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peachiejeongin · 2 months ago

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Jealousy | Lee Know

Synopsis: You and Lee Know have been best friends for as long as time can tell; however, a third party has ignited an unfamiliar negativity in him, and he is finally ready to handle it himself.

Pairing: jealous! dom!LK x fem!reader (Reader has breasts and a vagina, and uses she/her pronouns !)

Genre: Smut, a bit of Angst, Fluff towards the ending

Warnings: Sexually Explicit Content (18+), marking, breast-play (sort of), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (please use protection my loves!), pet names (sweetheart, good girl, baby, etc.), Minho is extremely jealous and possessive, Minho quite literally answers the phone during sex [As always, please inform me if I missed anything!]

Word Count: 9k

Notice: Hello, my darlings! I have missed you all dearly! I recently acquired a bit of inspiration to get back into writing, so enjoy a Lee Know smut drabble I wrote a while back :)

Smut under the cut!

"Hey, I feel like we're getting off topic again," Minho bluntly states, cutting you off in the middle of your chatter. You glanced at him, your mouth slightly agape from the abrupt interruption. "You do remember that hanging out today was your idea, right?"

Of course, you remembered it was your idea; after all, you had made the plans last minute, just that morning. You invited Minho over for a movie and a catch-up night, since you hadn't seen him in a few days. You expected a normal evening with him; however, hanging out felt strange. In fact, it had felt unusual ever since a certain third party had entered the picture.

You had recently started talking to another guy and had unintentionally began spending more time with him than with Lee Know. As of late, though, this new guy seemed to be distancing himself from you; he would often go days, or even up to a week, without speaking to you. Then, he would reappear in your life as if nothing had happened, claiming to have been, "busy."

Your best friend saw right through the guy's facade; he knew the guy was only seeking attention from you, and he was not tolerating it. Despite Minho's clear disapproval, it seemed as if the guy consumed much of your conversations lately; in fact, Minho interjected as you were once again delving into another tangent about the guy's behavior. It had become a predictable cycle: the guy would reappear after ghosting, make plans, and vanish again. Frankly, Lee Know was growing tired of it.

"Yeah, I know hanging out was my idea. Why wouldn't I remember that?" you questioned, a confused expression present amongst your features.

Minho scoffed. "Because it's not feeling like it," he said. You raised one eyebrow, urging him to explain further. "I understand you want advice and my personal input on what's going on with this potential guy, and I can help you out with whatever as your friend..." He paused briefly, letting out a deep sigh as he continued, "I'm trying really hard not to be a jerk about this, but I really thought today wasn't going to revolve around this again."

"Min, I get where you're coming from, but I feel like you're making it seem like I've been talking about this guy non-stop, which I haven't." Upon your response, Minho could not stop himself from narrowing his eyes and chuckling coldly.

"Literally, since I brought you that water, you have not stopped talking about him."

"Yes, I have! I've talked about so many other things, and-"

"When?" he promptly cuts you off again, his voice raising slightly. "I mean, seriously? When I first came over, you were all like, 'Hey, I need your opinion. Can you look at this for a sec?'" Lee Know mirrored your prior actions by shoving his phone in your face.

What had you shoved in Lee Know's face exactly? A message from the guy stating, "Sorry, I've been busy." The date on the message read 8:41P.M., not even thirty minutes ago. The last message you had sent, on the contrary, read Monday, November 18th.

Over a week ago.

You wanted Minho's honest opinion; after all, he was your only friend that would give you the truth instead of what you wanted to hear. Thus, the truth he gave: "How many times do I have to tell you this guy is not worth it?"

And so, you find yourself connecting the dots on previous events.

"I may have asked for your opinion, but I didn't shove my phone in your face," you argue, pushing his phone away by instinct. You were becoming increasingly annoyed at his behavior.

"Yeah, you did," he retaliated, retracting his phone. "You shoved your phone in my face just like that." You opened your mouth to counter; however, no sound came out. All thoughts on how to go against him had completely dissipated from your mind. You closed your agape jaw in defeat and stared grimly at the floor. Lee Know rolled his eyes harshly.

"I told you last time, and I'll tell you again, it means he's not worth your time. This guy is clearly only trying to hit you up when it's convenient for him, and you know that, too."

Minho's grievances mirrored but also contrasted your own. Of course, he was agitated with your behavior, but the hinderance came from a divergent perspective; he knew you were smarter than this, you had to be. There was absolutely no way you could not see the clear convenience you were to this guy. Minho could not tell if you were intently playing dumb in order to lessen the blame or if you were simply blind sighted by this guy.

Either way, he was fed up.

You could not wrap your head around the guy's actions, however. Just the other night, the two of you had went on a date that went pleasantly well. How was he able to change up so quickly?

You made mention of your thoughts aloud: "But...the last date we went on..."

"What about it?" Minho sat up and threw his hands sharply to his sides in a vexed manner. He leaned back on his palms, his eyebrows furrowed as he awaited your response.

"It just...It went really well is all..." You shrugged and folded your arms over your torso. You tapped your foot against the hardwood floor as you apprehensively glanced up at Minho. He had taken off his glasses and was rubbing his temples.

He put his glasses back on, took a deep inhale, and cupped his hands in your direction.

"So what if the date went really well, Y/N? That doesn't excuse what he's been doing. He's basically ghosted you for an entire week, and it's been, what? Three times now?" Minho's acute words stung. You knew he was right, but it was still taking you time you wrap your head around one aspect:

Why?

"I get that things aren't official yet," he continued, snapping you out of your thoughts, "but you have to see that this guy is-"

"I just don't understand why, Min," you interrupted him this time. "What even is going to happen after this?" He narrowed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

"Look, i really don't want to be your counselor again," Lee Know shook his head while chuckling out of aggravation. "But, obviously, he's gonna try to make up every excuse and try to act sweet when he finally responds."

"What if he really has been busy, though?" you desperately reply, attempting to convince yourself more than anything. Minho did not shoot a glance at you this time, the annoyance clear on his sunk in expression.

"Look," he stated directly in attempts to get you to listen. "It might be more acceptable if you two were going into this potential relationship expecting it to be a casual kind of thing, y'know, with no strings attached. But, that's not what you've been telling me, and he knows exactly what this is supposed to be. He's the one that's not respecting your time, or my time for that matter because I constantly have to listen to what a piece this guy sounds like."

"He...He hasn't been acting like there's no strings attached! Just the other day, he-" You huffed in efforts to tell Minho about how the guy denied another girl's number at the arcade on the last date, even going so far as to call you "his girl." Once again, however, Minho interjected.

"You are really starting to annoy me." his words cut; they were honest, yet brutal. "There is no way you are this stupid, y/n. Come on: not responding for weeks at a time? Love bombing when he does respond? That's acting like no strings attached." You considered Lee Know's words for a brief moment. Upon this, you finally had a realization:

"Maybe...Maybe he's not worth it anymore."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," Minho responded with a chuckle mixed of disbelief and humor. "Get rid of him; you would be doing us both a favor that way."

You nodded in sorrow, staring down at your phone. Despite the comment you had made, part of you was still hoping you would look at your lock screen and there would be a text message from him.

"So, you're not going to talk to him anymore. Deal?" Minho ponders, snapping you out of your train of thought.

"No. No, I'm not going to talk to him anymore." You set your phone down on your lap, your foot still tapping nervously.

"So, we're done with this?" he follows up with a second question.

"I don't know, Min," you admit, causing Minho to intake a rough breath. "I mean, I still can't comprehend it. He's so sweet and caring, and he's really good in-"

"No, I don't wanna hear about it, y/n!" Minho finally snaps, managing to keep his voice stern but calm.

"What? Why? I thought you were supposed to be here for me?" you ask, once again hurt by his words.

"I am here for you, but I don't like hearing about these guys you're seeing," Minho growled, his voice tinged with frustration. "I just really do not need to know about all of that, okay? Just put it down, and let's not talk about this anymore."

"Okay, okay. Fine. What do you wanna talk about?" You finally look up at Minho, your eyes sunk in and arms crossed with defeat.

"Well, I was thinking," he began, his voice a lot more gentle, "that we could talk about, and this is just a wild idea, but something related to us instead?" He accentuated his words with a few lighthearted chuckles.

"Hm, yeah. Did you have something specific in mind?" you inquired, your demeanor beginning to soften but your eyes still narrowed in slight frustration.

"I did have something. I actually already had this in mind before you got me offtopic earlier," he teased briefly, "but I was thinking since we both have some time off next week, we should go out and eat somewhere!" Minho's eyes seemed to beaming as bright as his smile; he took pride in the fact that he was able to deter your attention back to him, back to where it was supposed to be, he thought. He missed you dreadfully, and the suggestion of going out to dinner had been plaguing his mind since he walked through your front door.

