replied, leaning in just slightly. “We’re just looking for a nightcap before calling it a night. Came straight from the office.”

You raised a brow, laughing softly. “It’s 10 p.m. You both work this late? And turn in this early?”

“Well,” Wonwoo countered, a strategic smile on his face, “we never said how long we’d be here… or how brief our nightcap might be.”

You hummed, sipping your wine as you eyed them over the rim of your glass. “You two really do everything together.”

“Yes,” they answered in perfect unison.

“Everything together?” you pressed, a playful edge in your voice.

“Yes,” they replied again, this time with a hint of menace that made the word linger in the air just a moment too long.

The longer you stayed in their presence, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their composed demeanor didn’t sit right. Call it survivor’s intuition, but something was off. Still—“I suppose neither of you has time for anything else tonight?” you asked a slight challenge in your tone. “A way to truly acquaint ourselves before the night ends.”

“That does sound interesting,” Wonwoo mused, pretending to consider, his gaze never leaving you.

“And what better way to end the night than with a new…friend?” Seungcheol added, his smile sharp as he leaned in.

It was almost too easy. One moment, you were at the club, indulging in a reckless amount of wine courtesy of these fine gentlemen, the night unfolding in a haze of alcohol and sultry gazes. The next, you found yourself in their penthouse, entangled in a kiss with Seungcheol as Wonwoo was tearing off your clothes, the world outside suddenly distant and irrelevant.

You could feel the warmth of the man’s breath against the back of your neck. His spectacles brushed lightly against your skin as he leaned in, the metal sending a subtle shiver down your spine as you counted the beats of his pants. He explored your body with reckless abandon, uttering your name under every tender kiss.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol was evidently impatient, his lips quickly latching onto yours in a frenzy. He wasted no time tracing the surface area of your mouth, as if time were ticking and he knew that sooner or later, it would run out. “By gods, you are something else.”

He pressed up against your body, only the thin layer of your lingerie to protect you as you began to undress him, the concaves and curves of his body scorching under your fingertips. Your moans muffled under Seungcheol’s lips as Wonwoo's moans muffled under your skin, the tautness of their body sandwiching you into a sweltering trap.

“You both have no idea how much I needed this,” you panted, hands roaming in Seungcheol’s hair as his lips latched around your tits.

Wonwoo softly scoffed, loud enough to hear but soft enough to be dismissed. “On the contrary, you don’t know how badly we needed you.”

You mewled under the sounds of his false pretenses and squealed when they brought you naked over the sofa. Seungcheol took a moment to admire your vulnerability, caressing along your sides, spreading your legs so he may position himself between them, and just behind you stood Wonwoo. Impatient for something else entirely, procured a knife from under the couch, just where he had left it.

Seconds before the spectacle man lifted it up, deciding to plunge it through your shoulder, chest, or even throat, Seungcheol stood up. “Just a moment, darling,” his eyes flickered over to the armed captain in caution, frozen with the hunter’s knife inches above you, “Me and my buddy got to do one last thing before we proceed. Wait for us patiently?”

“All right…don’t keep me waiting too long,” you purred, a slow smile curling on your lips, your heavy-lidded gaze smoldering with anticipation.

Seungcheol steered Wonwoo into a separate room, shutting the door behind them with a quiet finality. He fixed his subordinate with a piercing glare, the urge to drive him to his knees simmering just beneath the surface. “Tell me, soldier—what do you think you’re doing?”

“It’s not ‘soldier’ anymore, sir,” Wonwoo muttered, his voice tense. “I’m doing what we’re supposed to. We can’t indulge in this…” he hesitated, searching for the word, “…depravity. It only complicates the operation.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his figure casting a shadow over Wonwoo as he instinctively leaned back, nearly cowering under the weight of his leader’s stare. “So you doubt our abilities, is that it?” he demanded, his voice low and venomous. “It’s been a minute since I took on my bitchbreaker on for a ride and you of all people are deciding to be a nuisance. If you’re so certain we can’t balance pleasure and duty, perhaps you should step aside—so I, your capable and trusted leader, can finish the job without you repeatedly defying me.”

He turned to leave, his movements sharp with frustration, but before he could take a full step, Wonwoo’s hand shot out, gripping his bicep tightly. The hold was firm, almost defiant, and Seungcheol could feel the strength behind it—a mix of resolve and the fear of regret that held Wonwoo back. Their eyes met, and in Wonwoo’s gaze was a fierce determination, teetering on the edge between loyalty and a barely restrained desire.

“I’ll follow orders,” Wonwoo said, his tone unwavering. “Your orders. I won’t question you again, sir.”

Seungcheol gave a smug smile, brushing off his right-hand man’s grip before leading him out of the room.

When they returned, they found you still lounging on the couch, but now holding something you hadn’t had before—something stark white and blinding, something that didn’t belong to you and should’ve gone unnoticed.

“Boo!” you laughed, lifting the Ghostface mask to your face with a playful grin as the rest of you was still nude, offering an enragingly tantalizing image.

Wonwoo’s voice nearly boomed as he tried to keep his rage in check, suppressing another sensation that fought him to break out. “What do you think you’re doing?” His eyes flashed a sign of panic, quickly narrowing at you. Had they been caught? Exposed? You were already a risky target, and now you were making things a lot more complicated.

You pulled the mask off with a casual smile, unfazed by the shift in Wonwoo’s demeanor, which was colder than it was moments before. “Sorry for snooping; I couldn’t resist.”

Seungcheol’s calm voice cut through the tension. “Where’d you find that?”

You held the mask in your hands, inspecting it from front to back, not fearing the consequences. “Under the coffee table,” you said, turning it over, admiring the attention to detail. “It looks really real.”

Seungcheol stepped forward, his presence looming as his eyes flickered over from the mask to you, its captor, with an intensity that bordered on possessive. “It is real. We believe it belonged to one of the original Ghostfaces...As historians, we collect these kinds of things.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ooh,” you grinned, your lips curling in slight admiration.

Seungcheol studied you for a moment, his arms crossed in calculated intrigue. “You’re not scared?” His voice dropped slightly in defense. “Why?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know… I just find it more interesting than scary. And maybe kind of sexy… I don’t know.”

Wonwoo couldn’t hide his disbelief. His voice came out sharp, almost incredulous. “Sexy… you find centuries of bloodshed and thousands of lost lives sexy?”

You paused, your fingers tracing the edge of the mask. “Okay, well not that—the mask! I know it’s tied to awful, disgusting, horrific events, but…” You brought it up to your face, tilting it as you peered through the narrow slits, your voice trailing off in their signature tone of voice that the articles quote were ‘shrill and cunning.’. “There’s something about it that’s...captivating. Like, what kinds of things did they do, and why this mask? What makes it so...iconic?”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened for a split second, a flicker of something realization passing through them, but he said nothing. Instead, he watched you with a calm amusement, his lips curling into a slight, almost imperceptible smile.

“Really?” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the silence, laced with disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he processed what you had just said, a quiet judgment simmering beneath his calm exterior. “You really think that is sexy?” His words hung in the air, thick with the implication that he couldn’t fathom how anyone could glorify such an image.

Wonwoo was quiet for a moment, his thoughts clearly racing. Yeah, I’m the one doing the killing, he thought, but they were sacrifices—an entirely different kind of thing. They were meant for the greater cause, something you could never understand. He had been the one to offer the death, to carry out the act, and yet you—you—were somehow making it seem like some kind of twisted, romanticized thrill.

He glanced at Seungcheol, whose only response was a raised eyebrow. The corners of his lips curved into that unsettlingly knowing smile, the kind that signaled anything but anger.

Seungcheol retrieved the mask from your fingertips, put it towards him, and shielded his facial features. “So if I wear it like this,” He stuck out a hand to grab you, tugging you by the waist and gliding his hand over your sides, “and touch you like this…”

His palms cupped the underside of your ass, digits digging into your flesh roughly, releasing a sharp breath from you. His body, gloriously exposed, was firm and warm, so inviting you couldn’t help but throw your arms over his shoulders to press against his waist. You stared into the eyes of the mask, stomach-churning at the increase of stimuli and you almost heard yourself growl under your breath. “I don’t think I could resist you.”

Seungcheol removed the mask, holding it in one hand and tightening his grip on you with the other. “You’re a weird little thing, are you,” he asked, narrowing his eyes, voice rich and dark.

“I’ve always wanted deep throat the cock of someone wearing one,” you blatantly confessed, your bottom lip caught in your teeth.

Seungcheol quirked a brow, interest piquing before tossing the mask in Wonwoo’s direction, who caught it flawlessly, looking back at it in concerned confusion. “Wear it,” said the fellow conspirer, “Make our little guest dreams come true while I enjoy the show.”

Wonwoo didn’t argue, and against his better judgment followed his leader’s orders, securing the mask on his face as he bared his nether region, regrettably taut and aroused. As soon as Seungcheol released you, you fell to your knees, gazing up at the Ghostface mask before drawing your gaze down to Wonwoo’s cock that stood on its own, full of life.

Beneath that mask, Wonwoo held on to his uncertainty, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to the image of your lips wrapped around him. It was about all he could think about since being aware of you, other than killing you that is. Even as you beckoned him closer, with your knees on the ground of where the blood he’s shed–the bodies he’s slaughtered–he couldn’t help but think about how to dispose of you. How to get rid of your stain next. But the moment your lips reach the tip of his cock, his worries and schemes seemed to fade away, vanishing even faster as your pace quickened so eagerly.

Your hands palmed over his waist, and the lust in your eyes was insatiable, making a man—even Wonwoo—wonder how that pretty little mouth could take so much cock. He groaned, grabbing you by the crown of your head, and pushing you closer as he started to thrust, gradually adjusting to the tight, warm press of your mouth. “Oh fuck,” his voice gave out, muffled by the mask.

He winced as he felt himself hit your throat, swallowing as he heard you gag on his cock—trying to fit all of him and he broke out in a hidden smile, and if he was being honest, he hasn't held a smile like it in a long time.

Why, Wonwoo hadn’t realized how long he’s had a good fucking like this. Ever since he took on as captain, sex was a thing of the past, something not even in the back of his mind, but you. Oh, you. You awoke something that should’ve stayed dormant. Years of training and discipline are suddenly out the window. And now he’s had a taste, he was going to ruin you until you didn’t even have the energy to breathe.

His hand locked between your tendrils, shoving your head impatiently. “Little toy that knows how to play. That’s rare.”

One hand found the underside of your chin, bringing your face up to gaze upon his, and watched as the mask on his face tilted in curiosity. Vice gripping that head of yours, he used your throat, letting his length slide down inside you. “Aren’t you a little slut? Just fucking wet having my cock down your throat, are you? Don’t try to deny it. I don't have to see or feel it. I can smell it.”

You confirmed with a strugged nod, salvia dribbling down your chin as tears began to burn your eyes.

Wonwoo let out a staggered breath, hitching another in his throat with a groan as felt your face touch the base of his cock, holding you in place and hearing you breathe with immense difficulty l. He pulled himself out of you, dragging you by your head, watching you cough on the ground, strings of your salvia ruining the floor and stretching from your cheeks. “You’re such a try-hard, taking my cock when I hear you practically gasping for air.”

He bent down to level with you, the mask staring back at you menacingly, so realistically. “What? You’re not gonna beg for more?”

“I will, I will,” you assured, a blubbering mess, gasping while the tightness in your throat failed to bother you like it should’ve.

“Is that right?” Wonwoo chuckled, squeezing your cheeks in a rough grip. “You gonna beg for me to fuck your face? Huh?” He inhaled your gasps, body convulsing. His voice was gravelly and stinging with repulsion. “Cockbreath.”

You whined, pleading: “Please, I want to feel it deep, deep inside me, Mr. Ghostface. Give me your cock.”

“Then let me hear how much you want it.”

Your mouth parted, fumbling for the right words, struggling to release them from your strained throat, the sound coming out rough and raspy. “I want your cock shoved in my throat. I want to feel it from one end and out the other. I live for you cock. I’d die on your cock. Please just stick in my throat and don’t stop please.”

Wonwoo looked down at you, surprised with the spew coming out of your mouth but went with it, shoving himself swiftly back in you, the sensation of your throat welcoming him like it never left. “I better see you swallow every inch,” he warned, his voice thick with malice. “If you so much as breathe, I’ll give you more than enough reason not to,” a smile laced with dark amusement edging his tone.

Meanwhile, Seungcheol watched as he promised, laying aloof back on the sofa with cock in hand and reveling in the sheer desperation from your voice as he stroked his cock to the pace of Wonwoo’s thrusts.

As the reigning leader of the Spirituals, he was accustomed to having others do his bidding, just as his father had planned. But through his experience in leadership, he discovered he preferred being directly involved. Very involved. And it was moments like this that confirmed it.

“Good little cocksleeve, ain’t they?” Seungcheol commented, licking his lips.

“They certainly know how to make use of themselves,” Wonwoo drawled, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed your efforts, taking him with as much excitement as you initially came with.

Seungcheol started getting up, standing beside his partner in crime with a growing cock firmly in his grasp. He cast his gaze down at you, his presence domineering and intimidating, yet all the more mesmerizing. Seungcheol scoffed as soon as your eyes flickered in his direction, and his hands found themself in your hair. “I wonder how they’d take two cocks. How does that sound?”

Seungcheol helped release you from Wonwoo’s clutches and invited you into his as he met your eye level. “Can two cocks,” He produced another Ghostface mask, lifting it to his face, “fuck that pretty mouth full? There’s only one right answer.”

“Yes,” you managed to answer, your voice trembling, tears streaking down your face as you exhale, your flushed cheeks betraying the weight of your words. “Always.”

“Exactly what I was looking for.”

Kneeling between them, you held them both in either hand and traveled down both their lengths. Each Ghostface was more wicked than the other as you shoved a cock down your throat, Seungcheol’s groan following in response. Your tongue dragged along its underside, mouth stretching to adjust its size and familiarizing with your throat just as Wonwoo’s had, and the familiar sting of your tears had caused another stream of heat down your cheeks.

“You dirty little slut, so this is the kind of treatment my partner here has been getting,” Seungcheol took you by the hair, and slammed you against the base before pulling you back to only reach the head, another fit of coughing to ensue. “You better work five times as hard if you want to please me too.”

You nodded, each stroke to either of their cocks deliberate and purposeful, the masked individuals looming in front of you anticipating your next move. Taking Seungcheol back in your mouth, you sucked all around his circumstances, memorizing the veins of his shaft to then do the same with Wonwoo, batting your eyes back at him, your mouth parted wide letting both exit and enter on your own accord.

It was then either tip breached one another, both of your hands rubbing against each other at once that you heard something so delicious in their voices, so real and so pure. And before you could truly savor it, both of them pried your mouth part, either cock rubbing against either inside of your mouth, stretching your cheeks, as they unevenly thrust into your mouth.

It looked like it hurt, and either man was glad for it because, in its own sick way, it was another form of punishment, catering to them would only guarantee your ultimate demise and proving to them once and for all how necessary their roles really were.

Still, they enjoyed it—hell, they were euphoric seeing you put so much effort into such an ordeal, but not more impressed than about how it felt. Each twist of your wrist aimed to pump ego in their lengths, the dampness of your slobber stretching from your chin to their shafts creating a path of viscous filth, and the tension building in their manhoods that never seemed to fade as they attempted to bury themselves inside of your face.

It was momentous, and Wonwoo, who was initially concerned, was elated to reap more of the benefits just as much as his leader.

They shoved you off as soon as one of them was close, landing you on the sofa, flushed with a thin layer of sweat. Wonwoo, lifting the mask slightly above his face, let his lips run down your body, the hard, cold of plastic the mask chill on your body, while his teeth were nipping your torso and soft growls hummed against your skin. Startled, you yelped as he tugged your legs toward him, his cock position almost perfect at your warm entrance before he inserted himself, not wasting time by giving you a warning.

You mewled at the sensation, his rock-hard length plunging against your moist, plush walls. You instinctively gripped his arms for support, his ruts definable sharp, guttural, and primal. He loomed over you, mask still in place, but the shadow cast over his face in combination with just the barest hint of his mouth exposed showed a twisted smile of lunacy, dangerous beyond recognition.

Wonwoo was rough, hurting you in a way you’ve never been fucked before, but it made it all the more pleasure and Wonwoo knew it more than you thought. Seungcheol joined your side, squeezing himself between you and the couch as he propped his cock towards your mouth, slapping it against your cheek. “Open the fuck wide,” he said in a gnarly rasp through his mask.

As you opened, he seized you by your chin, slapping the cushion of your cheek where it already stung, before slapping the shaft of his cock on your tongue. You looked up at him, panting in excited gasps before he filled your mouth, then emptied it, and then filled your mouth again. His free hand claimed your breasts, ruthlessly squeezing them, pinching at your peaks, before ultimately slapping them, every action you could only swallow at. At almost every end, you were filled to the brim, hung in the balance of their mercy, and not once could you open your eyes without seeing stars.

“Can’t fucking stand it, what’s a fucking slut like you think you deserves our cocks for,” Wonwoo slapped the underside of your thigh, the sting of it ringing in your ears.

Seungcheol chuckled, fingers threading through your hair, pulling your head back to see the glisten in your eyes, how they beg without saying so, or how they water in delight. “One would be lucky to be so fortunate. You’ll thank us later and it won’t just be with gratitude, it’ll be a plea for more.”

Wonwoo, almost as blinded with lust as either you or Seungcheol, gave a deep heart laugh as he folded your legs back towards you, feeling him bottoming inside you and hitting a spot that shot you up in space. At this point you were immobile of making conscious decisions that didn’t have to do with sex, deducing you to only something they could use—something they could fuck until they were sick of you.

You’d muffle something around Seungcheol’s cock, whether it be their names, or calling them Ghostface, it didn’t matter. It was as if the world outside this room didn’t exist and none of them cared for it to exist. Just them and you, and the sound of raw, unbridled sex. Succumbing to their primal urge to unleash pent-up tension and energy—and how effortlessly they did so.