"Oh yeah?" you asked rhetorically. "What place did you have in mind?" You returned his grin with a soft, half smile of your own. You could not deny you had missed spending time with him has well; however, the thoughts of your admirer still clouded your better judgement. Unintentionally, you began to stare off into space as Lee Know began his reply.

"There's been this one new place that I've been wanting to try. I think it would be nice," Lee Know explained as he began to describe the new traditional restaurant that had just opened up not even a couple of blocks away from your apartment. Lee Know ended his description with a cheeky, "Plus, I feel like you kind of owe me one anyways." This statement snapped you out of your endless distraction. You turned your head in his direction quickly, your eyebrows furrowed and a slight frown present on your face, replacing the half-smile that was just present.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you interrogated, your tone coming off more accusatory than attended. Minho raised a teasing eyebrow to accompany his ever-present smile, which now had morphed into more of a smirk; he was slightly taken aback by your sudden yet slight outburst.

"You know exactly what that's supposed to mean," he responded unequivocally, nodding his head with each accentuation of the sentence. "I'm just saying that you've been so busy with your new guy that we haven't had a chance to hang out lately. Remember last week? When you flaked on me...twice?" Minho's smile had slightly faded, his demeanor becoming solumn in contrast to the previous cheeky behavior.

You did remember essentially leaving Minho in the dust last week, although you did not want to. You and Minho had planned a night together, similar to the one you were having at this moment; however, on the night of the planned venture, the new guy had messaged you out of the blue and asked if you wanted to grab dinner with him that night. All reason had fled from your mind at that moment as you texted back, 'Yes!' without thinking twice about your plans for the night. It was not until Minho had began to blow up your cellphone with messages such as, 'Where are you?' 'y/n, i'm at your apartment,' and 'hello? what the hell?!' when you remembered. You quickly replied, explaining what had happened and that you would be home soon in a desperate attempt to please both parties, yet your response was met with, 'Don't bother. I'm going home.'

With this failed endeavor, you and Minho had attempted to reschedule your arrangements for the next night; thankfully, Minho had the whole week off from schedules, and it was your fall break from classes. You had made a slight adjustment to visit the cinema rather than a move night at your apartment. Yet, this attempt succeeded just as much as the first did, and it went about the same way; it was as if the guy had some sort of radar detecting the days you and Minho had planned to hang out so he could steal you away.

As you dreadfully remembered the events of the prior week, you scoffed and refused to give up your stern standpoint on the matter.

"You sound jealous, y'know that?" was the response your anger-stricken brain formulated. You had stated it without thinking, honestly, and you instantly regretted it once Minho leaned back on the couch, his arms crossing and his mouth slightly agape in pure vexation.

"I sound what?" he inquired stiffly, his dark brown eyes staring daggers into your gaze. "Jealous?" he repeated the word as if he could not believe the statement, which to some degree he could not. He followed up the repitition with a couple of brutal snickers as he shook his head in disbelief. His stare had now found its way boring holes into the wall beside him. "Very funny. I'm not jealous," he claimed as if he was trying to convince himself of the matter rather than you. He shifted his gaze towards the floor as he continued, "I just think you should follow through when we make plans."

"You know we can always reschedule," you responded somberly as you glanced out of the window to your right in order to avoid eye contact with Minho.

"Yeah, you can reschedule, but you ended up cancelling that too," Minho fixed his eyes upon you, specifically how you were still refusing to look at him. You knew the truth to his words, which only made the guilt to felt ten times worse; still, you refused to let your guard down, responding to his truth with a skeptical head shake. You rolled your eyes as you did so, and you shifted your gaze to side eye the male.

"Do you not hear yourself? You are jealous, otherwise you wouldn't be speaking like this, or bringing up last week!" There was no denying your rage at this moment; you were tired of Minho bringing up your faults, especially when it was in relation to this guy. Minho's tongue prodded at his cheek and his vacant expression darkened. There was a brief silence as Minho contemplated what to say in order to get his point across and not sound like a total jerk.

"Okay," he started, "now, you're just imagining things. I'm not jealous." You chuckled slightly, turning your gaze back to focus on the rain pittering against the windows outside.

"Sure," you replied quite coldly with a strained, sarcastic smirk plastered upon your face. Minho frustratedly breathed in and took a slight glance towards the ceiling.

"Fine," he threw his hands up slightly, "y'know what? Forget it. Let's just drop this." He attempted to change the topic of conversation, both because he was tired of talking about his feelings, but also because there was a minuscule aspect of him that knew you were correct. "But, if you happen have time to allocate next week, is that a yes or a no on the restaurant thing?"

Your eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. Minho was JUST on your case, and now he is bringing the subject of the restaurant.

He is so jealous, you thought.

That was not what came out of your mouth, however. Instead, you sighed as a way to release the lingering tidbits of bottled-up anger you felt and responded with a simple question: "What did you say the name of the place was again?" Minho paused for a moment in an attempt to remember the answer to your question.

"Uh, I don't remember the exact name, but it opened up right next to the theatre," Minho did his best to recollect the traditional restaurant, but could only remember its location.

"Is it that one new silverish building with all of the fairy lights hanged near the entrance?" you inquired genuinely, your body beginning to relax from the intensity of aforementioned events. Minho nodded slightly, finally feeling a sense of relief that you were endulging in a conversation unrelated to the guy.

"Yeah, yeah, that building. The name was, uh," Minho attempted to recall the name of the restaurant once again, and partially succeeded, "Great...something." You laughed at his inable memory, causing him to eye you up and down in a playful manner. "Listen, I had the name in my head for the entire day!"

"Likely story! Where'd it go then?" you asked him cheekily, leaning in a bit closer to him on the couch as if to accentuate your question. Lee Know moved away from you in sarcastic disgust as he returned your giggles.

"I don't know! For some reason, it's just on the tip of my tongue right now," Minho returned to his normal sitting position as he racked his brain for the name of the restaurant.

"Is it...is it 'Great Bake?'" you asked as you recalled seeing a grey building that matched the description of the restaurant. Minho looked at you, confusion etched all over his face.

"No, that's a cookie shop!" Minho chortled at your futile attempt at recollecting. "Plus, that place has been there for years now. But I mean, we can go there if you want." You tilted your head at the suggestion before slowly shaking it.

"No thanks. I'd rather go for a meal than for cookies. They make my stomach ache," you rubbed your stomach as you stated the last part in order to adorn your words with comicality.

"Are you sure?" Minho asked you genuinely. "Because I don't mind going for desert after. Or we could go for Boba afterwards if you prefer."

"Nah," you politely declined his offers. "I think the meal will be enough for me."

"You sure?" Minho inquired once more. "It can be my treat!"

"You don't have a reason to treat me," you retaliated in a half-serious half-silly demeanor. Lee Know shook his head in response.

"There doesn't have to be a reason."

"You're just never this considerate is all." Another reply you would slightly regret the moment is escaped your lips. Minho threw his head back, his ego slightly hurt at your statement.

"I am always considerate, hello?" he countered sounding a tad vexated. "What kind of image do you have of me?"

"Well, if you're always considerate, is dinner going to be on you too?" you inquired, crossing your arms brazenly as you awaited an answer.

"You..." Minho's voice quieted as he let out a string of adorning giggles. "No, relax. I am only covering the dessert portion." You scoffed, this one coming out in an exuberant manner in contrast to the previous ones out of annoyance.

"So, I'll pay for dinner in order to make it up to you, I guess, and you'll pay for dessert?" You had decided to concede to Minho's proposition about the cookies and boba. He beamed brightly at your own proposal.

"Okay, let's do that then!" his words were laced with a joyous hint, which made your heart smile. You had a newfound exhileration for the endeavor; as such, you asked Minho if he was excited in order to ensure that the feeling was reciprocated.

"I am, yeah! I am excited for the food!" Minho poked fun towards you, causing you to lightly smack the back of his head. "I'm just kidding, y/n. Of course I am excited for the food, but also because you and I, y'know...I said it earlier, but it really has been a while since we've been able to catch up. Like, not just surface level stuff in our lives, and I've really missed-"

Minho's endearing ramble was interrupted by a buzz of your cellphone; the guy's name appeared on your phone screen in the form of an iMessage. A second buzz quickly followed, and you almost lept at the coffee table in attempts to retrieve your phone. You came to a stop just as your hand grasped the device, and you slowly looked up from the table, making dejected eye contact with Minho. The grin on his face swifty disappeared, and he sighed as he looked down at the ground one more.

"I'm sorry, Min. Do you...mind if I answer this real quick?" You figured it was at least alright to ask, but you took note of how upset he appeared as the inquiry left your mouth.

"Uh, yeah, go ahead. Can't really ignore that, right?" Minho never looked up from the ground as he spoke, and the last fragment of his sentence came out in a snarky bearing.

"I mean I can if, if you want me to," you stuttered, and Minho just shook his head in disapproval.

"I know if you try not to check your phone, you're just going to get distracted from the conversation," Minho paused, taking into consideration how you were hyper-focused on your phone, your fingers were already moving at the speed of light to type out a reply to the guy. "And it looks like you're already doing that anyways." You glanced up from your phone, your face contorted into a confused expression with your eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed together.

"Why are you making that face at me?" Minho catechized your expression as if it was the most unnecessary item in the world. "It's him again, I know it is. I told you not to bother with him anymore, so why are you even thinking about responding?" You were silent, a culpable feeling engulfing your body.

"He. He apologized, and he said-"

"It doesn't matter what he's saying!" Minho snapped outrageously, instantly standing and unintentionally towering over you. "Are you serious right now? We just talked about this!" His fists were clenched by his side, and his eyes were narrowed in exasperation. Before he could let his emotions take over, he took a couple of steps away from you and removed his glasses one more, rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes to seemingly rid them of the stress he was feeling. "Y'know, this is really starting to piss me off."

"Why? Why does it matter so much to you?" you queried, careful not to let the lump building up in your throat waiver your voice. Minho looked at you as if you had lost your sanity.

"Because I thought we were done with this, y/n."

"It's none of your business, Minho!" You had stood up now as well in order to mirror the actions of your friend. He took a step closer to you, his expression vexing further if that was fathomable.

"No, it wasn't my business initially, but you kind of went and made it my business with how often you rubbed this in my face. What, you expect me not to care about what happens to you?" You jeered at Minho's question, slapping a hand against your thigh in frustration.

"Can you just admit you don't like the fact I'm hanging out with a guy who isn't you? That's what the whole problem is here! Like I said: you're jealous, Minho." You crossed your arms as you stared up at the taller boy, who rolled his eyes in the middle of your reply.

"Here you go again with the jealousy thing," Minho huffed. "Look, I'm really annoyed already, so can you stop messing around, please?"

"I'm not messing around," you defended your stance. "You're only worried about me because another guy is in the picture."

"I am worried about you as a friend, y/n, and I'm saying from a platonic standpoint that he is not worth it," Minho retaliated, the annoyance becoming more prominent in his voice with every word he spoke.

"Meaning what exactly?" you prodded further. At this point, Minho was not sure if you were simply asking questions because of sheer confusion or to get on his nerves. It was a mix of both in reality; you could not deny the immense joy you felt from pushing Minho to his limits, yet you also could not fathom why he was so passionate about his stance on this guy.

"Meaning that I don't want you to see him anymore." Minho thought the response sounded better in his head. You widened your eyes once you heard it.

"Okay, so you're jealous and possessive." You moved your finger as you spoke as if you were making some sort of air-bullet list. Minho's mouth gaped slightly open and he sneered.

"Now I sound possessive? I'm really not, but sure, if you'd like to add that into your mix of ideas about me, too." Minho attempted to walk away from the conversation, but you grabbed his shirt sleeve to make him stay put.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" you asked for the nth time that night. Minho looked down at your hand's grasp on his shirt sleeve, then back up at you before scoffing once again, a smug smirk playing at his lips.

"You have not seen me being possessive at all, sweetheart," he remarked with a boldness present in his voice. "I don't want to get into this right now."

"And why is that?" The pure curiosity within you had vanished; now, the questions were purely to push Minho's buttons. You had already gotten him so far towards the edge, so what harm would an additional shove do?

"Because if I were being possessive, I would say, 'You're not going out with him again. I'm not letting him have you.' That is what I would want to say," Minho's sultry gaze bore into your own, and you felt your knees tremble slightly and your heart quicken its pace. You did not understand why you had began to feel this way, but it was exciting.

And you wanted more.

"Are you still insisting on this as a friend, Min?" As you uttered those words, you made an essentially bold move; you moved your hand from his shirt sleeve to his palm, nearly intertwining his hand with yours. The mere movement made Minho's breath hitch.

"Well, I, uh," Minho took a deep breath before continuing. "How much are you going to push me? If you asked me like that then you already have an idea, don't you?" He instinctly moved his thumb over your knuckles as he began his honest vouch. "You're right. I have been feeling jealous for a while now. I don't know when it started, but I am. Having to think about you and this guy going out has obviously only made it worse." Your gaze softened as you squeezed his hand.

"Why didn't you tell me, Min?"

"Because I didn't think I would care this much, so how was I supposed to tell you?" Minho genuinely asked this question, but you did not respond.

"So, is that all?" Minho scoffed at your returned question.

"Excuse me? Of course it's not," he stated like it was the most obvious answer in the world. "Do you really want to know what else I've been keeping to myself?" Before you realized what you were doing, your body took control over your mind, allowing your head to nod in agreement rapidly, earning a, "Are you sure about that?" from Minho.

"Are they," you began, feeling a slight tremble in your voice so you paused for a moment. "Are they about me?"

"Mhm. They're related to you. The things that I've wanted to do, thought about doing. It's more than I'm willing to say on its own," he responded casually, the chillness yet unintentionally seductive manner causing you to instinctively cross your legs and slightly rub them together.

"Don't say it then," you replied near instantly, an anxious hitch present in your voice. "Show me." Minho quirked an eyebrow, repeating your words to make sure he understood you correctly. He sighed deeply, almost longingly.

"If you insist, then fine. C'mere," he planted a firm hand on your upper back and pulled you impossibly close towards him. Before you could question his actions, his lips were on yours, kissing you like he had no time left in the world. You were shocked at first, but you quickly melted into the kiss, a few whimpers escaping from your mouth as the two of you embraced. After about thirty seconds, Minho pulled away, smiling at how swollen your lips appeared after such a short period of time.

"I like you," he stumbled over his words as he spoke. "More than I was ever planning to or ever supposed to." He accompanied his confession with a gentle caress of your cheek, a lazy grin accompanying his features. "Seeing you talk about that guy just made me realize how much it bothered me, and," he took a short stop, the light in his eyes morphing into an expression of lust, "if I could have my way with you...if I could do anything that I wanted, then I would keep you all to myself." The hand he had placed on your cheek shifted downward until it found purchase on your waist. Minho's words and subsequent actions had you feeling hot. Everywhere.

"Minho, I never expected you to be this way," you chuckled both out of astonishment and nervousness towards Lee Know's possessiveness.

"Yeah, I don't think you've ever seen how greedy of a person I can be," he responded with an anxious chortle of his own. "I tried to maintain being friends, and obviously I couldn't act like that, could I?" You shook your head, agreeing with his statement.

"Well, maybe I like the way you're acting right now," your hands placing themselves against his chest. You stood on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "Maybe I want to see that side of you." The reaction Minho felt from your words went straight down.

"Why?" he whispered in return, his own voice sounding like a whine rather than an octave.

"Because...there is a slight chance I feel the same way you do, and I am curious as to how far this side of you extends." Your hands had began to slide up and down Minho's chest, allowing him to release a soft groan.

"Alright then," he replied as both hands now softly grasped your waist. "If you were mine, then I would definitely be a lot closer than this." Once Minho stated this, he gently maneuvered the both of you back over the couch, softly laying you down and hovering over top of you. The heat within your body was growing, and your heart was pumping with adrenaline at the sight of your best friend on top of you.

You could not believe that this was reality.

"Probably this close would be more accurate," he added on with a cheeky smirk, although his heavy breaths contrasted the slyness of his attitude. He had one hand on your lower back and the other softly brushing over your left cheek. "I wouldn't be able to help myself from here though," he leaned down to the crook of your neck, just to where his lips were ghosting the lobe of your ear. "I would make sure everyone knows you're mine," he alluringly whispered as he moved your hair away from the skin of your neck. "Especially here to start," he murmured before diving down to kiss the exposed area. "The things you do to me," he muttered as he kissed, licked, and sucked love marks into your neck. You did your best to keep quiet; however, no matter your best efforts, a string of hearty whines fell from your lips with every sensual movement Lee Know performed.

It felt like Heaven on Earth.

Minho was setting a rhythm to his actions when he was crudely interrupted by yet another buzz from your cellphone. You instinctually moved to grab it, only to be met with Lee Know sighing in annoyance. He swiftly grasped your arm and pinned it down to your side.

"Stop," he commanded in a frustrated yet enduring tone. "Don't answer it. Look at me." He took his free hand and tilted your chin upwards, forcing you to make eye contact with him. He delved down once more, this time finding your lips rather than your neck. This time, he slipped his tongue past your lips and yours impulsively fought back for dominance, allowing you both to explore one another's mouths. One of your hands found residence in his soft brown locks of hair, tugging on them lightly and eliciting a few moans from his ends.

Yet, all good things must come to an end, it seems.

Another buzz came from your phone, causing both you and Minho to let out groans of irritation.