Wonwoo felt his stomach seize, his abdomen tightening as the involuntary contractions slowed his pace, the warmth starting to overcome him, and his low groans took power over his voice as he doubled over. His cum up and out of him in thick ribbons up your path, the twitching of your orgasm quickening in response to his warmth. Simultaneously, Seungcheol filled your mouth, expanding your cheeks, and he gently stroked your throat, “Swallow every fucking bit of it, you fucking cumbottle.”

Your eyes fluttered, pushing the cum down your pipes as he still stood in your mouth, feeling it slide down with a heavy swallow, and you opened your mouth wide to show just how thorough you are.

Seungcheol finally peeled the mask from his face, revealing flushed pink on his cheeks and damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead, making him an undeniably captivating sight—nothing short of a perfect reward.

Wonwoo followed, his presence marked by a familiar mirage, his smile shifting into a Duchenne grin—a smile that sparkled in a way most didn’t, reaching his eyes and revealing just how genuine it truly was. Underestimating the relief that consumed him. “Finally,” he gasped out.

He stood up, towering over your frame, his shadow falling over you. “Nothing short of our expectations,” he complimented before pressing a kiss to your lips, explosive and electric, foreshadowing how it’d be the last.

He started to retrieve the additional knife from under the couch, its steely presence finally making a comeback, and you managed to catch the glint of it peering at you at a lower glance. Jumping into action, your feet aimed for his gut, throwing Wonwoo off base as the knife scattered on the ground and crashing him hard into the glass coffee table behind him.

“Fuck!” Wonwoo shouted, pain pricking him at all sides of his body, blood gushing from the holes from which the glass had penetrated. “You bitch!”

“Like I was going to let that happen,” you spat, recovering from your fatigue.

Seungcheol pinned his arms behind you, an evil smile visible in your peripheral. “And you think I’d let you damage my property like that?” He hissed.

Before Seungcheol could avenge his comrade, you head-butted him from the back of your skull, momentarily blinding him as he clutched his face in agony. “Fuck! Holy fuck! My fucking face! You broke my fucking face!” He growled from the depths of his gut as you backed off of him. “I’m gonna enjoy fucking killing you.”

“God fuck, you knew! Didn’t you, you stupid bitch?” Wonwoo started inching closer to you, the knife a good distance away from him. “You knew who we were and came up here anyway. To what? Get one good fuck? Are you that stupid?”

“Of course, I didn’t fucking know! But I had a gut feeling,” you panted.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol taunted, eye swollen, cheeks and forehead red as he procured a knife from between the couch cushions. “Where that gut feeling take you? Besides getting them rearranged, that is?”

Wonwoo scoffed, finally finding the strength to get up. “Dumb slut like them didn’t get that far. Just good for a fuck.” He spat on the ground blood, gritting his teeth.

Your gaze flickered from one to the other, bare fisted, preparing for the worst. “Why don’t you test that theory then, boys?”

“Fucking gladly,” Seungcheol agreed, voice falling several octaves.

They bolted towards you in blind fury, grasping at you like straw and swinging a knife in your direction, barely nicking you. When Wonwoo ran at you from one end, Seungcheol came at you from the other, attempting to corner you. Determination oozing in their gazes, piercing through your very being, the mirage of the devil’s on both of their unsettlingly handsome faces.

“Nowhere to run now, you little bitch.” Wonwoo screeched venomously.

Seungcheol twirled the knife between his fingers, a grin stretching from ear to ear. “This is where you start crying. Or begging for mercy? It doesn’t matter like it won’t matter where or what we stab you with next.”

You slid underneath their swinging arms, the knife briefly slicing, forearm and you gasped in response, stumbling backward. Feeling cornered. You slowly backed away, searching for an escape, but by luck, you find something in your purse instead, abandoned on the ground just out of your assailants’ sight. “You fuckers aren’t gonna get away with shit by the way. You should be careful where you leave your things around here.”

They both laugh at you condescendingly, not an ounce of doubt in their eyes. “No one is believing your bluffs, darling. Just come over nice and slowly. We’ll only stab you 20 times each,” Seungcheol feignedly reassured.

Thinking you were defenseless, they charged at you at full speed—until you lifted what you’d hidden behind your cowering figure. A burst of pepper spray erupted from the canister into their eyes, and the sound of grown men screaming from the tops of their lungs, like terrified final girls, seared itself into every wrinkle of your brain.

”You stupid slut! Pepper spray? Seriously?”

”First you swell up my face, then fucking blind me? You’re in for a real one, cum guzzling little shit.”

Seizing your chance, you delivered a final kick, shoving Wonwoo in Seungcheol’s direction, sending them into an unexpected embrace. In the haze of pain, Wonwoo's eyes shot open, the piercing ache in his chest telling him everything he needed to know about what had just happened. “S-Seungcheol…what the fuck…”

As he stared into his comrade's eyes, Seungcheol’s eyes grew wide in realization, and looked down at the knife he held in his hand, now plunged into their chest. The leader followed him as he collapsed, taking the longest moment to register the events leading up to this as Wonwoo’s eyes began to drift close. Gripping his brethren’s shoulders with the anger of a million suns, Seungcheol bared his teeth, voice singing in regret. “You…I’M GOING TO CHOP AND FEED THEM TO MY PET SHARKS, YOU TRAMP.”

He turned to face you swiftly—too swiftly—because as soon as he did, his neck met the blade, slicing from one side to the other until you plunged it deeper, twisting it down his throat before pulling it out. Fury lingered in his eyes, barely alive, as he began to spit up blood, several drops landing on your face and body. Moments later, he collapsed beside his partner, his eyes dulling as the life slowly drained from his face and body.

You collapsed to your side, shakily reaching for the phone in your bag and dialing the authorities. “H-hello…I just killed two men that attempted to kill me…I think I know the address.”

Once you hung up, you summoned the courage to flip your phone to camera mode to capture the evidence, gasping for breath, ensuring yourself of the life left in you. As soon as you did, a gravelly voice cut through the silence. Its owner raised the knife that had once been lodged in his chest, charging at you with bloodshot, deranged eyes. “DIE, FREAK, DIE!”

You managed a quick, well-aimed strike where the sun doesn’t shine, slowing him down just enough. As he stumbled, you seized the knife you’d stolen from Seungcheol’s throat and plunged it into his head, again, and again, and again, screaming at the top of your lungs until he finally collapsed to the floor.

With trembling hands, you struggled to hold the phone steady to capture the scene. Blood streaked down your forearms, and your sniffles provided the only soundtrack to the aftermath.

You’d done it—you’d finally done it. It only took a hundred tries and countless hours of risk, but it happened. You had become the one–if not the only–true survivor of the town’s Ghostface murders. If this didn’t launch your career, you weren’t sure what would.

You just had hoped they wouldn’t come with backup.

1K notes · View notes

missnightshade · 1 month ago

Text

❝ MY LOVE? ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested? Yes!

Summary: Jokes about the confusing status of your friendship with Agatha unveils a newfound dynamic between the two of you.

Warnings: Fluff with a very subtle mention of smutty times (wasn't in the mood for he whole thing, sorry :c). English not being my first language.

Word count: 1.5K.

The coven gathered around Agatha’s living room. The house, after many months, was finally back together and redecorated as she enjoyed. No more of Agnes in the bits and pieces, but rather a collection of small details that exuded everything that Agatha Harkness was; a witch surviving history itself, exuberant, full of dark colors and natural particularities that danced upon shelves with pots of herbs and dried flowers, firelights with a warm yellow glow making the walls breathe as if life was given to them.

Lilia was sat at the armchair side while Billy, Jen and Alice, the later being the only one at the floor, stood across from you and Agatha, the table full of snacks and whine glasses separating you. The night of games and chattering died down slowly as a soft hum of laughs and shared conversations made space to the swift of the midnight into the dawn. Agatha was there, almost thrown against the back of the sofa as her legs were over your tights. Your hand pressed pointedly against the soft skin lf her ankles as your fingertipes traveled mindlessly up her calf.

Looking back at Agatha, recounting something you’ve heard before on your own private covenless parties when the rest was unavailable, the gleam in her eyes was almost screaming at you. Seeing her there, smiling to those same people she swore to get rid of — including yourself — made you realize again that Agatha Harkness had found her people. She was carefree. Unapologetically truthful and open with the collection of woman (and a boy) like she’d never been before. Most of them, meeting her for the first time, had a figure of her in their minds that made them suspicious while walking the road and maybe even a bit afterward. They had grown to love her just as much as she’d grown to love them in her crocked way. But not you. As unfair as it was to your own well-being, you’d trusted the goodness inside of Agatha from the first encounter, hours before entering the road. Something in her eyes glared at you then... a desperation, a seek of help that was beyond her powers. You hoped for her. Yearned to be able to see that blissful shimmering dot in her own existence come to life under the right circumstances. Back then, the recently built Coven called you empathetic, soft, and innocent. And perhaps you were full of empathy but, even then, before getting to share the moments that came to build a friendship full of beautiful moments, you knew that your heart was on a path of loving Agatha more than any of those Witches could ever love her. But as silently as the feeling came, silently you stood, enjoying what this new life gave you. What you asked for the road, itself: not being alone anymore

Teen snickered at Jen’s comment of the stain of wine on Lilia’s shirt, and as your tipsy self chocked on your own glass trying not to laugh to hard, Agatha’s body searched for yours with a playfully pat on the back.

“Careful darling. Don’t want you dying on me.”

The comment made you laugh even harder, eyes forming small droplets of tears. Her fingers gently cared for them, whipping them away. The moment stood with lightness before William’s voice erupted in the room in tangled words.

“For fuck’s sake…you too really look like a married couple.”

It was a recurrent joke inside the Coven. Even with your age gap with teen being the smallest among you all, it was not occasionally that you and Agatha would play the part of parenting him into being a young man with principals, but also a great witch. While doing so, you would partner with each other like you belonged together for that task, but a lot of others too.

You had convinced yourself that Agatha was the thing the road gave you. Even with all the other girls, she had become the most beautiful constant of your life. Where she failed, you made her succeed. Where you fell, she would be there to catch.

“Oh please. You act like you don’t know we belong together. Right, dear? ” she flattered while playfully messing around, smiling while running her fingers through your hair. If felt nice, and you grinned, gently laying your head against her hands.

Agatha looked back at you, asking for a backup as she always did. You laughed lowly.

“They don’t get it, my love.”

The whole room lost its colors. Agatha’s eyes searched for yours as if you had just pronounced a wedding vow. There was something in her eyes that no one could see. But you did. Happiness but, also, shock. You would always call each other dear, darling. But not ever the word love was used. Let alone with how your voice claimed her in the most precious way. The older witch felt her insides burning, giddiness making her shoulders bounce as her whole face flushed. Agatha could listen to her heartbeat and feel it in her bones as she tried to control her breathing. The room was not silenced as the environment that resolved around the two of you was.

Agatha, blushing and a complete mess, broke the stare contest when your smile became too much for her. And by that time, Alice was already trying to guide a drunk Lilia to the front door and into her car, while Teen promised to drive Jen back home.

“See you on Monday for potions practice!” was all you both heard from Billy as the door closed, Agatha finally getting up from the couch.

She tried to engulf herself with the task of tidying up the space, but you knew she was trying to run from being confronted by you. So, instead, with a swift motion of your hand, the magic you possessed swayed around the room, fixing everything for her. Agatha eyed you, a soft, thankful, yet guilty smile at her lips.

“You know. You also have magic. Could’ve done the same.” You raised from your place on the couch, standing face ti face to her. Agatha knew what was coming when your usual bratty smile adorned your lips. “But you rather run from me, don’t you, my love?”

She breathed out shakily, blue eyes fixed on your smaller form as if there was something painful keeping her just millimeters away from breaking the fragile wall that separated friendship and relationship. Agatha felt she could bear another heartbreak if it was with you. And you felt that Agatha could never look at you the way she was looking right now. Yet, you saw it. The longing. The fire burning inside. The small tilt to her head as she heard those words again.

“Don’t. Don’t call me that.” She said fiercely like never before. Never to you. But all her attempts of pushing you away resulted in warm hands around her face.

“Why?” Your voice traced, hazel eyes pure and lovingly, like an open door. “What if you are, indeed, my love?”

“Pretty girl…” she called ten times softer now. There was a frown between her eyebrows that only ever appeared when there was an intrinsic self-doubt. Agatha felt you there. Felt the need. The bursting of her feeling, growing tired of being kept at bay. “This…you are too precious to love me.”

“That wasn’t my question, Agatha.” You stood, hand griping the hairs on her nape, pulling her to you. Harkness eyes darkened, and she knew, there and then, that whatever distance she dreamed to keep with you, it never really existed.

She wanted to scream and cry. Love, for her, was complicated. And painful. And you weren’t any of those things. She couldn’t break you. Yet, as you held her that close, bodies flushed, the fears and restraining flew off her own road. Funny thing how the heart is such and uncontrollable little bitch, she thought while hungrily catching you into her arms as her mouth pressed to yours.

Agatha was fervent in claiming your soul as hers. It was as if her kiss, sweet and bitter with the taste wine, outlined every nuance of your existence. Her hands touched the fragile but infinitely provocative body that you hid from her sight under a vintage dress. With her palms, the witch recognized the curves that even without knowing, she had dreamed of for months. The kiss wavered between one touch or another that Agatha spread across your thighs. Your dress was lifted along with her fingers in a rhythmic rhythm that seemed more like torture than the way her lips skillfully immersed themselves in yours.

Agatha expected you to push her away, but when it was your body that pushed her onto the same couch, she knew it was over. All her carefully constructed control was over. Your gaze looked down at her with a display of longing and desire that didn’t fit the same innocence of her precious girl. Always so sweet, so untouchable. There, Agatha saw you as a woman. A beautiful woman who claimed her as she would claim you.

Maybe she could break you. As long as you intended to break her too.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha coven of chaos

405 notes · View notes

eggtargaryenii · 3 months ago

Text

EAST OF THE SUN | PART I

You were a disgrace to House Targaryen, the product of an impulsive wedding between a lost prince and some Essosi whore. You had little social capital within the Red Keep and few prospects for marriage, but that was alright. You were perfectly happy to stay out of the game of thrones, wed some politically relevant lord of Alicent Hightower’s choosing, and die in peaceful obscurity. Unfortunately for you, Prince Aemond had other designs for your future.

5.8k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys (though sadly, jace is not in this chapter). romance, childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. warnings for targaryen incest (between cousins), xenophobia/racism (depending on how you interpret the reader's racial coding), teenagers discussing sex, and a reference to underage sex in canon. the reader is half-valyrian and half-essosi, ethnically undefined. features are not described but she is considered conventionally attractive. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

I. THE HERMIT, REVERSED

You were a child when you learned that your mother was a whore.

Your father—a cousin to King Viserys—found your mother in one of the famed pillowhouses of Lys and brought her home as a souvenir. She was already heavy with you when they landed in Blackwater Bay, singing to you as your father cradled her belly every night. Though they had already been wedded in the Red Temple of Volantis, their union blessed by the light of R’hllor, it was your father’s wish that their love was also witnessed by the gods of Westeros. They were wedded once more in the Great Sept of Baelor, in a ceremony that was an affront to your grandsire, Prince Velarion. So wroth was he that everyone anticipated a terrible fate for your little family: the marriage annulled, your father forced into penance, and your mother killed.

But to the displeasure of Prince Velarion, one of the dragons chose you for a bond. (You were still in the womb when Wildfyre started clicking and squawking at you, and snarling at any man who came near your mother; he did not stop until you claimed him at ten-and-two, soaring upon his back through the skies of Myr.) The dragon keepers insisted that this was a sign that you were chosen by the gods of Old Valyria, so the lives of you and your mother were spared.

Still—your mother was eventually exiled, and your lord father wished to see her back to Lys. You had cried bitterly and begged to go with them, but your father said that the journey through the Stepstones would be too dangerous. He entrusted you to Viserys until his return, and then embarked on a journey that should not have taken more than one hundred days.

Ten years later, you still waited for him.

It was hard to recall when it was concluded that your father was unlikely to return; you only remembered that you did not accept it. The mornings and evenings of your early childhood were spent watching all the ships that passed through Blackwater Bay, waiting for red-and-black sails and a man you could now hardly remember. You only stopped once you flew through the skies of the Free Cities on dragonback, and not a single lost prince waved to you from among the crowds.

Your father’s disappearance left your position in jeopardy. The King could have easily taken control of his wealth and disinherited you if he so wished—as your grandsire was inclined—but His Grace instead decided that you should stay in the Red Keep and be treated like any other trueborn Targaryen. You were told as a child that this was an act of magnanimity, a gesture born out of love for his lost cousin, but you later came to realise that it was likely a self-serving move conjured up by Otto Hightower. Marriages were the easiest way to form political alliances; having an extra Targaryen lady to marry off was good leverage.

But despite your utility, you were still a stain within the Red Keep—a disgrace for the histories of the Targaryen dynasty. Nearly as great of one as Princess Saera herself, though perhaps still not quite as embarrassing as the three bastards sired by Lord Strong unto Princess Rhaenyra. Nevertheless, you were still a pariah. After all, children inherit the sins of their parents in the eyes of the Seven, meaning that your mother’s sin was also yours.

And so—when you were a child, you learned that if your mother was a foreign whore, then so too were you.

II. JUSTICE, REVERSED

Aemond was a child when he learned that people mistook you for a whore.