"Give me that," Minho demanded, outstretching his arm for you to hand your phone to him. You automatically did as he asked and placed your phone in his grasp, to which he put it on the head of the couch behind him, making it to where you could not reach it.

"You're done with him."

With that, Minho went back to kissing you as if his life depended on it, taking note of the equal fervor your kisses contained. Hands were roaming everywhere, lips were encapsulated with one another's, blood flow was pumping to the maximum. It felt perfect. Minho pulled away to catch a breath of air, slightly chuckling against your lips at your flushed state. You had not even been making out for five minutes, and you already appeared disheveled with your bangs sticking to your forehead and your eyes blown with a glint of need.

"You really wanted this, too, didn't you?" Minho quieried, concentrating on keeping his gaze focused on yours. You let out a quiet 'mhm' in response, causing Minho's brazen smirk to reappear. "Were you trying to get a reaction out of me? Just so I would take it this far?" Minho moved your sweaty strands of hair out of your face as he anticipated a response.

"I wasn't trying to at first, I promise," you riposted sounding entirely breathless, partially because you were. "But it just got so fun seeing you all worked up over me." This caused the both of you to giggle; although, the humor was swiftly overtaken by hunger as Minho scanned your body up and down.

"How about I get back to making sure everyone knows you aren't available, hm?" He did not alott time for a response before beginning to kiss your neck once again. "Fuck, you have such a pretty neck," he groaned as he began to resume his prior actions of sucking, biting, and kissing every exposed spot he could access. He continued his endeavors for a long time, only pausing when your moans became as high pitched as a shriek. He pulled away briefly, analyzing the spots in which he had just finished orally assaulting.

"What? Are you sensitive here?" he inquired, gently rubbing his thumb over the spot for emphasis.

"Y-yes, Min, oh my God," you moaned out, desperate to have him reattach his lips to your skin. As if he could read your mind, he did just what you desired, focusing intently on your sensitive spots and relishing in the strangled moans you released as he did so.

You had almost completely lost yourself in the moment until yet another buzz came from your cellphone. Minho released an agitated noise before pulling away from the love-mark he had just embellished upon your neck.

"What the fuck does this guy want?" He read over the text message you were sent, scoffing in response. "A little too late to be texting this now," he remarked and set your phone back on the upper couch cushion.

"What did he say, Min?" Minho leaned back down seemingly even closer than he was before and pressed a short kiss to your temple.

"Don't worry about it, Sweetheart," Minho answered. "You're not seeing him again, and even if he does run into you, I think he'll get the message when he sees these marks all over your neck." Minho accompanied his words by glancing down at your neck; where there was once a smooth skin tone now housed marks of red, purple, and pink, almost resembling some form of a darkened sunset.

"They're so pretty," he whispered as he ran his fingers gently over the blemished marks. "I like seeing proof of my work on you. I want to mark you all over your body," he confessed, instead opting to mark your lips with a kiss in that moment.

"Lift up your arms for me," Minho babbled against your lips. "These clothes are getting in the way." You did just as you were commanded and raised your arms above your head. Minho made quick work of the baby blue crop top you had chosen to wear that day, pulling it over your head and leaving you topless with the exception of your bra.

"C'mon, get it all off for me," he directed you in regards to your bra. You reached your hands behind your back, attempting to undo the impossible clasp of the material. Minho offered to aid your struggle; his larger hands quickly replaced yours, and he was able to undo your bra in one swift motion. He instantaneously groaned at the sight of you, topless, and made specifically for him. He had imagined this scenario over the span of countless, lonely nights; his imagination had underestimated the mere sight of you because here you lay, even more perfect than he could have ever pictured.

"Can I touch you, baby?" he asked you, his words sounding desperate and sensual.

"Please do," you squeaked out, grabbing one of his hands and guiding them to your left breast. Minho took control from there, fondling the one breast as his mouth went to appease the other. The pleasure that erupted in your body was indescribable by words, only becoming conveyed by the loud moans that bounced off of the living room walls; every flick of Minho's tongue over your right nipple, every brush of his thumb over the left, and every sensation you felt on your chest made you rub your thighs together, begging for some sort of sweet relief. Minho picked up on your needy movements; therefore, he released your breasts from his suction and gently placed your hands on them instead.

"Keep playing with your tits for me," he instructed, "while I help you out down here, yeah?" You nodded desperately, feeling slightly embarassed from what he was asking you to do, but you obliged nevertheless, attempting to mirror his movements from before.

Minho, on the other hand, was slowly making his way down to your waistline, kissing every surface of your body he could while doing so. He made it to the band of your light grey sweatpants, and he hooked his thumb under the hem of both them and your underwear, managing to pull both articles down simultaneously and discarding them somewhere on the living room floor.

"Fuck," was all he could manage to spew out as he took you in. Your physical beauty, your scent, the slick already coating you, every aspect of your core was absolutely intriguing to him; it only made his ferality grow.

"I want to taste you," he confessed, not daring to make any movements upon you until he had your full consent. "Can I?"

"Please!" you nearly screamed, praying desparately for him to have his way with you. With your approval, Minho wasted no time in pleasing you. He started with slow kitty licks to your clitoris, eventually switching to alternations between licking and sucking on the sensitive bud, allowing his tongue to drag itself a bit lower down your folds each time. You let out an agonizing sigh of relief, which made its way past your lips in the form of a moan.

"Oh my God, Minho," you whimpered. "Just like that, please!" You continued to beg and plead and whimper and whine the whole way through Minho's work upon you.

"Fuck, y/n, you taste so good," he vibrated against your core, causing shock waves to coarse throughout your lower half. As your moans began to pick up in pace and pitch, as did Minho's movements in speed. He sucked, licked, and hummed against you at a moderate rhythm, giving rise to your back arching and your hips bucking. You felt a knot began to tighten in your stomach just as Minho pulled away, removing his cool, metal rings from his right hand. He tenderly took hold of your dominant hand and placed it where his mouth just was.

"I want you to play with your clit while I finger you," he told you bluntly, causing your cheeks to flush slightly. He took notice of your unease and so added on, "Can you do that for me?" as a way to both ask for your consent and make sure you were in a stable mindset to do so.

"Yes," you hoarsely stammered, "I can." To prove it, you leisurely began to rub your clit in small circles, moaning at the return of pleasureful contact. Minho smirked at your actions.

"Good girl," he praised as he slowly inserted his middle finger inside of you, pumping the singular digit slowly in and out of your vagina, curling it in order to brush against that sweet spot inside of you. Your maneuvers on yourself began to falter slightly as he inserted his ring finger as well, quickening his pace as he did so. You made an attempt to stifle your wanton, continuous moans; after all, you hated being too loud, always fearing someone would walk in and catch you in the act. Yet, Minho was not standing for this.

"No no," he stated while making eye contact with you, "let me hear you, baby. Be loud for me. Moan for me" Just like that, any hesitation within your body vanished, and you let every noise held within your vocal chords escape. Moans, groans, whimpers, whines, and everything in between filled the thin walls of your apartment.

"Attagirl." Minho took your noises as encouragement and began pumping his fingers in and out of you faster, still managing to curl them at the opportune moments. You began to rub your clit in tempo-esque sync with Minho's fingers, both motions feeling inhumanely swift at this point.

"Min, I'm getting c-close," you mumbled out, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten further and your brain only focusing on your release.

"Yeah, baby?" he cooed as his fingers rapidly brushed against your G-Spot. "Cum for me then, baby. I want you to cum all over my fingers. Can you do that for me?" He never broke eye contact with you as he asked this, not once.

"I, I can try," you replied, attempting to laugh the nervousness off, but it instead came out gargled.

"Hm, good girls do what they're told. You wanna be a good girl for me, right?" Minho inquired, moving his fingers back down to a moderate pace.

"Yes, yes, yes, I do!" you stumbled over your repetition. "'M your good girl." Minho chuckled at your adorable, mind-numb antics.

"Then cum all over for me," he repeated, working his fingers back up to the swift pace they had stalled from. "You can do it, I know you can, baby." The combined pleasure of Minho's fingers gracing your G-Spot and your fingers massaging your clit all became too overwhelming at once. You felt yourself coming undone, and as such, your hips began to stutter and your thighs began to shake as you came down from your high. Your hands flew to grasp at the slick leather of the couch as Minho's fingers helped you ride out your high.

"Good girl," Minho eulogized as he removed both digits from your entrance and inserted them into his mouth, licking them clean of your arousal. He climbed back over top of you and planted a kiss of adoration on your forehead.

"You did so well for me, pretty girl," he ran a hand through your hair as he smiled earnestly at you. Your brain was too numb to respond with verbage, so you instead sat up and kissed Minho with more passion than you previously had. "That's my girl," he mumbled against your lips. You mustered up enough strength to push Minho on his back, his hands instantly crawling up to squeeze the plush of your ass.