He learned this by listening to his queen mother, eavesdropping on a hushed conversation between her and his father. They were at a tourney, the crowd abuzz with chatter, which was perhaps why they were speaking so openly. The Queen stared at you as you sat next to Helaena, frowning at the closeness between the two of you. Being close in age, it was natural that the two of you spoke to each other frequently. You were a little older than all three of Alicent’s children and, as was common of a girl your age, you had prepared a favour: a ring of forget-me-nots interwoven with a ribbon you often wore. It was simple, but pretty, and it gave Aemond a feeling of deep distaste for some reason he couldn't identify.

His mother seemed to find it distasteful too. “Hard to believe she prepared a favour,” she said. She used the tone with which she often spoke of Princess Rhaenyra, the one that suggested derision. Aemond listened carefully, as he tended to whenever you came up in the conversation.

“And why would that be?” his lord father asked. He sounded defensive, also similar to the way he always did when his firstborn daughter came up. And as with Rhaenyra, Alicent seemed not to care for his sentimentality toward you.

“Well, what man would think to ask for it,” she asked, not delicately, “given her parentage?”

“Whatever you may think of her mother,” the King replied, “the girl is still a trueborn Targaryen. It is natural that she may catch the attention of some lordling or knight.”

“Surely not one with any faith, nor any serious ambitions in the court,” Alicent remarked. “Because she is—”

She paused then, hesitating. When Aemond snuck a glance at his father, he saw a stiff smile on his face.

“She is?” he questioned.

“...she resembles her mother more and more with each passing day,” Alicent remarked. “And one would think that she is similar. Foreign and improper in nature. A daughter of sin.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed. His mother spoke often of sin, of those who should beg for the grace of the Seven lest they be condemned to hell. She often reminded Aegon not to commit any such transgressions lest he disgrace the family, which he seemed to often do anyway. Aemond did not think you were particularly like his older brother, who stank constantly of wine and snuck off to Flea Bottom on every possible occasion. On the contrary, you were mostly well-behaved—except when you were quarrelling with Aegon—hardly ever indulged in any vices, and you only ever snuck out of your room to make miserable, wistful faces at the waters of Blackwater Bay.

And unlike Aegon, you were also kind.

Aemond did not know why exactly you had always been so nice to him; he just knew that you were unwaveringly so. Perhaps you felt a kind of kinship with him because he was frequently as miserable as you. For as long as the two of you had known each other, you had never once teased Aemond, and you in fact defended him. Just a few moons ago, you’d shouted at Aegon after the incident with the pig in the dragonpit, comforted Aemond after the fact, and encouraged him to claim Vhagar thereafter. To show up your ass of a brother, you’d suggested. And when Lucerys slashed his face open in the aftermath, you kept Aemond company for the entire duration of the recovery—watching them remove his ruined eye despite your disgust, keeping him company at his bedside when a fever took him, glowering at the Strong bastards whenever they came near him. Only his mother cared for him more deeply.

Aemond did not know what kind of sin such a kind person could have committed—what his queen mother should be referring to. So he turned to his brother and asked, “What does Mother mean by that?”

“Mean by what?” Aegon asked, eyes on the knights before the crowd. Clearly distracted.

“She called our cousin a daughter of sin. What does she mean?”

“Oh.” His brother glanced briefly at you, eyes considering. They travelled down your silhouette in a way that Aemond misliked for some reason he couldn't identify. “She means our cousin is a whore.”

“A whore?” Aemond asked, questioning. He’d heard the word many times, of course—sometimes uttered by his brother, and once lobbed at Princess Rhaenyra—and understood it as an insult. But no one had ever explained its specific meaning to him.

Aegon gave him an incredulous look. “You don't know what a whore is?” At Aemond's blank expression, Aegon explained, “It means she spreads her legs for money and is destined to go to hell. You know, like the women on the Street of Silk.” He paused, sizing up Aemond. “I should take you there someday, give you a proper education—then you’ll know exactly what mother means when she says ‘daughter of sin’.”

“I know what sex is,” Aemond replied defensively, though he didn't entirely know the details. “I'm not stupid.” He frowned then. “She doesn't work on the Street of Silk, though.”

“No, but her mother worked in a Lysene pillow house—much the same as the Street of Silk, though I hear the establishments of Lys are nicer, and filled with the most beautiful slaves from all over Essos.” Aegon looked at you again in a way that Aemond did not like. “I wonder if she inherited any of her mother’s talents. Maybe she’ll let me fuck her someday and I'll find out.”

Aemond felt a sense of disgust at the thought, even without fully knowing what his brother was imagining. All he knew was that he hated the thought of his brother putting his hands on you. “She wouldn't.”

“She would.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“Would not! Who’d want to lay with you?”

Aegon scoffed. “Every woman from the Wall to Yi Ti, of course. Who wouldn't want to fuck a Targaryen prince?” He elbowed Aemond. “That includes you too, you know. Maybe if you pay her, she’ll let you have a turn as well. Then I wouldn't even need to take you to the Street of Silk to become a man.”

The feeling of disgust intensified. Not knowing what to do with it, Aemond kicked Aegon in the shin, making the young man yelp.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For being an ass.”

“An ass? I'm giving you advice, man to man! Guiding you toward adulthood and a glorious night with our Lysene beauty of a cousin!”

“I don't want a glorious night with her.”

“Fine, then—I alone will enjoy her.”

Aemond kicked him again, and Aegon cursed. “Little shit!” he hissed, which—as Aemond had planned—earned him a violent shush and a glare from their mother. His brother gave him a dirty look for the manipulation.

“I don't know why you're getting all sensitive about this,” Aegon said. He squinted at Aemond then, discerning. “Say—is this jealousy? Insecurity? Are you worried that you aren’t man enough to bed her?”

Aemond glowered at him, which made Aegon laugh and clap his back.

“No need to worry if she rejects you, little brother. I know a number of skilled women on the Street of Silk, any one of them as good in bed as our cousin should be. After all, one whore’s as good as another.”

Aegon scowled. “Stop calling her that. She’s a lady of House Targaryen, not a whore.”

“Who says a lady can't be a whore? Just think of our Great-aunt Saera! I guess you wouldn’t know, but she ended up in a pleasure house, first in Flea Bottom, and now somewhere in Lys. And look at our half-sister—mother to three bastards. I'm sure our dear cousin will follow in their footsteps. It's in her blood.”

“She wouldn't do that,” Aemond replied sharply. “She's nothing like those two.”

How could you be? Princess Saera had been a vile person and Rhaenyra was a self-serving liar. Both Aegon and his mother had to be wrong about you—Aemond was sure of it. His mother treated you with such judgement, but he was certain you were undeserving of it.

He was sure of it too when his brother finally took him to the Street of Silk years later, and he bedded a woman for the first time. Sylvi was her name. She was indeed very skilled, and she was kind as well—stroking his hair afterwards and praising him for doing such a good job. It reminded him somewhat of his mother’s touch upon his head after Lucerys took out his eye, and the way you held his hand as his fever set in. But that was the end of any similarity between you and Sylvi; and in that respect, you were much more like his mother than this strange woman anyway. Aemond knew then that you were neither a whore nor a sinner. He couldn’t imagine you disgracing yourself like the girls who sold themselves at the brothel, let alone selling yourself to someone like his brother.

But his mother had been right about one thing: no one asked for your favour that day during the tourney. You’d sighed at the ring of flowers, looking a little forlorn, and tossed it later onto the floor of the godswood—an offering for the old gods, you'd said to the weirwood, because the new ones were shit. Aemond watched you from behind an ancient oak, waiting for you to leave. Once he was certain you were gone, he snatched your favour from the ground. He studied it carefully, eyes tracing the ribbon woven deftly between the flowers. He remembered that you wore it when you stayed by his bedside.

He untangled it from the ring of forget-me-nots, and he decided to take it back to his room.

III. THE MAGICIAN

Alicent Hightower was eager to marry you off.

The Small Council had spent the past several weeks discussing the prospects of your marriage. Without any parents to oversee your betrothal, the decision of your match laid entirely in the hands of King Viserys—which was to say, in the hands of Otto Hightower and his daughter. Alicent had very little love for you—no pious woman in her right mind would love a daughter of sin—but you were glad for her influence in some ways. Rhaenyra, before she left King’s Landing, relayed to you that Otto had brought up your future betrothal when you were as young as ten, but Alicent cautioned him against premature decisions. Let us not waste the opportunity given to us by her marriage, she always chided, but Rhaenyra had the sense that it had less to do with politics and more to do with wanting to spare you from the fate of a child bride.

But now you were a woman grown, and you were quickly becoming a nuisance for the Queen. She had been willing to tolerate your presence near her children when you were all young and she was charged with raising you, but she had recently begun imagining that you had corruptive influence over her sons. Aegon regularly talked of how much he'd love to bed you, which made her furious with him; and Aemond always insisted on having your company, which made her furious with you. Ever since your first blood, the Red Keep had regularly been plagued by rumours of your indiscretions with whichever knight or lord with whom you were most seen. Most recently, the most popular whisper was that Prince Aemond was your lover and you were secretly carrying his child. Why else would such an adroit and honourable young man regularly associate with the daughter of a whore?

Alicent had been apoplectic when she heard the rumours. They were, you supposed, believable. Her second son had always been strangely attached to you, nearly to the exclusion of all others. He didn't even treat his own sister with such affection—and he certainly held no such love for his brother—so a carnal relationship was a somewhat natural conclusion for an outsider. You, however, withered at the thought. Aemond may now be as comely as the Maiden herself, but you still saw him as the awkward little boy whom you grew up alongside and whom you constantly defended from his bullies.

Of course, his mother had no way of knowing any of this; she could only see the signs of a sordid affair between the two of you. That Alicent Hightower had raised you out of the goodness of her heart and you chose to return this favour by corrupting her son and engaging in the great sin of fornication was a huge upset. Not only did she chew you out in the throne room in front of King Viserys, utterly humiliating you—she also designed to send you to the Silent Sisters.

You could have easily ingratiated yourself to her with the correct penance. You could have distanced yourself from Aemond, as well as every other man in the Red Keep. You could have dedicated yourself to studying the Seven, immersing yourself in their grace. And most of all, you could have fervently denounced your mother and fervently renounced all sin. You could have made it clear that you were not a sinner, and especially not a harlot.

But you would lose respect for yourself if you did any of those things. You loved your mother too much to disavow her; you refused to practise a faith that would condemn her to hell simply for her profession; and most importantly, you did not want to distance yourself from Aemond. You had only three friends in this world, and that was only if you were allowed to include your dragon in the count. Your cousin Jacaerys got along well with you, but he'd long since left the capital, making Aemond your only companion in King’s Landing who was capable of human speech. (Wildfyre, though loyal, was not exactly a good conversationalist.)

All this to say, you simply did not want to let Aemond go.

In the end, you placated Alicent by making the somewhat extreme decision to invite her most trusted septa to inspect your maidenhead. When it was revealed that you were not, in fact, fucking Aemond, Alicent had no choice but to recant her allegations. Mollified, the Queen afterward extended an olive branch by meeting with you at least once a week. Repairing our relationship, she called it. By this she meant that she would spend an hour proselytising to you in an attempt to save your heathen Lysene soul, and then another hour discussing your marriage prospects. Better to be rid of you before her second son could actually be seduced by your sinful nature.

Right now you were both sitting in the garden, enjoying a pot of chrysanthemum tea in the sun. Alicent had just wrapped up an impromptu sermon about the Seven; now she was speaking to you about marriage. She kept talking about a Lord Stokeworth and a Lordling from House Tully. The former was nearly thirty years your senior and the younger was almost ten years your junior, but they were both willing to overlook the fact that people knew you as the daughter of a Lysene whore. It was more important to them that you were the blood of the dragon.

“Rivermen are especially difficult to make alliances with,” Alicent told you, “but they are bound by oaths and loyal to their kin. And I'm sure the lordling would treat you well. A marriage with a Tully would do well for all of us.”

“Rivermen are bound by oaths,” you said, “but they have already sworn loyalty toward us. They have never once expressed unrest during King Viserys’ reign, have they?”

Alicent stopped. She regarded you carefully, her fingers twitching—nails scraping against one another. She clearly wanted to use you to assure the loyalty of the Riverlands to the Hightowers, but you were unwilling to openly commit yourself to her cause. For the past several years, you'd been careful to wear neither black nor green, and this was perhaps both her greatest reason for not loving you and for not banishing you.

“That is true,” she said, “but Lord Tully has been sick a long while now, and his hold on his bannermen has loosened. Their allegiances are unclear. It would do well for the Crown to have more influence in the Riverlands, in case of any trouble during our succession.”

“I am still confused, my Queen. I do not think the Riverlands have ever been inclined to defy either their liege or the Iron Throne. They have all bent the knee to Princess Rhaenyra.” With this, you paralyzed the Queen: the only reason they would have to protest the Iron Throne was if it were ever usurped. She had just implied treason, and you would not let it go unnoticed.

You supposed it was a bold thing to point this out, but you really did not want to marry a ten year old. Ideally you'd wed a handsome lord with reasonable political standing, as far away from the Red Keep and the new gods as possible. The Riverlands were too close, and the Faith of the Seven was too strong there. On the other hand, Dorne, Winterfell, and the Iron Islands were incredibly far, and the peoples of the latter two followed entirely different faiths. Most importantly, the men of their respective noble families were quite handsome. You would happily live up to your reputation and debase yourself for Cregan Stark if the opportunity ever arose.

“If oaths were the problem,” you said delicately. “I'm sure the North could use attention. The Ironborn have always wanted for independence, and we have relied greatly on the Starks to suppress them. Or perhaps we could consider the problem of Dorne.”

“Dorne,” she repeated, her stare hard.

“King Viserys has always wanted to bring them into the kingdom, has he not?” She breathed deeply, and you added, “These are not suggestions, of course. Merely questions. I am eager to learn the wisdom of the only woman to sit on the Small Council.”

Let it not be said that you did not know how to play to people’s emotions. Alicent’s shoulders relaxed, and she took a sip of her tea. “These are good questions,” she admitted. “The problem of Dorne is too complex to manage with a simple marriage to House Targaryen, but the Greyjoy suggestion is intriguing. I might be inclined to caution the King against it, if he were to propose it. The Ironborn are a proud people. I do not think a marriage to a Targaryen lady would be enough to placate them, and a marriage to you specifically may present… a danger to the North.”

“You would worry about giving them a dragon.”

“Yes. But Winterfell…”

The Queen paused. You tried not to smile.

“Winterfell always honours their oaths,” you said, “but given what the realm asks of them, it never hurts to reward them for their loyalty. Who knows what may happen in the future?” Who knows what may happen if Prince Aegon were to ascend the Throne? “If a struggle were ever to happen at the Wall, I am sure Lord Stark and his bannermen would remember which queen sent him a Targaryen wife and a dragon in support of their struggle.”

Alicent nodded. She looked at you as if seeing you in a new light—a better one.

“I will speak to the Hand about this matter,” she determined. “I shall get his thoughts before the tourney in a fortnight, and see which families we should introduce you to then.”

“I shall prepare myself for it.”

“Good.” She smiled at you. “See to it that you are dressed well for the occasion. I feel that green would be a lovely colour on you—don’t you?”

IV. DEATH, REVERSED

“Hello, father of my bastard child!”

Your voice rang through the dragonpit, a cheerful echo in its near pitch-black depths. By the light of the torches, Aemond could barely make out your silhouette, but he could hear the lightness of your footsteps nevertheless.

For someone who had been the subject of vile accusations for the past month, you seemed awfully happy. You weren't always so thick-skinned, Aemond mused: when you were younger, he often caught you brooding in the dragonpit, sniffling at the way women talked about you and the way men leered at you. Any other child—himself included—would have been terrified to stay here, alone in darkness and brimstone, but your only friend for a long time was your dragon, so naturally his home was where you went when you were miserable. And you were very often miserable.

But you were now well-adjusted in your adulthood, apparently impervious to most insults and whispers about you. (What are they going to do? you often said dryly. Call me a tart? A temptress? That I belong in Flea Bottom? They’ve been saying that for years!) You had just taken the past month of scandal in stride, and now you seemed irreverent of it. It made Aemond tense: although he did not terribly mind that people mistook you for his lover, he still had appearances to manage. And he disliked it when people spoke ill of you. Ever since he had built a reputation as a respected prince, he made it clear that no one was to speak poorly of you before him. The only exception was his idiot brother, with whom he was meant to maintain the appearance of unity. The other day, he caught him monologuing about the ways in which he imagined Aemond was debasing you (“I hardly knew my brother had it in him! It surely had to be my cousin’s work—seducing the fierce Aemond One-Eye!”), and Aemond could scarcely hold himself back from maiming him. Still, his sword stayed within its sheath, his knuckles white and tense around its hilt.

He could not solve the issue of his brother with intimidation. Aemond could only caution you against fueling him: “If you keep talking like that, the whole of the Red Keep will start whispering about you again.”

You laughed. “Who’s going to overhear us? Will Vhagar be gossiping with Dreamfyre about our scandalous relationship?” You craned your neck, looking behind him. “Where is your old lady, anyhow? Can I give her a treat today?”

“Vhagar awaits us outside. You are always welcome to feed her, but the dragon keepers said there is a scarcity of lamb at the moment.”

“Ah, well. Let’s go find Wildfyre, then—I called for him earlier, but he didn't come. I bet he’s napping somewhere.” The two of you began walking, cutting a path through ash and crumbling bone. Aemond guided you around what looked like the fresh remains of cattle, and you thanked him, wrinkling your nose at the familiar stench of charcoal and rotting flesh.

“What you said about the lamb,” you started, “concerns me. Are the smallfolk short of livestock?”

“I have heard from the Hand that there is a sickness among the animals of the Reach, so the yield has been worse this year than most others.”

“How sad! I hope they’ll be alright.”

“The dragons are well-fed—the Hand has assured it.”

You gave Aemond a curious look. “I was speaking of the smallfolk, not the dragons.”

Aemond paused. “Of course,” he said, “the Hand will also ensure their well-being. I did not even think to question that.”

Truthfully, Aemond had not thought of the smallfolk at all, but he should have. Whenever he or Aegon spoke of the issues of the Realm, they were always your first concern—the farmers and the craftsmen and even the whores of Flea Bottom. Aegon said it was evidence of your commoner blood, but Aemond thought it was discerning of you. Were you born his eldest sister and not his eldest cousin, it would be evidence of your good judgement as a future ruler.

Though of course, if you had been his eldest sister, then you would have been wedded to Aegon—a thought that Aemond found exceptionally distasteful. In fact, the thought of any man touching you made his knuckles tighten around his sword, yet it was a reality that his mother had told him to make peace with many times.

Aemond, she told him the other day, looking at his tightly controlled expression, I know you have a great… fondness of your cousin. But the two of you are no longer children. It is improper for you to spend so much time around her. You would not want to compromise any future prospects for yourself, nor disgrace yourself in the eyes of the Seven. And god forbid you ruin her prospects. Your grandfather and I have been working hard to secure a good match for her—a difficult feat, given her parentage.

Unfortunately for Alicent, Aemond felt that the Seven could fuck themselves. And his prospects had always been lacking as the second son, but he would eventually overcome the circumstance of his birth. Aemond considered himself a loyal son, but he would not succumb to whatever mediocre designs his mother had for his future.

He would make sure that you would not, either.

“You seem happy,” he observed. “I take it your afternoon with Alicent went well?”

“Very well. I avoided a marriage to that Tully boy, and I think I may have even charmed your mother.” You flashed him a smile—one he'd been seeing since childhood, but of which he never tired. “She is now considering potential matches in the North for me. I'll likely be meeting potential suitors in the upcoming banquet—I do hope they’ll be handsome. And wealthy.”

Aemond did not bother trying to smile. “The North is very far.” He slipped into Valyrian: “You belong in the South, near skies filled with dragons and the waters of the old Freehold. You are a Targaryen, are you not?”

“I may be a Targaryen, but I am unwanted here,” you dismissed. Even after all these years, you spoke Valyrian with a Lysene accent, and—as often happened in private speech—you reverted to a vocabulary that was closer to the Low Valyrian of your mother rather than the High Valyrian taught by the maesters. Still, you were the only person in the whole of the capital more fluent in the language than Aemond; he only spoke as well as he did because he’d grown up practising with you. “The further I get away from the Red Keep, the less hated I will be.”

“But you will be alone.”

“I will have Wildfyre, my lord husband, and an entire castle of people to make friends with.”

“Or enemies of.”

“If I can charm Alicent Hightower, I do believe I can also charm anyone else in the Realm.” You grinned at him—though Aemond did not miss the careful look you gave him. “But if you're worried about being lonely, I can always fly back on Wildfyre and visit you.”

“You need not be concerned. I have many allies within the Red Keep.”

You stopped then, openly studying him. “It is—difficult,” you replied in the Common Tongue, “for me not to worry about you.”

His brow arched. Aemond could not help but stare, puzzled: you watched him enough on the training grounds to know that not only could he easily kill most men, but also that most men feared him for it.

“There are few people in this world who would worry about me,” he said neatly, and your look grew embarrassed.

“Yes, I know it’s silly of me. Why would I worry about the famed Aemond One-Eye, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, Rider of Vhagar, and winner of countless tourneys?”

“Two. I've won two tourneys.”

“Well, that’s more tourneys than most will win in their lifetime. And I’m sure you'll win the one in the fortnight as well.”

Aemond did not see the point in denying it. “Perhaps. What of it?”

You breathed deeply, and Aemond could see on your face how much you were trying to be diplomatic. “What I mean to say is—you are a respected warrior with many allies. But an ally is not the same thing as a friend, and a sword cannot offer its wielder any reprieve. Sometimes I fear whom you will rely on if I leave.”

“You think I have no friends,” he said plainly, and you gave him a sheepish look. He did not smile.

“I’m just worried you don't have anyone you can actually trust here,” you explained.

Aemond would spurn the words coming from anyone else. He might even be inclined to intimidate them, simply to remind them of his position. A prince should not be so patronised.

But looking at you, with your worried eyes and furrowed brow, he thought of the two weeks you spent by his bedside as healed, and all those times you checked on him after chasing away Aegon, and how you took him dragon riding until he was as comfortable at it as you. You likely still saw the weak child he once was—a habit he could not fault you for, but which aggrieved him nevertheless.

He did not let his irritation show on his face.

“You need not worry, cousin. I do not need trust from anyone—only respect.” And respect was something he had in spades.

You gave him a dubious look, but relented. “Alright. Just know that you can always write to me, no matter how far away I am.”

Aemond hummed. He'd nearly forgotten your initial concern: the looming distance from him, the gap and loneliness that your marriage would supposedly create.

His mouth curled.

“I appreciate it, but I have the sense that you’ll end up closer to home than you think.”

“Oh? What do you mean?” Your brow knotted. “Has your mother said something to you?”

“Nothing concrete,” he replied smoothly. “But nevermind—let us fetch Wildfyre. We should fly out before the day grows any older.”

The thought of flying distracted you from all others. “Yes, it would be troublesome if we stayed out too long.”

“Where would you like to go?”

You grinned. “I'll race you to Spicetown? We can go to the market and be back by midnight.”

“Midnight?” Aemond sounded—was—amused. What a free-spirited thing you were, to be careless enough to return to the Red Keep with him after curfew. “This is why those rumours started in the first place, you know.”

“It was worth the trouble, don’t you think? Or are you going to deny me now?”

He could not. Aemond was a disciplined man—his goals could not allow for much error in his life—but he also found it impossible not to humour any request from you. He did not have many joys in his childhood, and he had never outgrown his habit of wishing for the joy you brought with your happiness. It was hard for him not to indulge you.

In fact, this wish you had for your future—to marry some trifling lord beneath you and move far away from King’s Landing, the place in which you belonged—would be the first thing he would ever deny you.

END PART I

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this, please do reblog and let me know what you think - I would mega appreciate it <3

#aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #egg.fics #it is very quiet on ao3 so im testing on waters on tumblr dot com now...

530 notes · View notes

asvtrials · 7 days ago

Note

I know you said you wanted ideas and I would love to enable the emperor brainrot. I’ve been wondering how Geta would react to women fighting in the games. I know the timing doesn’t quite work out (his father banned them from participating) but they used to, even high class women participated. The movies aren’t exactly right with the real history anyway. Just a thought I have. For someone so… bloodthirsty, I think it would be interesting…

Thank you for the suggestion, I LOVE THIS IDEA OMG! I can see him being so entranced by such a strong woman. I hope you like this <3

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

Emperor Geta x gladiator!fem!reader, minors dni! masterlist

summary: The moment the older Emperor laid eyes upon you, in the middle of the Arena, he was lost. You were encircled by corpses, every bit of your skin and clothing was coated by the red liquid of your enemies yet you looked divine, so divine that Geta wanted you for himself. warnings/tags: Gladiator reader, sub!Geta x dom!reader, ooc, power play, Geta wants to be topped and doesn't even know it lmao, p in v, choking, description of gore, death and blood

tags: @1950schick @longlivemyblues @reformedkingsmanagent @doodle-with-rhy @whimsicalittletrinkets @edsbug @jakesullyswhore @only4thefics @lillissleepmedicine @badbun5656 @cokepowder55 @idolofthewestcoast @www-interludeshadow-com @ellie-luvsfics @cosmorant @believeinthefireflies95 w/c: 3.7k English is not my first language and I'm not used to writing in present tense. Sorry for any mistakes I make.

── ୨ৎ

The moment he laid eyes on you, Geta knew he was done for.

You were breathtaking in every way he could think of, so much so that even Caracalla noticed his breath catching in his throat as they gazed below from their box.

He knew you weren’t meant for everyone’s eyes.

Your golden skin, dark curls, soft lips, and doe eyes were of such contrast to the tight grip you had on your sword and the redness that stained your clothes. It was all too intense to ignore so that same night he ordered your master to bring you to the palace.

He taps his foot against the marble floor the longer it takes for you to arrive and Caracalla's cackle echoes in the vast room at Geta’s boyish behavior. Geta sends him a warning glare but immediately turns when he hears Thraex’s voice.

“My Emperors!” He calls cheerfully as a servant leads him to the twin thrones.

He almost forgets to regard Thraex as he searches for you but sends a tight-lipped smile before his eyes fall on your figure. You stand behind your owner, eyes refusing to look away from the floor.

“Thraex!” Caracalla welcomes, throwing his hands in childish delight. “Incredible performance today! You never fail to entertain us!”

“My Emperors I see you have been charmed by this beauty! I don't blame you it's not every day that we see female Gladiators.” He boasts, grabbing your face rather harshly and forcing you to face the Emperors.

Gods, you were even more mesmerizing up close. He didn’t appreciate how Thraex touched you thoughtlessly, his brow twitching at the sight of his dirty nails digging into your cheeks.

The Emperor steps forward and with one wave of his hand, Thraex quickly withdraws his hand and steps to the side.

Geta doesn't even look at him, he is too lost in your confusing gaze. For once he doesn’t see any admiration or even fear in someone’s eyes. It is something different, so foreign and electrifying…

“How shall we call you, warrior?” He asks, his voice surprisingly stern despite his internal feverish excitement.

“Her name is—” Thraex begins but Geta raises his hand, silencing him immediately.

You remain quiet, unsure of what to do. You weren't told you'd have to speak. Honestly, you weren't given much information to begin with. They just hoarded you to the carriage and brought you here.

You give an uncertain glance to Thraex but your eyes snap back to the man before you when speaks again.

“Don't look at him.” Geta reprimands. “Look at your Emperor,” He says and you can practically feel the arrogance as the word ‘Emperor’ leaves his mouth.

“Emperors!” Caracalla yells from his throne but Geta ignores him.

“How shall we call you?” He repeats, dismissing his co-emperor.

“Y/n.” Your voice is strained when you speak but his lips twitch upwards at the sound.

“Y/n… Delightful.” He murmurs as he searches your eyes for something even he isn’t sure.

“Thank you, Thraex. The servants will lead you out.” He tells the older man who frowns. He wasn’t prepared to walk out without a slave this evening.

“My Emperor, um…” He stammers. “She is rather expensive and I-”

“I can see that.” He interrupts and his eyes run down your figure. His hungry gaze sends a shiver down your spine but you try to ignore it.

“She will stay in the Palatine until her next game, that is if she fights again.” He informs the man, finally turning to him, but not for long. His attention was back to you, his finger reaching for one of your curls. “I'll see how she'll do today and I'll inform you. Do not fret, You will be compensated.”

You narrow your eyes, the implication barely hidden between his words.

You didn't look away from him even when the maids hurried you out of the room. It wasn't out of attraction, although you have to admit he wasn't bad, it was because of fear.

This felt like the beginning of a very dangerous game. Being faced with hungry predator, yet not being eaten. Waiting for the blow, yet never being hit…

Never sure when you’re going to be devoured, broken, and ruined completely until you're tossed to the side.

The maids lead you to the servants' bathrooms. Normally, you would feel revolted at how they touch you and scuff you, but getting clean after so many days silences any negative emotion.

It was painfully obvious that they were ordered to prepare you as fast as possible. The uncomfortable discovery of just how impatient the man was hangs above you as they dress you. As much as you want to pretend you can handle Geta he remained the Emperor of Rome. A spoiled, entitled Emperor who is used to getting his way…

The servants guide you to his chambers with hushed whispers that you don’t bother tuning to. You take a deep breath as you stand in front of the large doors of his bedroom, uncomfortable in the thin dress they put on you.

A servant gives you a light push resulting in you sending her a glare but you do comply.

Softly, you give the heavy door a few knocks with your knuckles. You don’t wait much until a “Come in.” reaches your ears.

You enter the grand room and you have to pause for a minute to let it all in. The luxurious furnishing and decor of the bed chambers are a stark difference from the muddy cells they provided to you. It is beyond anything you’d seen before. Geta smirks at your astonishment.

“Come, my little warrior.” He orders, his voice honeyed despite his authority.

“What am I here for?” You ask as you approach him, disinterested in idle chit-chat. As much as the venom threatens to spill from your tone, you make a real effort to sound as polite.

Geta doesn't bother giving you an answer. He merely extends his hand, bringing the back of his hand close to your face, expecting you to comply with his every command.

You hate that he is right. As much as you want to spit on his face you want to keep your head, the promise of living long enough to win your freedom was such a flickering hopeful thought but it kept you from making foolish decisions like spitting on your Emperor’s face.

You eye his fingers, the rings that adorned almost all of them shine in the candlelight. Bitterly, your cold hand reaches for his, and the moment you feel his tender flesh against your lips you feel nauseous but he doesn’t seem to notice, or more accurately, care. His fingers twitch at the contact.

Tender and delicate.

If it isn’t clear by his behavior or extravagant attire that he knew nothing about work, pain, or how it felt to beg for a moldy piece of bread, the softness of his hands made it very clear.

He knows nothing about the suffering that he and his brother put everyone through. Gods, you want to rip him apart.

“What am I here for?” You repeat, dragging each word as if you're talking to a child.

“To entertain me. Aren't you an entertainer?” He answers with a small smirk threatening at the corner of his lips.

“I am a Gladiator.” You correct sharply.

“I see no difference.” He chuckles, stepping back to a table filled with food and wine.

He pours himself some wine, offering you some as well. Although you want to act cold and refuse the liquid looked too tasteful. You accept, bringing the cup to your lips without words. It is as delicious as it looks and you close your eyes for a moment to relish the taste.

“Divine isn't it?” He asks, a pleased smile playing on his lips. You snap your eyes open, mentally slapping yourself for giving him the satisfaction. You nod, setting the cup on the table.

Suddenly he steps forward, closing the gap between you. “You must already understand that I didn't call you here to drink.” He says, bringing his hand to sit on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing your collarbone.

“I am no whore.” You warned, pushing his hand away

His eyes darkened at your words “You are whatever I want you to be.” He says through gritted teeth.

As much as you tried, you couldn’t bite your tongue. “That is what you believe, huh?” You begin, a dry chuckle leaving your lips. “You think we are ants in your Empire?”

He tilts his head, eye twitching. He starts at you as if trying to figure out what he should do to you. The taste of defiance from someone like you was far beyond what he had anticipated for this meeting…He isn’t sure why but it left a sweet aftertaste. Intoxicating is the only word that comes to mind.

Soon enough he snaps out of this mind-fogging haze and grabs your arm harshly. You don’t even flinch, it couldn’t compare to the hardship you had gotten through in the arena.

“Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?” He warns, voice breaking in a mix of surprise and fury.

Something compels you in that moment. Is it anger after seeing the lavish life he has while you were rotting away in a cell? Is it a surge of power after bashing the Emperor himself?

You grab his wrist, your grip tight and unforgiving. His eyes widen, glancing between your hand and eyes.

You can’t help the smirk that falls upon your lips when worry flashes in his eyes. It was only for a second but you have seen it too many times to miss it. You don’t miss the way he didn’t pull away either.

A small breath slithers past his lips as he stares down at you, the darkness in his eyes almost gone in the candlelight.

“You’ve brought me here to claim me…You think you can?” You tell him and his look alone was worth your possible execution.

“You dare underestimate me, you worthless—”

“I can snap your wrist like a twig” You interrupt him with a chuckle.

He raises an unconvinced brow.

You convince him just fine with a calculated press of your thumb against his bone. He hisses in pain but he doesn’t pull his hand back.

“But I think you would like that, My Emperor,” You tell him with a wicked smile. It is barely above a whisper but it’s enough to make Geta’s breath catch in his throat. “All you have to do is ask…”

You can’t believe it. Emperor Geta, the ruthless and heartless Ceasar looking at you like he was about to kneel and kiss your feet if you let him, have his head if you wished for it.

“Can you—” He begins the words catching in his throat, shame catching up to him faster than his words could leave his mouth. “Join me tonight?” He finally manages to say, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Something warm spreads across your chest and your fingers twitch around his wrist before ultimately loosening your grip.

He lets you guide him to the bed without a word. He doesn’t even look back, his eyes already too foggy with desire. Once the back of his legs meet the edge of the bed, he lowers himself.

Geta’s breath fans your stomach, and the thin material of your cloth barely covers you and you shiver. His hands ich to reach for you, to wrap his hands around your waist and drag his lips all over your skin like a starved man but he restraines, looking up at you through his lashes.

Your smirk grows wider at his obedience.

Your hand snakes up his arm and rests on his throat and he groans, a sound dangerously close to whimper. Shame washes over you when you find your thighs pressing together at such a pitiful sound.

“My Emperor, did you know…” You begin and Geta forces himself back to reality at the sound of your voice. “That if you slice this little vein, right here—” You murmur while gently running your thumb on a prominent vein in his throat, your tone soothing completely unsuitable for your words. “Death will find you slow and painful…Such feeble beings we are…”

“Have you ever done it?” He asks, nearly innocently. “Given someone a slow and painful death?”

“You would’ve known.” You sneer, your mocking laugh making his cheeks burn.

So you have noticed him looking at you, even when the fight was long finished and you were resting against the burning sand, bodies gushing with blood surrounding you.

His hand creeps up your arm, A silent plea for you to give him what he wants. So you do.

You squeeze your fingers around his throat making him gasp in surprise. The breathy moan that escaped his lips tell everything you need to know and you press your fingers tighter, your nails digging into his incredibly soft skin.

He throws his head back, gasping desperately. His hand slides down to his stomach but before he could move any further you grab his arm, pinning it against the mattress.

Has he ever felt this weak, this vulnerable? You hoped the answer was no. How could you imagine anyone else seeing him in such a state?

He snaps his eyes open, half-lidded eyes staring back at you with such desperation that you had to resist the urge to give up on whatever this little game was and just sink on his dick already.