"Your turn," you tiredly stated, causing a chuckle to escape Lee Know's mouth. He encapsulated you in yet another kiss as your hands traveled down to his black, ripped jeans. You quickly found the zipper, unzipping his pants while simultaneously, yet unintentionally, palming his erection and eliciting a needy groan from him. With a bit of help from him, you shimmied his jeans and his boxers down, allowing his cock to spring free from its prior restraint. You took his shirt off of him just as fast, leaving both of you bare in front of one another.

"C'mere," he commanded, moving you forward on his lap to the point in which you were straddling him as he was sitting up. "Spread those legs for me." You shifted your position to where you were doing just that, giving him enough room to push up into you comfortably. "There you go," he praised before softly gripping your chin and pulling you into a brief yet fiery kiss.

"Look at me," Minho adjured you. "I don't want to miss a second of this pretty face." The compliment caused you to go red once more, making Minho in turn giggle. "Are you ready?" he asked before going forward.

"Yes, I have been, please, Min," you were not even sure what you were begging for, but Minho found it adorable nevertheless.

"Please what, baby?"

"Please fuck me."

Minho could not help but smirk at your bold comment as if to say, 'As you wish.' He adjusted his dick to align with your entrance and slowly but surely, inch by inch pushed himself inside of you. The stretch you felt from the endeavor was painful, yet delicious, and both you and Minho groaned from the feeling of one another's arousal. Minho was still for a minute, allowing for you to adjust to his length. Without warning, you began to slowly bounce on his length, taking Lee Know completely by surprise. Moans quickly refilled the apartment air, this time coming from both parties.

"Thereee you go," Minho groaned out as you continued your movements, his hands bracing themselves on your hips both to steady you and to keep himself in tact. "Move those hips for me baby."

A plethora of praises began to feel the air as you sped up your movements on Minho's cock, consisting of, 'That's it, baby,' 'Keep doing that,' and the ever so common, 'Yes, yes, yes!' along with multiple swears that adorned the vicinity. All reasonable judgment had left the area, with both you and Minho becoming concerned with each other's pleasure ass moans and movements began to become more frequent.

This statement only proved its factuality as Minho heard a buzzing sound coming from behind him. Your movements began to slow down as you heard it too; of course, it was your phone that was responsible. Minho grabbed your phone and scoffed, a sly, 'fuck,' falling from his lips as he read the caller ID.

"Look who it is again," he laughed sarcastically, showing you the phone screen as you continued your dulled thrusts. "And he's calling this time." Minho pondered for a moment before an idea came into his head. Amidst the noises of skin slapping, he asked you, "Should I answer it?" Your face instantly contorted into an expression of worry and anxiety.

"No, no, Min. D-don't answer it," you stammered out in a mix of breathlessness and fret.

"Are you sure? I think he's g-getting kind of worried," Minho retorted, the cockiness evident in his tone. Despite your wishes, he picked up the call.

"Hello?" Almost instantaneously, you clenched around Minho, both out of worry and exhileration. It was an anxiety-stricken situation, that was for certain; however, something about the confidence Minho exerted in that moment turned you on, so much so to the point where you accidentally let out a high pitched moan.

"Shh," Minho held a hand over your mouth, holding the phone away from you both. "You don't want him to hear you moaning like this, do you?" You shook your head no as Minho smirked and brought your phone back to his ear. "Sorry, what was that? Yeah, she's busy with me right now, but if you want me to leave a message for you, I can. You sure? Alright, no problem. Take care, man." Minho finally hung up the phone. "I think he got the message."

Although you could not hear the other end of the conversation, you were almost positive the guy could ear the lewd noises coming from your side of the receiver. It should have embarrassed you to no end, but it only made your eroticism grow. As such, you bounced harder and faster on Minho's cock, causing him to throw his head back in pleasure and release a string of swears.

"Fuck, baby. You were squeezing me so tightly while I was on the phone," he remarked about the gesture you had hoped he had not tooken notice of. "Were you that nervous or was it that," he stopped his interrogation to caputre you in yet again another passionate kiss, "you liked it? Hm?"

You could not bring yourself to answer him verbally, instead allowing moan upon moan to be uttered. Minho did not mind, however, instead allowing the both of you to become lost within your pleasure. With the pace you had set for the occasion, it was not long until you found yourself nearing a second orgasm, and from the way Minho's hips had began to stutter against your own and his whines becoming more high pitched, you figured it was the same case for him. He proved you correct moments later.

"Close, 'M close," he repeated several times over. "Keep going. Just like that for me, yeah?" His hands grasped your hips, aiding you in swiftening your movements on his cock, bouncing faster than you had ever been able to manage before. "Where baby? Where do you want me to cum?"

"Inside," you replied without hesitation. Your answer surprised Minho initially, but it quickly morphed into excitement. Minho felt his orgasm creeping up on him, so he buried his head into the crook of your neck, thrusting his hips into your own as he quickly tried to bring himself to release.

You, on the other hand, felt yourself already coming undone once more, and Minho's additional thrusts were the straws that broke the camel's back. You saw stars as your second orgasm hit, feeling more intense than the first by a longshot. The sight itself alone was enough to arouse Minho to completion, and he let himself go, realising thick white ropes of cum inside of you and groaning immensely while doing so.

As both of you came down from your respective highs, you laid your head on Minho's chest, your breathing heavy and your blood pumping. Minho held you close to him, not wanting to let you go in that moment.

"Damn," he finally broke the silence with a chuckle. He lifted your head up towards him, muttering a, 'c'mere' as he brought you in for a kiss, this one much less intense than the ones prior.

"You did so well, baby," he rubbed your arms as he spoke. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," was all you could mumble against him. You somehow felt weak yet on Cloud 9 at the same time. It was a weird feeling, but exhilerating none the less. You attempted to lift yourself off of Minho, but the boy's strong arms kept you held down.

"Let's just stay like this for a little while, yeah?" You nodded, bringing yourself to lie down on top of Minho. "Are you alright, Princess?"

"Mhm," you sleepily mumbled. "You?"

"Well, I didn't expect to be doing this tonight, but yes. I am great." Minho looked up at the sight of you: your hair stuck to your forehead once more, beads of sweat cascaded like waterfalls down your body, and you were ninety-nine percent sure your makeup was running. Yet, Minho thought you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and he vocalized it.

"I look like the personified spawn of Satan right now, Minho." Minho could not help but burst into a fit of laughter at your words.

"You're always beautiful to me," he retorted. You smiled down at him, feeling yourself doze off in his arms, but not before he muttered one more thing:

"So, no more of him then, right?"

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Hello Shay ! I’ve been loving the civilian!reader fics, and I had an idea for a fic like that, but with a twist 🫣 reader is bucky’s sweet civilian gf, literal definition of sunshine, basically a lover, not a fighter. She’s a ballet teacher at a local studio (hint hint wink wink). And she lives with him and the team at the tower. One night, while the team is out on a mission, Hydra ambushes the tower and tries to take the reader hostage. And when they learn about it, they rush back home in order to save her. Meanwhile, Bucky and Tony check the footage just to see his precious sweet girl absolutely kicking ass. And I mean hardcore, like she even does the entire widow thigh-neck move. And everyone is like??? And Bucky’s just absolutely fucking HORNY bc “hell I’ve been in between those thighs so many times, you’re telling me I could’ve DIED???”

okay YESSSSS we live for a badass gf who appears to be nothing but sweet sunshine and killer on the inside. Fluffy fluffy and smutty smutty

"Be back soon, darling" Bucky cooed, kissing you again and again while everyone boarded the jet, getting in a few more pecks before having to leave on a mission.

"C'mon lover boy, the faster we get going, the faster you get back to your sweetheart!" Tony yelled, shaking his head watching Bucky look a you with puppy eyes, not wanting to leave his sunshine behind. "He's so down bad, I swear"

"Can you blame him, she's so cute" Sam smiled, watching the two of you cling onto each other for a few extra seconds, your form hidden, engulphed in Bucky's thick arms. "Look, you can't even see her when tin man hugs her"

"I'll miss you baby" you kissed Bucky's pouty lips, caressing his scruffy cheek before letting him run off, your cheeks heating up when he blew you another kiss before the doors closed.

"You're a little sap" Nat teased while Bucky blushed, strapping on his gear as the engine roared to life, rumbling as they took off. Bucky had 0 shame in everyone knowing how much he loved you and it started from the day he met you. He got called out immediately, questioned over the dopey smile he had on his face, the blush on his cheeks instantly giving him away.

Soon after you'd started dating, Bucky wanted you closer to him and he didn't have to ask Tony twice; his room was moved to a floor above so you'd have more space to live together. The last thing Bucky wanted was for you to get hurt because of his job. He felt more relaxed knowing you were in he safety of the compound on days where he was away.