“You are enjoying yourself, my Ceasar?” You mock but he doesn’t notice the ridicule in your voice, perhaps he is too used to his enjoyment being everyone’s concern. His answer comes in an eager nod.

Your gaze travels down his body, your eyes lingering on him longer than you would ever admit.

Your eyebrows shoot up when you notice the tent in his toga.

You could see he likes it but not that much.

Without much thought you climb the bed, the mattress dipping under your knees as you cradle his lap.

“Mmm…” You purse your lips to stop the sounds that threaten to spill from your lips when you feel his hardness press against your clothed core.

His mind is too far gone, too deprived of oxygen to understand much; he could only whimper softly at the friction.

His breaths come more shallow than before and his hand grips yours.

It would be so easy to just squeeze. He wouldn’t even scream, how would he when all the oxygen was stolen from his lungs?

Nonetheless, you release your grip no matter how tempting the idea is.

He gasps for air, his hand coming to rub his throat, throwing his head back with a long sigh, desperate to fill his lungs again.

Once he finally realizes the position that you've arranged yourself in, his other hand comes to your thing, squeezing lightly as if to ground himself.

You hate that you welcome the action, his warm hands feel begrudgingly pleasant on your skin.

You let him come back to reality, waiting until his chest moves slowly again. He wet his lips with his tongue as his eyes try to focus and for the first time, you notice the tears that sit on his lash line.

You want to taunt him, to call him every degrading name that sat on your tongue moments ago but you simply can’t. Not when he looks at you like he would break apart at any moment. No—when he looks at you like he wants you to break him apart.

So you do the next best thing you can think of, or more accurately, your body can think of. You roll your hips forward, earning a gasp from the both of you.

Both his hands fly to grasp your thighs tighter as you repeat the motion and again until he shakes under you, throwing his head back with a whine.

“I—I want you.” He rasps between soft moans, his voice soft and pleasing.

You pause contemplating for a moment if you should do it the easy way. You have to laugh because why would you?

“You want me?” You repeat with a taunting giggle, grabbing his jaw between your fingers, and forcing his gaze to meet yours.

“Yes.” The word comes out in a quick, desperate breath, so fast that it makes your mocking smirk falter for a moment.

“How pitiful. Imagine the Senate seeing you like this. Bet you'll lose what little respect they have for you.” You snicker, running your thumb over his cheek. His only response was digging his nails into the flesh of your thigh.

His reddened eyes blink rapidly but you can still notice the blown-out pupils when you untie his robes, deliberately taking your time. You suppress a smile as he shifts uncomfortably.

Once you finally unbit the belt of his luxurious robe, you toss it to the side completely bypassing the worth of the material. You try to ignore the sudden shake that took over your fingers as you carefully move away his robes, revealing his finely muscled body.

His leaking cock springs up, laying against his stomach and you felt even more self-conscious by simply looking.

A small prideful smile creeps to his lips. You send him a warning glare but he seems to gain his confidence rather quickly, not missing the opportunity to gloat over your little slip-up.

He sits up, the cheeky smile never leaving his lips. “Are you enjoying yourself, my little warrior?” He taunts your previous words.

You narrow your eyes, squeezing his face between your fingers in irritation but his smirk doesn’t falter until you move your hands to your own belt. His tongue runs across his bottom lip, nearly salivating at the thought of your naked body.

You pull your dress over your head hastily revealing your naked body to the man. His gaze explores you with a starving intensity. His hands quickly reach for your flush skin but you swat them away.

Geta is about to send you an irritated look but you are quicker, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head back.

He groans and despite his momentary surge of confidence, he doesn’t do anything to stop you but rather bites his lip to stop any embarrassing sound from escaping.

“So spoiled.” You spit out, pulling harder on his locks.

That little motion seems to break him apart completely as a breathy moan reaches your ears.

“Do you really want me?” You murmur and he nods but that doesn't satisfy you.

Why should it? You want to hear him beg and cry for you, swallow his pride completely under the promise of pleasure.

You yank his hair harder, making him huff in surprise louder.

“Yes, I want you. I really want you.” He manages to say through rugged breaths. “...my lady.”

“Good.” You say and you can see something flicker in his eyes at the sudden praise.

You let go of his hair and rest your hands on his shoulders. With a small push, you lift your bare body from his. Your hand finds his member, aligning it to your entrance and he chokes. You run his tip between your folds making both of you exhale at the feeling.

With a deep breath, you slowly sink down his length. No matter how much you try to keep quiet you simply can't. You can’t help the lewd moans at the burning sensation alongside Geta who hugs your waist, pressing his face between your breasts.

You should've pushed him away, you really tried to make yourself do it. But instead, you run your fingers through his unruly hair, the pleasure too mind-numbing for the both of you to keep up with this game.

Geta doesn’t miss the opportunity to taste you, kissing and licking your skin hungrily. It started between your breasts, his teeth grazing your skin with every kiss.

His eagerness sends shivers down your spine and a loud moan leaves your mouth when his lips latch onto your nipple, catching it between his teeth and circling it with his tongue.

His hips buckle, drilling his cock deeper into your creamy folds. You moan loudly, grasping his shoulders.

He pauses for a moment, expecting punishment but when all you do is cry out in pleasure his lips curl, his smile mirroring one of a crazed man.

It is for the better that you don’t see the delight on his face. You would never forgive yourself after seeing the pleasure he took in seeing you like this.

Geta’s pace quickly deteriorates into something primal and desperate. Something so uncontrollable that even you couldn't stop. But even if you could, you doubt you would.

Your nails rake his back with every forceful slam and you cry out when his tip grazes that spongy spot inside you, legs shaking in pleasure.

“Oh! Oh— Gods!” You moan, sinking your nails into his back.

With a groan, he releases your nipple from his mouth and raises his head, his blown out eyes falling on your face.

You meet his hungry gaze but only for a second before your eyes travel to his spit-covered lips and without much thought, you grab his hair and pull him to you, slamming his lips on yours.

He doesn’t miss a beat and kisses you back with the same insatiable hunger that fills your chest.

You claw and bite and kiss him like he was your last meal. And he possibly is because once the fog of lust wears off he will surely command a public execution.

Your lips part in a silent moan, lost in bliss at the violent orgasm that just hit you harder than you’ve ever experienced. Your walls flutter around his twitching dick and he whines at the feeling. He comes with a loud moan, lips pressing against you as he spills his seed deep inside you. He pushes you close, pressing your chest against his face as you both breathe heavily.

He murmurs something against your skin but you ignore him. You will later find out that it was a quiet promise, not to you but to himself; to keep you as close as he could even if it meant stopping the following games altogether, even if it meant locking you somewhere only he could see you.

── ୨ৎ

a/n: This was a PAIN to write. I was left suffering. I hope you like it and i'm REALLY sorry for delaying this for so long! I think I had such a hard time because 1) sub!Geta feels so out of character and I tried to make this as in character for him and 2) I had no time to write cuz of all the family dinners.

#emperor geta #gladiator ii #joseph quinn #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 emperor geta #emperor geta x y/n #emperor geta smut #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x female reader #emperor geta gladiator 2 #joseph quinn x y/n #smut #elle writing...

340 notes · View notes

enree9h · 4 months ago

Text

ECSTACY | psh

PAIRING : loser!hoon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS : “He watches you like he wants you to wreck him, like he wants you to make him your most remarkable one, the kind you would think about during the nights you’d spend writhing under other men.” He's just down bad for you.

WARNINGS : SMUT, p in v, kissing, grinding, unprotected s.ex, teasing? begging, reader is kinda mean, dry humping, making out, hickey.

wc : 2.3k+

MDNI

a/n : Try to ignore any and all grammatical errors and typos if possible!! This hoon is for the history books because the glasses!??? THE BLACK SHIRT!??? SIR!? I'm on my knees. ALSO OMG TAGLIST FOR FUTURE WORKS ANYONE??

Sunghoon’s gaze falls on you. The gentle overhead lights of the lecture hall bounce off the gloss on your lips. You sit with your legs crossed and perched up on a desk, the skirt riding up your already exposed thighs and Sunghoon feels the air get knocked out of his chest.

He walks into the room and hopes he gets to walk out without garnering any notice from you. Because any and every interaction with you left him pathetically holed up in his room with his hands down his pants and the image of your gloss staining his twitching cock clouding his head.

“Nerd party’s over?” you ask- your voice an echo. Your eyes fall on Sunghoon, his back to you, the black shirt stretching just right across the span of his shoulders. You pretend it doesn't strike up something inside you.

Sunghoon turns to look at you, “Facilitation ceremony”

You let his words run through and out your ears and walk down the stairs towards him. “Same thing” you shrug, disinterest coats your words.

“Right” he mumbles a quick tight-lipped response and goes back to shuffling around with papers on the lecturer's desk.

Walking around the desk you come to lean by the edge, your eyes trailing on Sunghoon the entire time. “Ugh, you're literally no fun,” you say, your head lolling back.

Oh, Sunghoon could be fun but he didn't want to come off as a creep so he stands back with the response behind his lips. Instead, he leans in, and the distance between the two of you fogs with tension, “What makes you so fun” His tone doesn't hide a whole lot of what he was feeling but it rattles you just fine.

“A lot of things Hoon” You inch closer, your thighs now on the desk, your legs brushing against his. But Sunghoon’s mind is point-blank, the touch of your skin against his pants leaves him dodging your gaze. But when he finally meets your eyes you find his gaze growing dark.

“Show me”

And so you do.

You push him lightly, his body slumps down in an empty chair, his hands lay on his thighs, gaze on you. He watches you like he wants you to wreck him like he wants you to make him your most remarkable one, the kind you would think about during the nights you’d spend writhing under other men. So when Sunghoon lets you climb him you take it upon yourself to make this the best he’d ever had, the best he could ever have.

You fall into his lap, your fingers running over his shoulder blades, tracing every curve. “Touch me” Your tone leaves it as a whispered request, it's almost like you're asking him to take you, keep you all for himself.

You look up at him, feigning innocence and Sunghoon feels the pressure build up.

“We don't want that” his voice touches an octave that makes you quiver.

“Why baby” Your fingers move over his nape and slide into the brunette mop of his hair, your nails lightly scratching against his scalp.

“Not here” he mutters, “not now”, his words echo a warning and you feel yourself grow eager and restless at the rumble of his voice.

A chuckle sits at the edge of your throat but you bite your lips to keep it in. Sunghoon watches your teeth sink into the flesh of your lower lips and he realizes he's lost all his mind to the pink of your lips and the feel of your body pressing into his.

His hands move until they find your ass and when they do you feel his fingers dig into your skin. Him squeezing your ass in the slightest earns him a low groan out of you and you hate how easily you gave it away.

The corner of his lips turns up, a smirk sits on the edge of his mouth and you want to wipe it off the second you see it turn into a cocky grin. So you do what you'd been dying to do- even though you would never actually admit to having such emotions, and dive in.

It catches you in a great deal of surprise when Sunghoon's lips meet yours halfway through, so eager, so ready. His glasses slip over the bridge of his nose and he grabs them the second he realizes it hinders your movements. The glasses lay askew on the nearest desk, long forgotten.

“But I liked them,” you say, your lips curving into a pout while you try to be as convincing as possible. But Sunghoon could see right through you and as much as he wanted to believe your words he decided against it.

“Whatever” and with a frustrated mumble of words he lifts his hips to reach for the discarded pair of glasses, slipping them back on. You catch his lips in a haste the very next second.

You smile against his lips but Sunghoon was too busy fighting for entrance to notice. His teeth pull at your lower lip, almost begging for you to open up and let him in.

So when you do, your tongue meets his in a fiery haste and you let his lustful rage take a hold of you. His hands inch upwards and stop at the dip of your hips and you feel his grip on you, the blunt curves of his nails marking your skin and that drove you right over the edge.

Your lips leave his and you feel your body vibrate with the low growl of his pants. Your fingers- still tangled in his hair, pull on the strands until his head falls back and leaves the skin of his neck exposed.

You attach your lips to his jaw and leave sloppy kisses on your way down to his neck. When you hear him groan, you suck harder hoping it wouldl leave marks and bruises too noticeable to hide because at that moment you wanted him all to yourself.

Your fingers inch lower until your nails bump against his belt and you pull on it the moment you get a hold of it. Sunghoon lightly thrusts his hips into you in response and you moan as his bulge pushes into the wetness of your core.

He loved feigning innocence and you realize at that moment that he wanted to make you beg for it. So you tug on his belt a little harder whilst digging your tongue into his mouth and you feel him chuckle against your lips the next second.

“Fuck you”

Your words are hurried, annoyance drips off your lips and you look at him with your eyebrows furrowed. But Sunghoon is simply dumbstruck by the swell of your wet lips, the red of flushed skin.

“Yeah?” his voice scratches against his throat, the word a question, almost taunting.

“Yeah” you respond as your lips dive into him but Sunghoon catches them with ease. When your teeth find his bottom lip, they sink into it and sink until the taste of iron coats both your tongues.

You feel him play with the hem of your skirt and watch his hands disappear underneath the black cloth. His eager fingers reach you and you gasp into his mouth at the press of his knuckles against your throbbing core.

“You like that”, the bite in his voice leaves you breathless and you take it upon yourself to conceal every sound that would fall over your trembling lips henceforth.

Your body leans on his, your weight balanced over his tensed shoulder as your fingers fiddle with the buckle of his belt. They slip and miss every time and your growing frustration simply gets a chuckle out of Sunghoon.

“Say it”

“Need you” the rasp in your voice makes Sunghoon take notice of the bulge in his pants, straining against the fabric, coming away slightly wet.

You move to catch his jaw with your lips while your hands inch lower until your palm presses against him. Sunghoon’s head is thrown back the moment you press down on his bulge a little more, the pressure making his eyes roll.

When you feel your patience wearing thin you let him hear what he'd been wanting to hear, you let him hear your desperate whimpers, you let him hear the “please Hoon” you whisper into his ear.

And you know it worked when moments later you find him shuffling and moving under you, unzipping his pants. You feel the tip of his cock push into the cloth of your underwear but you make no attempts to slip out of it anytime soon. So you lower yourself until you feel the wetness stick to your inner thighs.

“Oh god please” he is a whimpering mess underneath you. Your gaze runs over his squirming self, eyes rolled to the back of his head, skin red, dotted with the purple bruises of your teeth and you love it, love how for the night he's yours to keep.

You abruptly leave his lap and the loss of your warmth jerks Sunghoom out of the undying splendor of your body pressed against his. You stand still, your chest heaving up and down as your push out labored breaths of air.

Sunghoon has never had anything drive him THIS wild so when you lift your skirt to rid yourself of your underwear he wonders if all of it was real because he's never been in a trance this intense. He loses all his consciousness to you, to your thighs, to the feel of your nails digging into him as you climb into his lap and slowly lower yourself onto his cock.

“Fuck”, spots dot Sunghoon’s vision, his nails dig in deeper, leaving half moons engraved on your skin. He feels your walls stretch around him as he slides in with ease.

The sound of your wetness blanketing his cock was his unwinding. Your body jerks lightly in his hold and it makes him raise his hips in response. You bite into the taut muscles of his neck as he thrusts into you without thought and increases the pace by lifting you up and lowering you on him.

Sunghoon couldn't wrap his head around the press of your chest against his, the sting of your bite on his neck, the marks of your nails over his clothed back. He was ecstatic and in a daze and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

When you move with a slightly desperate and hurried pace Sunghoon watches your tits as they bounce behind your black buttoned top, the fabric stretching around the buttons, waiting to be ripped open. So that is exactly what he does, he rips it open.

Your vision is dotted with the buttons of your top flying around and you feel his lips on the exposed skin of your chest the very next second.

He sucks on it like he wants the taste to linger and find home on his lips. His hands on your hips speed up and you are lowered on him harder. You let a strangled moan out when you feel the tip of cock hit your cervix, the pleasure makes your back arch leaving Sunghoon with more of your tits exposed.

He loves how it drives him to insanity, how when he moves to leave blooming marks of purple on your chest, he comes away tasting vanilla and how when you grab his jaw and make him kiss you in an attempt to stifle the sounds that fall out of you, he pulls away with the taste of strawberry on his lips.

“Oh god just there” your words don't make sense to you anymore but Sunghoon catches every syllable and is always left wanting more. So when he rocks his hips upwards and feels his cock reach new depths, you are groaning into his mouth wanting more too.

You move on his cock with a newfound energy and Sunghoon takes it as a sign to move faster because he'd do anything you would ask of him if it got him the sight of your whimpering self bouncing on him.

His neck is lined with imprints of your bites, the skin around them red and wet but Sunghoon shows no signs of pain because he'd let you bite into him until you drew blood, until you grew enough of him.

You feel the muscles in your abdomen contract, your walls clenching around him and your hold on his shoulders tightens. Sunghoon feels the vibrations of your groans seep into his body but he wants more, he wants to hear you scream his name so he lifts you up and drives you down on him until he hears his name whispered into his ears.

“Oh my- ” you're crying out, “Sunghoon”, his name falls over your lips in between pants and when you move to hide in the crook of his neck you feel his lips against your cheeks, curve upwards. He lets you take the lead, lets you decide the pace and you move until you feel the knot in your stomach unwind.

The warmth of your release coats the both of you but Sunghoon wasn't done. So he thrusts into you, into your overstimulated hole until he feels his cock twitch inside of you.

When you feel his cum drip down your inner thighs you move in an attempt to climb out of his lap. But his hands on your hips cage your movement, “Let go” you say staring into his eyes with vague interest but Sunghoon gazes back at you with a glint in his eyes.

All energy had been drained right out of you so you don't give it a fight and simply drop back into his lap. Your eyes feel heavy and your limbs hang at your sides so you give into the forthcoming sleep and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. When you feel kisses being pressed against your earlobe you let sleep take over you.

Sunghoon watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest as you lay against him and makes it a point to memorize the gentle slope of your nose bridge, the sound of your breathing and the feeling of you pressed against him.

#enhypen #enha sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon x reader #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon enhypen #enhypen sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #sunghoon hard hours #enhypen sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon hard thoughts #enha smut

734 notes · View notes

withinstarrynightskies · 1 year ago

Text

The Shinigami’s answer comes quickly, not wasting a singular moment. “Kanao Tsuyuri, Division Six.” Is it’s reply, voice soft-spoken, words smoothly flowing together.

And after that, silence. No more words coming from Kanao’s mouth- just a quick answer to a question.

The person before him was peculiar that was for certain. Though he didn't mind in the slightest. Everyone had their own issues that was best not to chase and ask questions.

He could feel the eyes on him. Watching him and almost documenting his fragile movements. "So tell me about yourself little one, I don't think I've seen you around the seireitei."

#I apologize for Kanao’s stiffness #BAHJDJEJWJ #[ || The Unknown Smile || ]#[ || Stains Upon One’s History || ]#flxshy

25 notes · View notes

justatypicalwizard · 1 month ago

Text

Silk dance | Jayce

Aracne Jayce x Zaun seamstress reader

Jayce and reader have history before the Arcane plot. This story follows the second season of Arcane but loosely.

A complimentary piece to my previous story Up and Under. I was asked whether I would make a part two to it. I will rather not but I got the idea that there may be a little bit more to unpack amidst the pages of the story.

,,So, how’s it going with the girl?” Rhythmic buzzing of energy filled the air in the laboratory with a lulling symphony played by tiny machines. In the near silence Jayce Talis scribbling in his notebook posed as the only off-key element as he switched between the messy pages and a cogwheel on his workstation. Sky’s voice ruptured the melody of focus.

Jayce looked up, his eyes wide and lips slightly agape, as if the woman in the room spoke another language, one he didn’t quite understand. Sky was not looking at him, rather wiping off an oily stain from the counter. Her movement was steady, up and down, up and down, like she calculated every step she took in life.

,,I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Of course Jayce knew what she meant. At times when he was alone the man beat himself over the fact that you were near him so often. He was aware how some might view this vicinity. On the other hand, he’s a grown man, he may do as he wishes and it’s only the shortsightedness of others that makes them full of prejudice. It’s not like every high-ranked man has to have an affair with a Zaunite woman working for him.

“She’s here often.” Up and down, up and down. The counter was already clean.

“You’re here often too.”

“I work here.”

“She’s also working.”

“How so?”

“I hired her. She’s a seamstress and a designer.”

“How many fittings does one need?”

“She’s somewhat of a visioner too, like me. You should never rush your work, Sky.”

“And because of that there is a need for nearly daily meetings?”

“Sky, are you suggesting something?” Jayce turned his full body towards the woman. She finally left the counter alone, dropping the cleaning cloth on its polished surface.

“I’m sorry sir, it was very inappropriate of me.” Her shoulders slouched and she was avoiding his gaze like fire. “I’m just worried. it’s either people whispering and spreading gossip or you going to the undercity. It’s dangerous.”

“If inventors cared about whispering and gossip, there would be no progress in the world.” Jayce turned back to the cogwheel, picking it up and spinning it around in his fingers, trying to convince himself that the whole conversation was about progress and not -

Sky whispered something in the lines of that’s not what I meant but both of them decided to let the topic evaporate. A moment of silence spread between them, pushing the two even further away. If Jayce wouldn’t be so hard in his head he might have felt Sky’s gaze on his back, her pleading, longing look. Yet, he didn’t, because that’s simply who Jayce Talis was - a master in avoiding what he didn’t want to face.

“I’ll take my leave.” Sky’s voice once again rifled through the steady silence that rose to discomfort. The energy buzzing in the air felt like tension. Jayce just wanted this to end, to get back into a good mood before -

“Is anyone here?” A new, third voice entered tonight's opera.

Bad timing sweetheart. Jayce thought to himself and froze upon realising how caringly he just called you in his head. Due to that he missed the bite that Sky put on her own, tightly knit, lips.

The man turned around finally, taking in the whole of the scene. It was a true comedy-drama. Sky’s face was a mixture of disbelief and irritation while your eyes were filled with sparkles, clutching the sewing supplies and admiring the scenery around you. Jayce was right when he said you two were somehow similar, the same buzzing inside your veins when you had an idea, the same eagerness and urgency to put your hands to work. The same, slightly, crazed look when focused and the same hope for a better future.

Despite how heartless it was for anyone who could look upon the situation from outside, at that moment Jayce simply couldn’t look away from your smiling face. And he smiled back. Sky was already gone, only a quiet creak of the doors reminding she was there in the first place.

,,Should I - um.'’ you weren't sure what to say, it felt like your presence interrupted. Jayce was quick to ease the misunderstanding.

,,It's nothing. Be my guest.” He gestured for a seat next to one of the spacious counters. Grabbing a cloth scattered near his cog he whipped his hands and started undoing the buttons keeping his shirtcuffs tight.

With a smile and a shrug you began to unpack your supplies. A yellow measuring tape, pins, very sharp scissors and a variation of fabrics Jayce allowed you to buy samples of. There weren't many restrictions when it came to quality nor price. You rarely had a chance to get ahold of so many exquisite materials.

,,So.” He started eying the roll of samples you placed along the counter.

,,So?’’’ You mimicked like a little parrot.

,,Which one do you recommend?” Jayce picked up the scraps, examining the small squares as if he knew what made one another different.

,,Oh, it depends on what you're looking for.” He was just about to ask you for details but your knowing smile kept him silent. With panience unlike him, the man listened as you opened up the world of textile for him. ,,From the ones I selected silk will present itself as the most luxurious. It's soft, shiny under light, liquid like in nature but also cold.” Jayce watched you thumb the material, handing it over to him. On the peripheries the square was indeed colder but in the centre, where you held it, the silk remembered your touch. He thought that you must be warm yourself. ,,Linen is less sparkly, more manly one could say, but it has a certain unruly feel to it if you ask me. It reminds me of nature.” Manly. Jayce liked how the word danced on your lips. ,,And of course cotton is a safe option, comfortable, trustworthy and good-looking. There are also different colours in the pallette -”

Your lips were producing a number of words, some about the tones that these different variants of white may bring forward from his skin, something about how he should consider the shirt in reference to other parts of the tuxedo, and some other things. It was a long day for Jayce, he felt the tiredness and stress weigh his shoulders down when he shimmied out of his current jacket and shirt, sitting on the stool in only his undershirt. It was hard for him to focus when it was so late in the evening, the stars popping in the night sky, his mind slowly shutting down from the all-day-long struggle, your hands roaming his forearms. If he wasn't a gentleman he would close his eyes and ask you for a massage. He laughed to himself absentmindedly.

,,What's so funny?” You asked, putting hands on your hips. ,,Don't tell me you're one of the people who say they don't see different shades.”

,,Oh no, no. I definitely see a lot of colours.” Like the red of your lips and the tint of your cheeks and the tone of your hair that I thought about last night.

It was improper of him, he only proved Sky's stereotypes further. Yet, was it criminal to feel a little something for a person that smiles at you so gracefully, someone that shares your ideas at heart, another being that makes you feel comfortable. It won't hurt anyone if Jayce daydreams a bit about anything different than hextech.

,,-chandeliers.” Your voice rang in his ears, reminding him that the object of his tricky attraction was standing in front of him.

,,Once more.” With a smile he erased your slight irritation.

,,You asked me which one I recommend. While I like cotton for its usefulness I believe a ball requires something more… sophisticated. Silk will look fantastic in the lights of the chandeliers.” You repeated, giving him the evils.

,,Silk it is then. Do you think it will suit me on the dancefloor?” Jayce stood up abruptly. ,,You said you're good at imagining designs, at mapping them in your head. Then come and tell me will it suit me on the dancefloor?” He raised his hands as if to waltz. Just a little bit of flirt won't kill anyone.

With a laugh you walked around him trying to portray the seams and shapes of the soon-to-be shirt.

“I can definitely see you in something enhancing the back, something simple, with details to be left shocking.”

,,Details such as…”

,,Such as an interesting collar and buttoning at the front. Something here.” You said and pointed at his chest.

,,Mhm''. He murmured, grasping your hands, tugging you delicately where he wanted you, as if you were dancing.

,,I ope you own any accessories because an outfit without them is as good as going out naked.”

,,Naked you say.”

You stopped your slow swirling and looked at each other. In that moment Jayce Talis wished that the ball never began, that he was stuck in this moment of preparation, that he had an excuse to ask you over, that he never had to think about all the things that put your worlds apart and made this impossible. In the morning he will look Sky in the eye and feel a ting of shame, he will walk past other residents of Piltover and turn a deaf ear to their whispering, he will push himself to the limit with his work. All of this will be his payment for the moment of weakness, for allowing himself to hold you in his arms and whisper into your ear sweet little nothings.

#jayce talis x reader #jayce x reader #jayce x #jayce x you #jayce talis x you #jayce talis x y/n #jayce talis #arcane jayce #arcane

280 notes · View notes

dailyadventureprompts · 3 months ago

Text

Thirsting Grail, Outergod of Wants and Wounds

Artsource

Adventure Hooks:

While travelling the party encounters a once famed surgeon who seeks their help in undertaking pilgrimage to the distant shrine of a death god. When pressed on her motivation, she reveals that through some curse or divine act of cruelty, those she operates on can never die, but also cannot heal.

There is a tree that grows in the ruins of the old braon’s castle, said to have sprouted from the chopping block upon which he had his wife’s lovers executed. The tree grows no leaves, only flowers, and it’s said that if you make a tea from its blossoms, you will receive a vision of your one ture love. Beings of woven thorn are said to guard the tree, but there are those who would pay desperately to drink of its boughs.

A once peaceful kingdom dissolves into a generations long civil war, any hope of peace drowned beneath a tide of violence, ruination, and grievance that none can hope to escape.

Among the outergods there are none more eager to engage with mortals than the entity known as Thisting Grail. It is a thing of violence and appetite, and seems all too eager to lend its power to those most likely to misuse it, whether they sought it’s aid in the first place or not.

Scholars and madmen have long debated the Grail’s motivations, what goal or ideology it is trying to achieve with the visions and often horrific miracles it bestows. In truth, Thirsting Grail has no goal beyond the pursuit of violence and longing, it is a means without an end, ready to lend itself to any cause that would make the world a bloodier, hungrier place.

The god is formless, an ocean of boling blood that takes on the shape of whatever “vessel” its followers imagine for it, borrowing their cultural iconography and birthing itself anew each time. There are litanies of these avatars, hundreds more likely forgotten by history; blood saints and baleful red stars and heart hungry blades. Perhaps because of blood’s ubiquity in ritual and occult practice the Grail’s influence can “seep” its way into the worship of other entities, divine or demonic, and it’s not unheard of for otherwise upstanding and dogmatic worshippers of banal gods to accidentally begin practising the grail’s bloody rites.

Sanguimancy and other forms of blood magic are the most obvious of Thirsting Grail’s gifts, but it has other more esoteric offerings: smoke from sacrifices or incense mingled with the formless god’s essence can grant visions of desires made manifest, though often twisted through a disturbingly carnal (in both senses of the word) lens. All too often worshippers ( and the cult leaders that encourage them) see these visions as prophetic, leading to the outergod being sometimes called “the mother of truth”. It can also manifest the objects of desire: succulent fruits, unearthly lovers, weapons of inordinate power, but there is something fundamentally wrong with these creations as they cannot grant true satisfaction, and often leave those that partake of them wanting more than when they started.

Those who fall prey to Thirsting Grail’s influence can become warped as their own veins become polluted by the entity’s ichor: becoming feral creatures of endless cruelty and appetite, or having their wounds open wider and wider until there is nothing but wound remaining of their swollen flesh. Those so overtaken grow and warp and merge with others until new horrors are birthed from them, a permanent seedbed of

Titles: Mother of truth, formless mother, font erubescent, the bloodstar. Symbols: A red grail or fountain, cultural iconography stained with blood. Signs: Wounds that bleed but do not heal, plants overflowing or cracking open to expose their innards. Unsettling red dreams. Worshippers: Those with bloodstained hands be they doctors, butchers, or murderers. Vampires, occultists, and other sanguiphiles. Instatiable gourmands and unfulfilled lovers.

Inspiration: I wear my influences on my sleeve with this one. I’ve been turning the Elden Ring mythology over in my mind for some time partially because I think there’s a lot of fun ideas there but also because I felt like (in typical Fromsoft fashion) there wasn’t enough shown to really scratch my itch for discovery.

The formless mother/bloodstar was chiefest among these elements: A killer aesthetic with lore that was a little too thin to use as inspiration. After a while that thinness turned into a feature, the idea of an eldritch entity of pain and violence that conformed to the needs of those who worshipped it, granting power to those who would go out and make the world more violent and painful. I liked the idea that ��mother of truth” was a misnomer, and that cultists would ascribe meaning and intent and iconography to a god that didn’t care one way or another.

Another strong influence is the Grail from Cultist Simulator/Book of hours ( SERIOUSLY, play book of hours you fools), an eldritch entity/aspect of reality that presides over hungers and births be they literal or figurative. The Blood + Mother connection was obvious here, but the Grail provided some more texture and esoteric aspects to fill out my version’s storytelling potential.

#I have a policy against using AI art here but you always run into trouble when things get especially goopy.#deity #outergod #divinity: blood #divinity: violence #thirsting grail #book of hours #eldin ring #d&d #dnd

271 notes · View notes

withinstarrynightskies · 1 year ago

Text

@hirak0s

The smell of blood is something Aoi’s gotten used to.

Iron-like, thick, and heavy; as part of the fourth division, the Soul Reaper’s seen all of it.

Gushing out of faces, pouring out of arms, spurting out of stomachs- she’s seen these things more times than she can count.

After all, living for hundreds of years desensitize someone to these things.

Or, at least, they should.

Sitting next to the hospital bed, blue eyes staring at the bandages on the patient, Aoi resists the urge to throw up; opting to bite her tongue, focusing on the pain of her teeth digging into the flesh, rather than the injuries of the one in front of her.

“You need to be more careful!” She scolds, trying her best not to force the words out, trying her best to not sound guilty.

After all, in that mission, she was the one who was useless- who couldn’t do anything, resulting in these injuries from the other person.

Aoi should be the one who’s more careful- stronger, so something like this doesn’t happen again.

…she hates this job.

“Seriously, what were you thinking- running in like that when you were already injured? Are you reckless or something?!”

#THROWS YOI BLRACH AU OF AOI #[ || The Fearful Killer || ]#[ || Stains Upon One’s History || ]#hirak0s

1 note · View note

givemeyourbonesandorgans · 1 year ago

Text

@thehealerhairpin

There’s someone roaming around in the halls.

Back hunched, hands in pockets, Genya prowls along the school like some thug looking to beat up a some people.

Their uniform is in completely different colors than the school they’re in right now, showing that Genya is not a student of this building.

#shhhh we’re not talking abt the unedited icon #[ || The Starving Glutton || ]#[ || Stains Upon One’s History || ]#thehealerhairpin

13 notes · View notes

exitpursuedbyavulcan · 3 months ago

Text

Exhibitionism with Aegon

Part of Kinktober 2024

Aegon knows that you're nervous about the bedding ceremony. Perhaps that's why he's doing this. Or maybe it's to make those watching you - several of his family members included - uncomfortable enough that they regret enforcing a public bedding. Though most likely, he's just doing this because it's Aegon.

Whatever the reason, when he proudly strides into your new marital chamber, he is already entirely naked and more than ready to bed you. Not only that, he has oiled his entire body.

Several of the observers groan and look away as Aegon approaches you, his arms stretched wide as he moves to embrace you, ruining your nightgown with oil stains. He doesn't wait long until his mouth is upon yours, kissing you thoroughly and sloppily.

You can't help but wonder if this was how he kissed the many other women you know he's lain with. The thought pulls you away from the kiss.

"Don't be scared," Aegon whispers against your lips. "I'm going to make you feel so good that they won't matter. Right?" He doesn't look away until you smile and nod. "Good girl, go sit on the bed."

When you pull back the sheer curtains surrounding the bed, you find it covered in rose petals of every color, and you can't hold back your laughter. Only Aegon could make you laugh in these circumstances.

But then, he begins to tear the curtains off the bed, tearing away the one protection you had against the prying eyes of the Small Council and Aegon's family.

"What is the meaning of this, Aegon?" Otto Hightower asks. He has the courtesy to not leer at you in your thin nightgown, unlike the Lords Strong and Wylde.

"Well, you wanted to watch, did you not? I'm simply giving you a better view." He smirks as he turns back to the bed, and you swear he's clenching to make his buttocks seem firmer.

His brother, Aemond, walks out without a word.

Aegon leaps on the bed, sending half the rose petals to the floor. before wrapping his hands around your waist and nosing at your neck. "You don't have to take off your nightgown if you do not want to, sweet girl," he whispers. "But I want them to see my arse." When you ask why, he meets your gaze, and his irreverence fades for just a moment. "They wanted a show, so I'm giving them one. Besides, I'm positive one or two of them have always wanted a look at my cock."

You don't ask him which ones. That is a mystery you are more than happy to never solve.

"Are you ready?" he asks. You aren't entirely sure you are, but you nod anyway. Immediately, Aegon raises himself onto his knees, angling to ensure that the assembled audience has a clear view on his front as he begins to stroke his cock, throwing back his head in exaggerated pleasure as he moans loudly and whorishly.

His mother leaves the room, her hand held to her face to block her view of her shameless son.

"Fuck," Aegon groans. "I can't wait any longer." He skillfully re-angles both himself and you so that the observers now have a perfect view of his arse as he lifts you nightgown just enough for him to duck inside and lavish your core with his lips and tongue.

Someone in the crowd grumbles, but you don't care, not when Aegon is making you feel so good. For a moment, you are glad of his history in brothels, if it is why he has such skill at this. He easily brings you to release twice before he extracts himself from beneath your gown.