"Who would've thought Bucky would be the romantic type"

"I did" Steve groaned, having seen Bucky's flirty side for years but he knew this was different. He hadn't seen his bestfriend like this before, clearly in utterly and desperately in love with you.

"It's adorable" Sam laughed while Bucky continued to smile, scrolling through his phone looking at pictures of you. His camera rolled was filled with various images of you baking, cuddling, sleeping, doing the most mundane things in the world, each making his heart flutter. He felt a pang in his chest, momentarily worried about if you were safe without him, the same anxiety he always felt whenever he had to leave you.

You stretched across the sofa, sipping on some hot chocolate and putting on your favorite comfort movie, deciding to have a relaxing night to yourself since the compound was empty. You didn't like when Bucky had to leave but you knew it was part of his job, slipping the fuzzy throw blanket over you shoulders before hitting play.

It had hardly been a few minutes before the screen went black making you blink, wondering if you'd sat on the remote by accident. Suddenly the rest of the lights turned off, a blasting sound coming from the entrance before you heard rushed footsteps nearing you.

Your heart started to race, having no time to hide or think, coming face to face with a number of masked men all towering over you. One grabbed you, pulling out a camera and hitting record, shoving it close to your face with a sinister smile.

"Look who we have, soldat"

The jet hadn't been flying for long, a sudden beeping alarm from the security system alerting Tony to check the cameras. His eyes grew wide, seeing the Hydra logo take over the screen before switching the live footage from the hacked system.

"Guys! There's been an attack on the compound!" Tony shouted from the computer, everyone rushing to see what came on screen, billows of smoke emitting from the main wing. Suddenly the screen went black, replaced with a man swearing a black mask, walking around the common room.

"Welcome Mr. Stark" His voice was thick with a Russian accent, the video panning to show the other agents infiltrating the tower. "Where is our soldat"

"You stay the fuck away from my girl" Bucky growled, his heart hammering in his chest, nearly crying when he saw someone grab you and shove you into a chair.

"She's precious to you, isn't she. We'll see you soon" he laughed, before the stream cut off leaving Bucky wanting to scream in frustrating, anxiety clouding all his thoughts, just wanting to get back to you to protect you.

"We have to go help her!" Bucky paced up and down while Tony rerouted the jet, speeding back to save you. "How the fuck do I know what's going on, there has to be something" He pleaded, hating that he no longer had eyes on you.

"Hold on, let me get into the back up feed" Tony tapped away at different keys, getting into the security system, selecting the camera for the common room where you were being held. "Here, I got it! I-Holy shit..."

The sound of screaming screeched through the speaker but it wasn't coming from you.

No.

"B-Barnes, you're girl just killed someone with her thighs" Tony stared at the footage with wide eyes while Bucky and the others watching in awe as your legs wrapped around one of the agents' heads, snapping his neck before flipping over and attacking another one of your assailants.

Bucky nearly choked, watching the men drop to the floor like flies, your arms and legs holding onto the men with a vice like grip until they fell, hardly breaking a sweat each time.

"Do you understand how many time's I've been in between those thighs, you're telling me she could've killed me?!!" Bucky practically moaned, seeing you fight, all his anxiety melting into lust, his cock straining against the thick material of his tac suit.

"Jesus Bucky, you're gonna poke an eye out" Sam's face scrunched up while Bucky adjusted himself, biting his lip to keep from making a sound, his tip leaking, breathing out a sigh of relief seeing you perfectly safe.

"Can't help me, look at her. Better count me out for movie night, m'gonna spent the whole night fuckin'-

"Okay, got it, you're a ridiculous, horny, pervert, and y/n probably won't walk for a week, will you please put that away" Sam shook his head, walking away when he tent in Bucky's pants got worse.

"I'm sorry, we've been housing a Hydra killer all this time?" Tony shook his head as the jet landed, still in disbelief over what everyone had just seen, both impressed and 100% scared of what else you were capable of. "You sure know how to pick em' Barnes"

As soon as the jet hit the floor, Bucky was sprinting off into he compound, running to find you, relief flooding his veins when he saw you sipping on your tea, seated on the couch again. You jumped up from your spot, jumping into your boyfriends arms, clinging onto him while the others also entered, glad to see you were okay. They got to work, clearing up the room, rounding up the few agents that were knocked out for questioning while also giving you and Bucky some privacy.

"Babygirl" Bucky hugged you tightly in his arms, burying his face into your neck, inhaling your soft scent, hoisting you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. "Are you okay doll, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine Bucky" you reassured him, pecking his soft lips, letting him check you over before feeling satisfied you were okay, not finding a scratch on your body.

"Everything okay Buck?" you cocked your head noticing your boyfriends shift in demeanor, his soft baby blue eyes darkening into something else, biting his lip.

"Baby, I had to hold back from pulling my cock out on the jet and touching myself, you know how much that hurt? How hard I was the entire time, struggling not to jet my dick off watching how sexy you looked" He walked you up to your shared bedroom, his erection shamelessly pushing against your clothed core, not bothering to hide it one bit. "Where have you been hiding all that princess"

"Not hiding Bucky, just-never needed to do that" You shrugged shyly, squeezing your thigs around his waist playfully, making him groan as he dropped you on the bed.

"Can't wait to keep my face between these pretty legs that could kill me" He groaned, slicing your clothes off with his pocket knife before diving in without a care in the world, eating you like a man starved, tapping your thighs to wrap around his head.

"C'mon doll, squeeze em'" he moaned, humping against the bed feeling your muscles flex, his eyes rolling back, nearly cumming against the mattress at the strength he could feel, knowing you were holding back from hurting him.

you could kill him if you want.

Fuck, he was going to cum so fast.

"Oh god! Bucky!! PLease! D-DOn't STOP"

"That's it gorgeous, so good to me, so fuckin' pretty. won't last baby, gonna cum for you!"

"They're going at it like rabbits, didn't you sound proof their room after the first incident?"

"I did. This is after the sound proofing"

"Gonna fuck your thighs next baby, you got my cock so hard, almost creamed my pants like a teenager watching, you, oh shit-shit-m'so sensitive, keep clenching around my dick, that's it-fuckkk"

"Jesus christ, it's been an hour"

"Did you forget he has the super soldier serum? They're not gonna stop any time soon"

"I'M CUMMING JAMES"

"Gonna fucking cum for you y/n, OH FUCK YESSS you're so sexy when you fight baby, m'gonna fuckin' cum again, I can't stop"

"He's really gonna go all night, isn't he"

"Can you blame him?"

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janumun · 5 months ago

Text

A Bond Everlasting (LaDS Rafayel - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Pairing: Rafayel/Reader Words: ~17k

Tags: soulmate AU (the red string of fate, with a twist), college setting (and they were roommates), angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, minor violence and action, scent kink, blow job, oral and vaginal sex, facial, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, merman knotting, sexual rut/Lemurian sexual cycle

Summary: Rafayel tries — and miserably fails — to forget the one his red thread weaved against once upon a time, even a decade after its break. Finding her, once more, years later, and residing within the same place as her doesn’t help his cause.

A/N: A happy very belated birthday gift to you, @chibamari. With all of my love and all of our favorite heartbreak, I hope you enjoy this, darling friend.

I. EBB

The red string of fate. Rafayel found he truly loathed the concept.

What was it, truly, if not just the Fates contemptuous scorn upon them?

Forcing kinship and eternity in between a pair that did not mould against the other. That would, if time given, drift apart as mere bottled wishes left traversing, lonely, across the seas.

And yet, the manacles remain celebrated, since time immemorial. As legends of the rare, and lucky few, destined to be bonded in harmony.

Rafayel used to be — once upon a time — part of the same foolery brigade as the rest of them, the day his red thread spun and found itself interweaved against his first, and last, love. To her, he promised a Lemurian’s vow of faithful eternity.

Until the day that blood-red thread quivered and ruptured apart, weakened by her absence.

Leaving to Rafayel only the hollow remains of a heart rejected. The brand of its mockery left behind as indelible remains of the severed — useless — string wound against his finger.

II. FLOW

Deft, practiced digits streak a brush across canvas; the truculent quality to his paint lines reflecting the agitated knot of Rafayel’s brow and the hand he scrubs through his hair in chagrin at constant-wheeling thoughts. Bold strokes; an amalgamation of bright colors — gentle turquoise and oceanic azure — setting into paper to shape unconscious form to his muse, for his current class.

It is only when he hears the ripple of applauding gasps behind — “You’re amazing, Senior Rafayel!” — is he knocked back into his senses, angling a stupefied gaze up at what he’s made of his project: originally an interpretation of the depths of the sea, the topic he’d presented his class for the day.