He is desperate enough to forget any other schemes to irritate your observers before sliding his cock inside you, and you aren't certain that the moan you let out is wholly genuine or if Aegon has somehow looped you in to his showmanship.

It is likely the latter, for as he moves within you faster and faster, you both grow in volume, until you are sure that even the guards at the Gate of the Gods can hear you as you peak once more.

And when Aegon releases inside you, you are sure he could be heard across the Narrow Sea as he shouted, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Then, you fall silent save for your panting breaths. "Are you well?" Aegon asks. All you can do is nod. "Good, I'll be right back, my girl."

He climbs off of you, standing from the bed and approaching the remaining audience. "Well, gentlemen, I think you'll find all the evidence you require right here!" He gestures dramatically to his cock, wet with both your releases and your maiden's blood.

"... Thank you, my prince," Grand Maester Orwyle stutters. "Please, accept my congratulations on your marriage." He hurries out of the room with a haste you've never seen from any Maester.

Aegon turns to Otto Hightower. "Well, are you satisfied?"

The Hand does not answer, he simply looks at those remaining and gestures to the door. "Let us leave the new couple to each other."

With a smirk, Aegon adds, "Quickly please, you were only promised the first fuck of the night, and I have plans for many more.

#aegon fic #aegon ii fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #hotd fic #aegon headcanon #aegon ii headcanon #aegon ii targaryen headcanon #hotd headcanon #kinktober

172 notes · View notes

mingi-s-dimples · 3 months ago

Text

Vampire's Den

KINKTOBER DAY 1 - REQ. BY @mingleshine:

~ "vampire mingi x siren fem reader, enemies to lovers type shi. vampires and sirens hating each other’s species, etc etc, whatever you want 😭😭 also maybe some praising, degradation kinks?"

pairing: vampire!mingi x siren!fem reader

genre: 18+, filth (ish), enemies to lovers

summary: Meeting one of the vampires that once saved you at the bar you often frequent... ends up being one of the spiciest nights you've ever had with someone and.. with your mortal enemy.

wc: 3.2k

warnings: vampire x siren, enemies to lovers, reader is bratty & cockt af, Mingi is really strict, threats & death threats, mentions of death/murders but not happening in the present, only in the past, knife play, bickering, size kink, big dick!mingi (obvi), choking, degradation (slut), movement restriction (cuffs), face fucking, deepthroating, gagging, throat bulge (yes from Mingi's dick), some praising (good girl), creampie, anal, lots lots of cum, 2 rounds implied 3rd round, manhandling, completely consensual, unprotected (wrap up irl!), unedited, for sure forgot sth.

Author's Note: Enioy, my love. I hope it's up to your expectations 😋. I enjoyed writing it so much! I'm so sorry I am so so behind with some of the other fics 😭 I'll finish them on time I promise 🫣. ENJOY MY LOVES !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

In the world of the immortal, where darkness and the supernatural intertwine with the shadows of the mundane, two ancient species have long harbored a deep-seated animosity toward one another. Vampires, with their predatory grace, and Sirens, ethereal creatures of the sea with voices that could enchant and destroy, were bound by a history stained with blood and treachery. Their animosity was woven into the very fabric of their beings, a loathing that stretched back to the time when the world was young, when both species ruled their respective domains with an iron fist. Yet, in this tale of enmity, there lies the seed of an unexpected bond, a story of two souls who defied the boundaries set by their kind.

The hatred between vampires and sirens was born in the primordial past, a time when their realms occasionally overlapped. Vampires, with their insatiable thirst for blood, often found themselves drawn to the shores, where the songs of the Sirens would lure them. But the Sirens, masters of deception, used their melodies not to enthrall but to lead the vampires to their doom. Many a vampire met their end, lured by the promise of sweet blood, only to be dashed upon the rocks or drowned in the treacherous waters. In retaliation, the vampires waged a silent war, hunting Sirens who dared venture too close to land, their fangs seeking to pierce the throats that sang such deadly songs. Over centuries, this cycle of violence and revenge became a grim tradition, each species teaching the next generation to despise the other with an intensity that only the immortal could sustain.

For vampires, Sirens were creatures of deceit, their beauty masking the malice in their hearts. To them, Sirens were nothing more than wicked seductresses, whose only joy lay in the suffering of others. Conversely, Sirens viewed vampires as predators devoid of honor, bloodthirsty beasts who knew only hunger and destruction. The disdain was mutual, and it ran deep, as both vampires and Sirens prided themselves on their power and immortality. Neither could bear the thought of being outwitted or bested by the other, and so the feud persisted, a war of attrition waged in the shadows and in the depths of the oceans.

Amidst this bitter rivalry, the mortal world continued to spin, blissfully unaware of the ancient conflict that simmered beneath the surface. Cities grew, technology advanced, and the supernatural beings who once ruled the night began to adapt to the new world, hiding their true nature behind human facades. Vampires, with their ability to blend into human society, thrived in the bustling metropolises, while Sirens, whose powers were tied to the sea, became more reclusive, retreating to the depths of the oceans where they could sing their songs undisturbed. Yet, even as the world changed around them, the hatred between the two species remained unyielding, a constant in an ever-shifting reality.

But as with all things, the tides of fate are ever-changing, and it was in this time of uneasy equilibrium that you, a Siren of exceptional beauty and power, found yourself unexpectedly drawn into the orbit of a vampire named Mingi. The circumstances of your first encounter were anything but ordinary, marked by suspicion and hostility, as was expected between your kinds. You were young by the standards of your people, but you had already earned a reputation for your deadly voice and your ability to lure even the most cautious of sailors to their watery graves. Mingi, on the other hand, was an ancient vampire, one who had walked the earth for centuries, his power and influence making him a figure of fear and respect among his kind.

Your paths crossed on a moonlit night, in a city by the sea where the line between the mortal and immortal was blurred by the neon lights and the pulse of music. The city, with its sprawling docks and crowded nightclubs, was a place where humans indulged in their vices, unaware that creatures of myth and legend walked among them. It was here that you had come to escape the suffocating silence of the deep, to taste the chaos of the human world, if only for a night. But even as you reveled in the music and the laughter, you felt the presence of another predator in your midst, a dark shadow that moved with the grace of a panther.

Mingi had been watching you from the moment you stepped into the club, his keen senses alerting him to the fact that you were no ordinary human. He recognized the aura of power that clung to you, the subtle grace with which you moved, and the way your eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly light. To him, you were a curiosity, a puzzle to be solved, and yet, beneath his curiosity lay the age-old enmity that had been drilled into him from the moment he had been turned. Sirens were not to be trusted, and you, with your beauty and your voice, were a danger that needed to be eliminated.

The tension between you was palpable from the moment your eyes met across the crowded room. There was no need for words; the enmity between your species spoke for itself. You knew what he was, just as he knew what you were, and in that moment, a silent challenge was issued. The air crackled with anticipation as you circled each other, like predators vying for dominance. But this was not the open sea, where your voice could carry him to his doom, nor was it the shadowed alleys where he could strike unseen. This was neutral ground, a place where neither of you held the advantage, and so you were forced into an uneasy truce, if only for the duration of the night.

It was a strange dance, the two of you weaving in and out of the crowd, each keeping the other in sight, yet never getting too close. You could sense the power that radiated from him, the strength that came from centuries of existence, and yet, there was something else, something that piqued your interest despite yourself. He was different from the other vampires you had encountered, those mindless beasts who thought of nothing but their next meal. There was a sharp intelligence in his eyes, a cunning that matched your own, and it was this that made you pause, that made you wonder if there was more to this ancient rivalry than you had been taught.

For his part, Mingi found himself equally intrigued by you. He had seen many Sirens in his long life, had heard their songs and watched as they lured men to their deaths, but you were different. There was a fierceness in you, a fire that burned just beneath the surface, and it drew him in despite the warnings that echoed in his mind. You were a challenge, a mystery wrapped in danger, and he had always been drawn to the thrill of the unknown. And so, instead of making his move, instead of ending the threat you posed, he found himself engaging in this strange game, this dance of predator and prey where neither was quite sure who held the upper hand.

"We meet once again, y/n." Mingi whispered, slowly approaching you.

"Hello, Mingi. Haven't seen you in a while" you said, with anticipation.

Truth is, there was a single moment were the two of you met in the past. It was when one of your siren friends was being chased down by some vampires, and Mingi stepped in to stop them. Why? It's been dozens of years and you still don't know the answer.

"How have you been... in the past few..50 years?" the vampire said.

"It doesn't concern you, sweetie. What are you doing here?" you said, confidently.

"Ah, I understand. Still feisty, huh? Well, I was just.. out, for a drink, nothing much."

He continues,"Y/n,I'll keep it short. This is basically my club. I've been coming here for the past 500 something years. If you come back here unnannounced, I'll kill you"

"I don't mind, Mingi. Try all you want. You better do it soon cause that's the only way you'll make me stop coming here." you said, smirking.

"Is that right? What if I kill you right now, hm?"

"You won't. You didn't back then, so what will make your words believable?" you scoffed.

"We'll see, sweetheart." Mingi said and pushed you to the wall, hands over your head, a knife to your throat.

"Now... what should I do with you? You've got quite a mouth, you're basically begging me to put you in your place."

"You fantasise about that image a lot? You seem quite...excited about it." you said looking down to your feet, something catching your sight. A slight bulge could be seen from his thight leather pants.

"Wha- god no, don't flatter yourself. Stop glaring." he said, a bit of harshness in his voice.

"Then what does this mean?" you said and moved your knee up to his crotch, getting a low grunt out of his chest.

"You know what..." he said and closed the distance between the two of you. "Kiss me."

"You have a fucking dagger to my throat, Mingi."

"So? You look angry. How about... you take all of that energy and put it to some good use? Like.. getting on your knees for me right in this instant?" the vampire said, smirking. His dagger still at your throat, but he soon retracted it for a moment.

You continued, smiling sheepishly, "And what's in it for me?"

"Awh, don't look at me like that, sweetheart. You're lucky you're hot, otherwise you'd be 6ft underground right now. After all, you're a siren."

"You think I'm hot?" you smirked, teasingly.

"No, that's not what I-"

You interrupted him, "Your cock says otherwise." and indeed, his cock was already straining against the thight fabric, screaming to be let out. He was big as fuck, too.

"Oh? You think you're hot stuff, huh?" he said as one of his hands went right for your throat. "I want to wrap both of my hands around your throat, and choke you until the life in your eyes dies down."

A smirk curled on your lips despite the pressure of his hand on your throat. Your voice came out in a husky whisper, laced with defiance and heat. "You think you're the first one to try and break me?" Your eyes locked with his, a challenge sparking in the depths. "Go ahead, Mingi. Try. But you'd better be ready to commit, because I don’t plan on going down easy."

You leaned into his touch, the tension thickening between you like a coiled spring about to snap, daring him, teasing him with a sharp, dark grin. "And don't forget," you added, your voice low, laced with seduction and venom, "I bite back."

"I bet" Mingi said and leaned in for a kiss, his tongue interlocking with yours. His hands were roaming freely on your body, from your back to your waist and to your ass, slightly squeezing it.

"You know.. I hate you so, so much, y/n" he whispered, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"And why is that?"

"Back then when I didn't kill you and your little friend, I was so mesmerised by your beauty. I thought you'd be a good round, maybe more.." he giggled. "And I hate it so much... how good you taste" his hand went to the back of your neck.

He continued, "Look at me."

"No."

"Look. at. me"

"Why?"

"Do as I say"

"And why should I?" you said, smiling sheepishly at him, with an almost innocent look.

"You little slut-" the vampire said as he manhandled you in his grip, one hand under your ass and one on your back. He went in for another kiss while he was walking up the stairs, then dropped you somewhere, on a bed.

"See.. this room is mine, y/n. Mine to use freely."

"Ah, I see. Should I care?"

"I can see that you are fucking bratty. Aren't you afraid of what I could do to you if you go againt me, mm?" he scoffed, climbing on the bed and pinning you down.

"Not. at. all."

"We'll see"

As soon as he finished his words, he got off the bed and opened a drawer. He took out some cuffs and threw them on the bed, rapidly followed by him climbing on the bed again. He then pushed you to the headboard, tying your hands behind your back.

"Oh, so this is how we're playing, huh?" you scoffed. "Don't be fooled, I like this shit."

"Y/n. babe. You didn't even have a choice. but I'm glad you like it. Now..." he dragged you closer. "What should I do with you? I think I'll leave your clothes halfway on... you look so hot in this corset, god dammit." he whispered as his hands went to your skirt, forcefully taking it off. You were left in only your panties, soaked with your arousal. "Oh wow, all wet for me?" the vampire scoffed. He looked at you for a moment and decided to unbuckle his leather pants, not breaking eye contact with you.

"Damn.." you whispered among seeing his cock spring out of his briefs, it's huge length and girth taking you aback. You knew that was gonna hurt as hell.

"What? Like what you see?" he giggled. "Come here."

"Hm?"

"I told you to come here" and he didn't even finish talking that he grabbed you by your waist, bringing you closer. You were now sitting on your knees on the bed, eyes looking up at Mingi, him standing straight on the carpet, right near the bed frame. Your cunt was rubbing against the now-wet fabric under you, the linen soaked in your juices.

Mingi's right hand went for your chin, stroking your cheek softly, his left hand pumping his aching length lazily. "You see my cock?" he said and guided the tip to your lips. "You're gonna take it all up your throat" his pointing finger under your chin, poking you to open your mouth. You took his dick in your mouth, trying to adjust to the girth. It was really stretching your mouth out, the corners of your lips aching and tears swelling in your eyes.

"Mhm, just like this." One of his hands went to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. "Though.. it's not enough" and he thrusted himself in your throat, your nose hitting his pelvis. You gagged on his dick, but he didn't move. He stayed like that for a moment, letting your throat get adjusted to his size. In the meantime, you wanted to touch yourself so bad, but your hands were tied at your back so you were left with grinding against the linen.

"You feel so good, sweetie. Let's see, how much can you take, hm?" the vampire whispered, pleased by your performance. He then started mouth-fucking you. He went on for a couple of thrusts, stopping for a moment, as deep as possible deep down your throat.

"Look at this..." Mingi said and touched your neck, feeling a small lump. "See how good you are to me, hm? I can even feel my cock deep down your throat from the outside. Such a good girl.." he leaned in and pulled your hair to make you look up at him in the eyes. His cock dropped heavily from your mouth, precum dripping continuously from the red throbbing tip. "Look at me" your head dizzy and spinning, your eyes went up to his.

"W-what?" you murmured.

"What do you want from me, sweetheart? Tell me. I can fulfill any of your desires" the vampire said, eyes glistening red with lust. "Tell me."

"I w-want you to fuck me" you said.

"Hm? Say it again."

"I want you to fuck me!" you scoffed angrily, catching a glimpse of his smirk as soon as you finished your words.

"Good girl. Turn around, ass up"

"I hate you so much, Mingi"

"I love you too, y/n. Turn the fuck around" the vampire said and manhandled you on your belly, untying the cuffs and throwing them on the floor. He took a moment to look at the exposing position you were in, your breasts slowly falling out of the corset, your ass red from all his fondling until now. He slapped your ass once, getting a soft moan out of your slowly rising chest. He spread out your cheeks, one of his hands fondling with the rim. He prepped you for a moment then pulled you closer, his aching tip throbbing against your hole. Without warning he pushed himself in, bottoming down. You let out a loud moan, feeling your hole being stretched out. It hurt so bad, yet it was so pleasurable. Tears formed in your eyes once again, gripping the sheets around you.

"Once again, babe.. take it all up" he said and started fucking you rapidly, holding onto your ass and back for dear life.

"You feel-" he bottomed down completely once more. "So fucking good". He was becoming louder and louder, sometimes letting out soft curses and whines. He was getting closer, you thought. His thursts became sloppied and heavier, filling you up good.

"Ng-baby. I'm so close" he gripped your back tighter, deepening himself. One of his hands went for your neck, holding it from under your body, his plump lips leaving soft kisses on your spine and back. He thrusted a few more times before you felt heavy strings of silky cum filling you all up. He fucked you through his orgasm, sending you over the edge.

"Oh-my god" you shouted and gripped the sheets once again, feeling the knot in your belly getting thighter and thigther.

"What, y/n? say it. Use your words" he said, panting.

"I wann-na c-cum" you whispered.

"You want me to make you finish, sweetie?"

"Yes fuck please, Mingi!" your voice coarse and your breath hitching. He started rapidly pounding you, his hands all over your body. He picked you up, his chest close to your arched back, he was kneeling on the bed. His left hand on your belly, holding you close and his right hand on your neck, his thumb rubbing your lips. You took his finger in your mouth, sucking on it slowly, with every of his thrusts. He fucked you for a couple more times and you felt your high washing over you.

"I'm not done with you" he said and fucked you through your orgasm, himself being close again. He once again came in you, filling you up.

He stopped for a moment and stayed like that, hugging you from the back, you cockwarming him, your juices slowly seeping out of your hole right on his dick. He took his time to put you down slowly, to which he then laid next to you.

"I never thought I'd fuck my mortal enemy, y/n." he said, looking at you.

"Me neither. I hate you so much, man. I could kill you right now and no one would ever notice." you said, cocky.

"Still bratty? After I fucked you dumb? Want me to go for a 3rd round?" he said and pinned over you.

"Bet." you copied his words and taking that as a yes he leaned in for a kiss, letting you know he wasn't even close to being done with you for the night.

NETWORKS:

@illusionnet

@blossomnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117

#illusionnet #blossomnet #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #fanfic #smut fic #ateez #ateez smut #smut #mingi s dimples masterlist #mingi x you #ateez smut mingi #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut

164 notes · View notes

nathaslosthershit · 10 months ago

Text

Unremarkable (LN4)

(Part 2 of the Blind Items series)

Summary: Blind Items returns again to ruin yet another happy couple's peace. This time, Lando Norris and his ‘unremarkable’ girlfriend.