He notes, in no small proportion of growing aversion, the strokes of his brush having shaped form of a delicate back — hers — against the backdrop of a vast sea, reminiscent of home. His thoughts — he muses in self-derision — having lent unconscious connection in between his place of most comfort to the person who stood as his entire comfort.

Rafayel’s head throbs with heat, as if knelling the oncoming of a particularly harsh fever. Perhaps his less than perfect health was to blame for his momentary lapse of concentration.

“Is the lady underwater inspired by anyone in particular, Senior? Your brushwork for her seems particularly passionate.”

Rafayel’s mouth twitches into an insouciant, cool smile, he directs at his students. “Hmm I’m not sure. Perhaps, she’s inspired by that one mermaid movie they’re currently playing in theatres.”

“Oh, ‘Aquatic’? I’ve seen it!”

“Me too! It's really good.”

“The part where she turns to sea foam—”

A seamless lie; he lets it steer the focus of conversation away from him and his lapse in concentration. Turning back towards the board to proceed with his lecture.

Opting to teach a fine arts course to a bunch of junior year students, for extra annual credit, was clearly shaping to be one of the worst decisions he’d ever made.

Especially so, when the subject in question, he’d offered to teach for, in the first place, remained starkly absent throughout the duration of the lecture.

III. EBB

Shouldering open the door to their shared apartment, Rafayel steps inside, staggering under the weight of his stack of the newest arrival of deliveries. The apartment is silent, devoid of the sound of her characteristic pattering footsteps.

Depositing his packages down against the side of the sofa in the living room, he collapses back into the cushions, tuning a distasteful frown towards the empty kitchen counter. Recounting to mind, the events of this morning, having shepherded him into an entire day of distraction at the University.

“Ouch.” She hissed, a sound of surprise, wrenching her arm back from the sizzling frying pain at the spits of oil it spewed.

Rafayel released an exaggerated sigh at the sight, ambling over towards the kitchen. “Let me help.”

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of fixing breakfast on my own.” She attempted heroic reassurance, even as she easily treaded backwards to let Rafayel replace her at the stove.

“Yes, yes, I believe you. I'd still like to ensure you don’t burn our apartment to the ground while I’m away at work. My paintings are priceless treasures, you know.” He deftly takes the eggs off the stove and plates them before shoving her share at her. “There you go, Miss All-Capable.”

“Stop making fun of me.” She smiles in relieved gratitude, moving to set cutlery across the table. “And thank you.”

Rafayel swivels a puffed smile her way. “Whatever would you do without me?”

She shakes her head at him, attempting no effort to refute him. “Indeed.” Her fingers brush against his as she moves to pass him his share.

“Rafayel.” She sweeps a sudden grab at his hand, digits entwining in between his. “You’re a bit warmer than usual. Are you feeling sick?” She smooths a gentle hand across his forehead.

He feels his face burn darker at the sudden intimacy of their contact. “No, I don’t.” Instinctively jostling away from her touch. “I’m just tired, is all. I was up the entire night, after all.”

“You really need to fix that terrible habit of yours. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind!” Rafayel can’t tamp back the grin from his face at her chiding.

“Take better care of yourself. I can’t be here to keep you in check round the clock, you know.” She sighs in resignation.

“Yes, yes, my noisy Mistress.”

“Speaking of which,” She begins, just as Rafayel seats himself at the table. "I'll be out late tonight.”

Rafayel feels his smile frost over; a dreaded, sour feeling immediately spurning at the base of his belly.

“I have a study date with Caleb.” She does not meet his gaze, forking at her egg.

Rafayel hears himself speak before he can tuck back his impulsive thoughts. “You sure you should be trusting the man this much? I don’t—”

“’Like him.’ I know. I don’t know why you’re so biased against him, he’s a good person.”

The praise dredges bitterness across his tongue; ashy and tepid. His fork nearly stabs at his own food, a disapproving moue he knows is dark upon his face. “Sure,” he intones at last, grappling against his desire to ask her not to go, to spend her day with him instead. “Have fun.” An unfair burden he knows he throws onto her shoulders; he does not possess the right to dictate who she chooses to associate with.

And yet—

Rafayel’s gaze deliberately treks the line of red thread adorning his ring finger — treacherously cut off a few centimetres in and dissipating into nothingness. Following the absent line of it; her own finger sits vacant against the wooden table-top. An immeasurable dejection he isn’t able to shuck off, no matter how many times his eyes have witnessed its emptiness.

Perhaps she is right and he is sick, an inscrutable tremor setting into his fingers as they continue on with the rest of their meal in silence.

IV. FLOW

The oncoming dawn encroaches a gradual shell-pink spill of color across the velvet skies as Rafayel’s feverish gaze drags, listless, to the view past the patio windows, the bone-deep ache from the day past yet to recede.

The angry scrapes of charcoal rushed across paper, forgotten as the unfinished sketch drifts purposeless down onto the floor to join the rest of its discarded predecessors.

She has yet to return home — Rafayel had stayed up the entire night and remained planted, firm, within their lounge, to make sure he would be there to greet her on her return. She'd never been away from their apartment overnight.

Rafayel knows because he had — on more occasions than he could count and didn’t wish to acknowledge — found himself crumpled within cool sheets, self-confined to the privacy of his room, listening in to the comforting sounds of her padded, soft movements around their apartment.

She'd often slip back through their door, close to midnight — she made it a point, always, to return home, no matter the hour — after slaving away hours at the library for her Hunter exam. She'd try for quietude; he knew, so she wouldn’t disturb his absent sleep.

A gentle clink of mugs at the kitchen counter as she’d make herself a cup of a coffee in preparation of burning the midnight oil.

Despite having the physical structure of their apartment — a shelter and comfort in name — his room’s four-walled sanctity, it didn’t truly feel warm as a home until the moment she stepped past the threshold and into their shared space.

And only when he’d hear the soft crinkle of pages turning steadily as she’d settle herself onto the living room sofa to study, would he find himself beckoned into slumber. As if she too, knew on instinct, how her presence aimed to soothe, choosing to make space for her studies right where he could hear her, in the lounge, instead of the confines of her own room.

Yet now.

Midnight had come and gone, dawn scraping indigo for approaching light, and no signs of her return.

A long day behind him endured in feverish unrest and the toll of another sleepless night, doesn’t help disentangle burgeoning thoughts of her within the embrace of another man at that very moment, one not him. He can’t help but sorely curse himself for his ill-thought decision of staying the night up, waiting for her like some sorry love-struck fool.

Not that he would’ve been able to sleep, either way; a part of him mocked in muted whispers.

His thread throbs; a nipping bite of rejection and along with it, his body. Languid gaze absently trekking the severed thread, flickering incandescent against his ring finger. The constricting heat of it, as if traversing up his veins along with the fever within his body. Colluding against his heart, as if it wishes to eventually wither him up instead. A slow, bittersweet poison.

Rafayel feels nauseous.

He’s beginning to contemplate on retiring for the meagre, precious hours before his upcoming classes for the day — perhaps that bitterly strong liquor she’d stowed into the fridge earlier would help do the trick — just as the door lock clicks open.

The sound violently startles Rafayel out of winding, unheeded thoughts enough, he springs off the sofa just as she steps foot over the threshold.

Opening his mouth to put words to turbulent emotions — a million queries — before his questions wither off the tip of his tongue when he fixates a good, long look at her.

She appears downright exhausted and an instinctual, foreboding spurts forth in him. The look on her careworn face, light-snuffed gaze meeting his — Rafayel thinks, mirrors the state of his own affairs — before it dissipates into stifled surprise. “Rafayel, what’re you doing up—”

And before he can tamp himself back into composure, Rafayel’s striding the few paces it takes for him to reach her, dragging her into his embrace.

She stiffens at the contact on instinctual reflex, it chips away at another piece of his heart. Tightens the strangulating hold of his severed thread against his soul.

He hedges her tighter into his embrace, regardless. Head pitching down onto her shoulder; a hand he smooths down the line of her quivering back before she relaxes into him, at last.

“Rafayel—” Arms twitching by her side and up as she circles him within her own comfort, returning his warmth in the cling of desperate digits against the back of his shirt.

“You’re late. You're so late.” he gripes, half-hearted.

A beat. Two passes.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

A peculiar relationship; she calls them friends — close — inappropriately so and he’d agreed to be one, to her, if it were the sole thing that allowed him to be by her side. For her to not abandon him once more. A relationship edging something far gnarled than friendship.

He doesn’t believe even she has a name for what they share, in moments as these, where Rafayel forgets himself and the boundaries he holds himself to. Turns blind to pretenses and masks he fixates, so delicately crafted, for her benefit and the safety of his own heart.

He is not, however, a man strong enough to ignore the strain of his beloved’s gaze, tiredness rimming her entire being, she feels so brittle in his arms, and it ruins him to not know the cause of it.