“Lando, have you seen this?” his girlfriend asked, showing him the tweets. When they had soft launched, she got a small dose of what it would be like to be the WAG of Lando Norris. But even when they hadn’t known anything about her, some people still had been so mean. Now that they knew she had a ‘commoner’ job, they had started tearing her to shreds. ‘How could someone so rich and famous go for such a plain girl’ was what so many people had said.

“Oscar showed it to me today. I am so sorry, honey, I was hoping that you wouldn’t have seen it. Those people are absolute asses, love.” He probably should have said something earlier but he knew how hard she would take it. While she had joked in the past about the differences in their jobs, especially the pay, he knew she felt insecure about it at times.

“The thing is, I didn’t see it. Not at first. I only saw it when I heard one of my students talking about it in class today. Can you even imagine how humiliating that was for me? Hearing my own students who I have done nothing but be kind and understanding to, trying to get them to love learning, talk about how awful it is their favorite driver is dating someone as boring as a teacher.” She couldn’t stop the tears as she went on about the situation. He wouldn’t understand, he couldn’t. She knew Lando had his moments of insecurity but nothing like this. At the end of the day, he still had hundreds upon thousands of fans who loved him immensely.

Even if he couldn’t fully understand, it still broke his heart seeing how much it hurt her. Sure, he hadn’t ever thought he would date a school teacher either, but that was mostly due to his previous lack of appreciation for school. But being with her has changed that. His girlfriend could always make things interesting. She loved to spout history facts on vacation and it always made him so deliriously happy to see how giddy she was to learn new things.

Seeing her now though, so visibly upset made him realize this wasn’t something that could slide easily. His PR team might not love it but he wasn’t going to just sit there and let her feel terrible about herself.

“I’ll fix this, I promise.” He said quickly as he left. He shouldn’t have left her alone and crying, but he was fuming and decided he needed that anger to let his message out.

landonorris

Liked by oscarpiastri and 153,137 others

landonorris I don’t know who this gossip page thinks they are but the last thing I will tolerate is someone hiding behind a screen telling the entire world that my girlfriend, who I love more than life itself, is ‘dull’ and ‘unremarkable’ because of her job. This is a woman who is smarter than 99% of the people I have ever interacted with, someone who spends so much of their time trying, and succeeding, to get kids to love learning. Even as someone who didn’t appreciate school as much as they should have, I would never have once thought school teachers were any of the negative things you have said. Luckily, here I am, happy with my amazing girlfriend who deserves the entire world, and I know I will spend the rest of my life trying to give it to her.

Comments have been disabled

A few minutes later she came into the room, tears still staining her cheeks.

“Thank you Lando” she said as he motioned for her to sit on his lap.

“I can say more if you want? I definitely think I could have cursed them out mor-” He was cut off with a kiss. The sheer force of it caused them to bump heads a little, which then caused them to break apart giggling. “I’m serious about what I said. I don’t know what I did to get someone as wonderful as you but I am not going to let some assholes on the internet make you upset over something so incredible. You should be proud of what you do and I will forever work to remind you of how amazing you are.”

“I love you, Lando” was all she replied.

“I love you more”

“Please can we not play this game you know I love-”

“Nope, la-la-la-la I can’t hear you over the sound of me loving you soooo much” He said as he covered his ears.

Such a dork, she thought.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #lando x reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine

1K notes · View notes

seneon · 2 months ago

Text

IN MEMORY, YOU LIVE ──── ghost¡touya × fem¡reader.

about. in which, the dead lives by the memories of the living, and you're here to remember his soul. touya is deceased soldier from WWII. reader is a christian who prays. this is a bittersweet romance with religious themes, japanese culture, and lots of dialogues. touya might be ooc in some parts. inspired by coco and a whisker away. wc of 3100+

notes. in commemoration of all souls day, in which i celebrate. honestly i wrote this after remembering a sunday school class i had about purgatory and prayers LMAO. so it's kinda self indulgent. i miss my grandfather dawg.

THE SUN KISSED YOUR SKIN as your eyes are shielded shut from the bright sunlight. with your palms pressed against each other and your thumbs making a small cross, prayers ran down your tongue in a quiet voice.

time isn't of essence. it never was, especially when you spend your time praying. forget about time whenever you pray, it was never important. they could drag out to minutes and to hours and you would forget all about time as if it never existed in the first place.

with your knee that started to numb after having kneeled on one cold pavement for so long, you finally moved to sit, your eyes slowly opening to land on the tomb laid out right in front of you.

it's an unknown tomb, belonging to a soul whose history or family you do not know of. there's only a name, dates, and a simple insignia of the military carved onto the stone of the tomb.

touya todoroki, the name bearer of this tomb.

this disheveled tomb is covered in nothing but mere grass and dirt that stains it dirty. you tried your best to clean it up. it seems it's been here for a few decades and no one in his lineage exists to care for it anymore.

what a bittersweet ending. a soldier of the military army decades ago is left to rot in his grave and to have his existence wiped off from the face of the earth. not even an image of him continues to live on in this world.

touya todoroki must be sad to be forgotten.

“. . . . all this i ask through Christ my Lord, amen,” you gave the grave a little bow before signing a cross to end the prayer. then for the rest of the morning up until the twelfth hour, you sit in silence to gaze upon the tomb of this forgotten man, soft strings of words flows out.

heaven knows why you are so attached to this specific tomb. you remembered it as clear as day— how you happen to be walking by in boredom after praying to your deceased ancestors for all souls day. your feet carried you to the path back home, but it felt as if your soul was being pulled by the strings of the tomb bearer.

curiousity strikes you in that moment, like a spear that was driven through your chest to keep you steady. this man— touya todoroki, his tomb and the area is so unkempt you knew it was untouched for decades. he must've lost all ties with his family.

it's the fourteenth hour now. you've eaten your fair share while absentmindedly staring at the grave of the unknown. to not come across as rude to the dead, you left a fresh box of soba noodles and a clean set of chopsticks beside the candles which had been melted over the course of a few hours.

“i bid you good-bye now, mr touya todoroki,” you softly said and stood up to brush the cemetery dirt off your clothes. with one last glance that promises the dead that you will return for the next visit, you turned your feet away.

yet you could not even blink. not even a second passed. it felt as if the speed of light did not exist at that moment. your footsteps walked into a world that did not exist before up until a few milliseconds ago.

your heart fell from a cliff into a pit of fear as you are now greeted with a rather mountainous view. fogs and mists veil the atmosphere, along with a single torii gate in sight as your eyes travel everywhere but behind you.

all because you felt a presence right where your blind spot is. a presence so heavy that you felt eyes burning into your clothes to carve your bare skin with piercing eyes underneath with its gaze.

“soba, huh?” a deep voice echoes through your ears as you slowly turn your head at where you heard the voice coming from. your throat is dry as your sights are landed on a man sitting on the tomb of touya todoroki, the deceased soldier who has no more place in this world. “leaving so soon?”

“g-get off there,” you choked out, fingers curling to compress any visible fear that might crawl up to twitch at your nerves.

the man simply tilts his head at your words. he's so attractive, handsome. your very first few thoughts about this mysterious man. white hair, scars that gnaws deep into his skin, those turquoise eyes.

if anything, this man is the epitome of magazine beauty. his choice of clothing is odd though, who still wears army clothing these days?

“and why should i get off?”

“because that grave belongs to somebody.”

a chuckle escapes from that man's lips as he leaned his arms on his knees, eyes digging his existence into your presence. “i am that somebody. this is my grave. don't you see that? you talk to me all the time when you come to this shitty graveyard.”

“you're ly—”

“you just prayed for my forgotten soul, sat down, and stared to me for at least two hours. what lie are you speaking of?”

your silence hugs you tight as his words slowly sinks into your mind, finding solace in your soul as you tilted your own head and let out a small “oh.”

“mr touya todoroki? why are you visible, and speaking to me now?”

curiousity clearly reeks in your question and tone as the said man stood up from his tomb, his figure enveloping you as if you are nothing but a mere rat when a cat is chasing your tail.

“because… sweet praying girl, you're either dead, or in the process of dying.”

where's the sun when you need it to give you a sweet, warm hug? where's the brightness of the day that kisses your skin so gently? where is the light of day in this foggy, misty area?

when you looked behind touya, only his grave seemed to exist in this cold, mountainous place. the same old grave that you always sit or squat in front of to offer up the humblest of prayers. you don't even know this soul, yet you still pray for his soul to be free and for God's mercy to be poured upon touya.

now the utter reality is slowly being punctured into your mind. it felt like rocks being thrown at your head, then boulders slowly falling down the top of the mountain to crush your skull as reality sets in.

“walk with me as i brief you about the land of the dead. well at least, this land of the dead belongs to the eastern asians. explains why it's all fogs and mists and mountains,” touya walked ahead of you, his hand moving to wear his military cap, covering his beautiful white hair.

you could recognise that cap anywhere. it's the pillar of a japanese soldier's uniform. the star in the middle is all you needed to know that this man is of honour. or at least, honourable in some ways.

“when you say i’m either dead or dying, how do i know of it? what does that even mean?” your feet carried you to walk beside touya.

“if you're dead, you'd know what impacted you at the last second before you wake up here. when you're dying, you're connected to the dead. heavily connected.”

the dead man walks through a forest. he seems to know so much of this place, having spent probably decades in this afterlife. his presence is quite strong, you can feel him as if he were a real, living being. touya seems to read your mind with your little analysis.

“your prayers have brought me back,” touya said and held up a falling tree branch, ushering you to walk ahead before he went after you and dropped his hands.

“how? also, i don't think i have been impacted. i simply took a step away from your grave and suddenly i’m met with this .. mysteriously new place.”

the man proceeds his journey ahead, leading you to wherever he desires as you follow behind, millions of questions swarming your mind.

“when you die, you live again in the afterlife with the memories of you back in the living world. if nobody remembers you, you disappear for some shitty reason. and why you are here? well i don't know. figure it out yourself as you spend the rest of your day here.”

touya's chin gestured towards the clearing of view from the forest. it's now set into a view of a busy village. it's still afternoon, you supposed, since the day is still bright and just a tad bit warmer now than the mountain.

as rural as it can get, everyone who exists in this moment seemed to wear clothing throughout history, some even foreign to you.

there's a descending staircase that seemed to stretch on forever. yet touya still walks down anyways, expecting you to trail behind him as he leads you into this village that has buildings and homes stacked up everywhere.

there's a tree, similar to yggdrasil of the norse, the tree of life. which is connected to the heavens and earth. this tree, however, seems to provide shelter for every soul wandering into the land of the dead.

“it's like… a super duper big treehouse…” you murmured under your breath, taking in the sight of this worldly view as you descended the staircase and slowly presented yourself to the afterlife.

“it's where the dead people live. unlike the mexican afterlife which has sprinting colours and music and all the cultural stuff, we have a rather calming afterlife. just like how every eastern asians prefers it.”

after what felt like over a decade of descending, your footsteps came to a halt. first step onto the ground, and the sky is all dark with warm lights that emitted the atmosphere. it was breathtaking. that was all it meant to you and all you could say in this moment. your eyes widened in awe, lips curving upwards in a huge smile.

at first, you expected to be greeted with the agonising pain of tiredness from descending, but there was only peace and tranquility. this scenery that brought you all kinds of warmth on the inside had sucked in any negativity you were feeling— both physically and mentally.

“dead people things,” touya reminded you as he marched forward to immediately blend into the crowd of dead souls and busy streets. “mr touya, wait!”

“catch up, praying girl. or i’ll lose you easily,” he glanced back, and his words went straight to your heart. they're meant to mean that he'll lose you easily in the crowd and this busy afterlife, but to you it sounded more personal. like when you were leaving his grave just a moment ago but ended up here.

you apologised and quickly went to his side to hold his sleeves so your distance wouldn't be separated again. touya's traditional, you assumed, since he's not the type to let girls hang on his sleeves.

he must be quite reserved and stoic back in history, considering the way he tugged you off his sleeves to hold your hands in a loose grip instead. “don't let go,” he said as you nodded in compliance, squeezing his hands a little tighter as touya led you through the bustling streets.

the two of you walked, walked, and walked for what seemed like forever in this solace of a giant tree until he stopped in front of the foot of the giant tree. you paused to admire the size for a moment, the roots spreading down into the earth and possibly even touching the opening of hell.

touya walked, and you followed, approaching the edge of a big lake that surrounded the tree as if to protect it. much to your displeasure, he unhooked his hands from you, leaning down to look at his reflection at the surface of the lake. you followed him, looking at your own reflection, before stealing a glance at his reflection.

such a reflection that speaks of sorrow and silent suffering. it tugs at your heartstrings how a soul could look so sad.

“sit down,” touya says, and you obey to sit with him on the grass, gazes still locked onto yourselves in the water.

“this is the lake of prayers. it's where every prayer ever said to a soul is stored,” he explains. “each soul has a colour assigned to you. it wraps around the prayers like a glowing ball of light.”

“what is your colour, then?”

touya leans forward to dip his fingers into the waters. very quickly, a small amount of ball-like glows of turquoise surfaced from the bottom to surround his fingers, gently dancing in the water. he then caught a glow and allowed the ball-like shape to melt in his palms.

words fell onto his palm, overflowing onto the grass as your voice filled both your ears, causing your eyes to slightly widen.

“it's my voice..” you trailed off and touched the grass where your prayers have spilled onto.

“yes. your voice. your prayers,” he allows the ball to fully melt before he reaches into the waters to take out a few more, all of them melting onto the grass. and all of them echo the faint sound of your voice. down until the last glow.

“they're all your prayers,” turquoise eyes attempt to seek comfort in your own eyes as you look at the todoroki. “you're the only living being that prayed for me,” touya's voice drops to a whisper and you frown at his words.

lonely soldier whom no other living being prayed for, touya todoroki. his existence is only relevant after so long where you randomly stumbled upon his disheveled grave.

“but that's— that's not fair,” your reply is soft, and touya finds that comforting. “why, mr touya? this is awfully sad.”

“it isn't when you serve in the military and die in war. all you get is a name on your tombstone. they won't even retrieve your body from the battlefield.”

you watched as the man closes his fist after all the words have melted and he dips his whole hand into the waters to wash off the words.

“as i said before, i was about to fade away in forgotten memories, but you, sweet praying girl. you brought me back here.”

there's an unexplainable feeling that starts to swell deep inside your heart at this man's words. he's a random soul you just happen to keep praying for when you pass by his grave. it looked like nobody prays for him, so you took up the simple act of doing so.

but to hear as he utters such words out from his mouth, it makes you want to clench at your heart and squeeze it until it explodes.

“this isn't heaven or hell, right?” your question makes touya nod. “this is purgatory. the waiting room that lies between heaven and hell. this is where all prayers are heard, and where all sins and judgements are accessed. this is the garden for sinners.”

“how long have you been here?”

“longer than i could count.”

his hands are retrieved from the waters as he flicks them dry, shifting just a bit so he sits next to you with his gaze on the tree. “its not very nice to be forgotten. especially if you're the last one standing on the battlefield before being betrayed by your own army.”

you glanced at him. “betrayed by your own army…?”

“i’m a colonel, serving as the leader of my regiment. touya todoroki, as you know. to lead my regiment onto the battlefield and to be the last man standing before the other colonels strikes you down is hell. these scars all over me will always be a painful memory. i hate them.”

just a few minutes with touya was all it took to know all about him and his life. what a truly sorrowful story his life has led him on. the more you listen, the more your heart twists with sympathy.

he was a soul you didn't even know existed, yet now as he speaks of this large tree of life that rests, you can't help but feel the desperate need to embrace him. so as he runs his mouth, you shift close to wrap your arms around him, cradling his head to your chest like he is a child of some sort.

to feel a hug in what felt like an eternity definitely has touya freezing in shock, eyes widening as he stops speaking.

“it's okay,” you whispered, and he crumbled beneath you, his body melting into your warm embrace and his eyes shutting to wrap his own arms around your figure.

“nobody deserves to be forgotten. that's for sure. even in life or death, no one should be left alone,” you softly said, words wrapping around touya like a comforting veil as he lets your voice bring him to his own peace and tranquility.

when your fingers weaved themselves into his soft and snowy white hair, he let out a contented hum. it's so overwhelming for him that he can do nothing but bask in your sweet comforting embrace. you feel like your prayers which have been uttered to him back in the world of the living.

touya feels as if he doesn't need to wait for another eternity in purgatory just to disintegrate into nothing anymore.

“what's your name? touya asks you as he stands across from you. it's hours later, you believe, and you're back at where you first stepped foot in.

“it's y/n,” you replied, and he nodded. his fingers slithered to curl around your fading ones, having spent so long on this other side has caused your existence to be comfortable as if you are one of the dead. his thumbs brushes against your knuckles before he steps closer to lean to your level.

“thank you, y/n. for everything,” he leans close to gently press his lips onto yours before pulling away, a smile forming onto his scarred face. his fingers uncurled and he gently pushes you towards the torii gate.

“go. the living awaits you.”

you looked at him one last time before smiling on your own. “i won't ever forget you, touya. it's a promise. i hope to see you again.”

“me too. farewell now, y/n. and thank you again.”

as you step through the torii gate, the scene of the misty mountain disappears into the living world where the graveyard still exists. your eyes immediately travelled back to touya's place of resting, feeling a small smile forming on your face.

your fingers which have gone back to normal gently touched his tomb, letting your touch linger for a moment before you leaned down to kiss his tombstone, saying your farewells before walking away.

the memories of touya todoroki lives on, along with the lingering kiss on your lips which makes your eyes grow glossy at those memories. it appears your soul is just very attached to his, granting you one visit before touya takes his next step in the afterlife.

146 notes · View notes