“...Got something on your mind?” He murmurs into her hair.

“Perhaps.” Her response is slow, halting.

“Want to tell me what it is?” He breaks away from her, enough to let his eyes scour her face in stern scrutiny.

A whispered laugh escapes her at his inspection.

“...Rafayel, how do you feel about an early morning stroll with me?”

V. EBB

The shores of Whitesand Bay stretch empty within the wee hours of dawn, quiet, save for the twittering song of birds cutting across the sky and the gentle wash of waves at their bare feet as they amble along the sandy belt. She hasn’t uttered a word since, absent gaze trekking the gradual rise of the sun above the horizon, light flittering its diamonds across the lap of waves.

The easy access to the sea — and by extension, the remarkable view — was one of the reasons they’d jointly agreed upon renting an apartment this close to Whitesand Bay, two years prior. On any other usual occasion, Rafayel’s fingers would’ve been upon pen and paper, soaking inspiration up and through rough strokes, sketching across paper.

Now, however, his focus is all but entirely removed from his environment, vision honed in on her by his side.

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” She murmurs, gaze still fixated upon the horizon. “I’m not an early riser like you are so I’ve never seen the sunrise here up this close.”

She's skirting the issue, Rafayel has no mind to force her to spill her heart when she does not wish to.

For her, he is willing to remain patient.

Regardless of the consequences to his person.

He joins in on her flimsy facade.

“If only I wasn’t a little too aware of the fact.” Tapping a light fist against her temple, he angles a skewed smile down at her. “Despite my very arduous efforts to get you out of bed on multiple occasions, you’ve persisted in your terrible ways, Miss Hunter.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good, I fear.”

That gets her breaking a smile, the tensed knitted worry within her gaze easing just that tiny bit; Rafayel plucks it up for the small reward it is. “A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like you’re any less bull-headed.” She defends. “Don’t make me recount all the times you nearly gave poor Thomas a heart attack because your paintings weren’t ready even mere hours before the exhibitions they were supposed to be featured in.”

His mouth pulls into a distasteful moue at that. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side. He refuses to understand the world of difference it causes in between using cherry red or wine on a canvas. If it were up to that simpleton, he’d have me besmirch all my works, just for the sake of those trivial exhibitions.”

She chuckles. “Now, no need to get so worked-up. You know Thomas cares for you and wishes to have your talent recognized like it deserves to be.” She moves to seat herself by the shore, close to where the waves lick up at the sand. Rafayel follows suit.

“I know how much passion you pour into your paintings.” Crinkling a gentle smile up at him. “That’s exactly why I love your art so much.”

Rafayel’s heart catches at his throat at the easy slip of her compliment.

She's never been sparing with her appreciation of his artworks.

Ever since she’d chanced upon them a few years back when they’d only shortly been re-united at the time.

She’d always been generous and open with her admiration.

His heart, however, wasn’t immune to its traitorous stuttering, every single time at her attentions and praise.

Perhaps she discerns the look on his face, tapping into his emotions, or realizes the curious intimacy of her statement, she wrenches her gaze away from his. Rafayel swiftly feels the keen loss of it.

Silence sweeps once more between them, her gaze having drifted back into the seas and with it, the steady droop of her shoulders as she curves in tighter against her huddled knees. “It was a place, similar to this one, where we first met. A lost little human meeting a young Lemurian washed ashore.” Her voice barely hikes above an octave. “I didn’t think Lemurians existed for real before that, and to know I shared a red fate with one...”

His throat closes against a sharp inhale at her whisper, the first time she’s chosen to address their past severed bond, ever since their reunion.

Why now. He means to ask. A question that dissipates off the tip of his tongue, un-uttered.

“We were so young back then and I inadvertently hurt you. Ever since I moved away, and time just passed, regardless...” She pauses. “You must’ve really hated me for that, huh.” She angles a cautious smile at him.

I did not. Rafayel means to refute and yet his tongue refuses to cooperate.

She continues on, as if she had long perceived his answer and made peace with his supposed resentment of her, unperturbed by his lack of response. Her reaction vexes him.

“I’ve hurt someone dear to me again. Caleb—”

The familiar name spurns bitter within his chest. “Did he do something to you?” His fingers jam against coarse sand, snagging his thread tight against his ring finger.

“No! No. Caleb’s a good man, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”

Deep within the recesses of his heart, Rafayel knows it, he knows it only too well; he only wishes he could truly bring himself to hate him.

“He...” Her fingers tense harsher against her arms. “Last night, he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

His ring finger throbs; the missing line of its thread seeming to constrict against Rafayel’s neck.

“I turned him down.”

A quick, involuntary bite of wicked relief thrums at the back of his breastbone. And yet—

Why do you look as if your heart is shattering into a million pieces?

Rafayel’s mouth seems to form words on its own as if he wishes for his own demise. “Do you regret it?”

Her silence is a dagger that digs pointed, deep in between his ribs, the longer she lets it steep.

She meets his gaze, a turbulent question within hers, beseeching. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I should.” She looks as if she has more to speak, restive teeth biting into her lip to hold back unsaid thoughts.

Rafayel dares not parse the emotions he sees flittering within her eyes, dares not hope for what he cannot have. Not again, for his heart to fracture once more by setting up false narratives. He has loved and will love still for eternity — he doesn’t, however, have the tenacity to bear being abandoned again.

And so, he shutters himself, gaze wrenching away from hers, a frown knitting tight against his brow. “Whatever it is that you want, if it makes you happy, I want you to grab onto it for yourself.” Fingers brushing against hers from where they rest within the sand, index and middle lingering longer against the base of her ring finger. Before he moves, carding hesitant digits through the fall of her hair.

For it is the only way he knows how to love — regardless of broken vows — in her happiness, even if it would never be found by his side.

VI. FLOW

The dream stirs vivid beneath restless lids — Rafayel hasn’t dreamt of that time of theirs together in so long, a welcome awareness of his mind’s conjuring, he embraces in that moment.

Perhaps by-products of an exhausted, sick mind.

Or yearning for an unfulfilled wish.

A sweet sting of desire, just as the first time he remembers it. He lets himself drown deeper into the abyss of its calling.

He’d cut a boring class during first semester at college — he could no longer remember the subject — in lieu of chasing the path of an ambitious sparrow within a secluded spot. Located far back along the grounds of the college and protected further underneath the dense foliage of the overgrown greenery as he’d sat perched upon a bench, motionless and silent.

Save for the smooth rush of his pencil across his journal. Detailing the quest of the bird as it leapt across the grass towards a lazing cat, blissfully dodging the feline’s half-hearted attempt at pawing it away.

Tranquility rippled only at a surprising intrusion; she’d walked into his private space — she always seemed to find him — and he’d startled at her presence.

“Oh! Sorry. Rafayel, I thought I—”

Their relationship on strained ice at the time — neither of them choosing to dig up unfulfilled childhood vows or the break of their fated thread.

A hastened apology she’d tripped over, for disturbing him before her eyes had flickered to the open journal in his lap and she’d breathed an awed sound. Called it beautiful — a slip of the tongue, he could tell, from her demeanor.

They'd gotten back into conversation — albeit halting — after that.

The moment, a pivotal one, in Rafayel allowing himself to accept her back into his life, both emotionally and physically.

He recalls the citrus notes to her perfume as she’d tentatively seated herself by his side. The way her hair curled delicate against the curve of her cheek, beckoning Rafayel to dare a hand out and slip it back against her ear.

The unconscious brush of soft digits against his as she’d moved to accept the proffered journal from him, when she’d asked for permission to view more of his artworks.

The relief that had sunk into his marrow, body strung far too tight for so long — he felt each ache settle and ease, when she returned to his side. As if their bond still remained.

As if it had never fractured in the first place.

She moves to tug the curtains close, clipping back the last shafts of light from Rafayel’s room; his damp brow now decidedly relaxed in restless slumber, after being exposed to the heat of the sun for so long.

He’s made a habit of drawing his windows open at night, perhaps to relieve the fevered pitch of his body off the cool breeze wafting of the sea. Restive sleeplessness; keeping him tossing until near close to dawn, when she often catches him falling, thankfully, into exhaustive sleep at the end of his long, disturbed nights.

Rafayel had been out of sorts for nearly two weeks now; a distracted gaze and a listless stride his constant companions. Adamant and mulish in his response, at inquiring of his health, every time, that he was perfectly alright and merely plagued by the weariness of sleepless nights spent on his paintings.

Barely a day or two into that ridiculous spectacle of his before her patience with him had expired and she’d hauled him off to his room and strong-armed him into bed.

A rueful smile tugs at her mouth at the recollection of their silly argument then.

“Hey, ow. Easy, you’ll break me! Aaah... too late. I think I’ve already dislocated my wrist. My life as a painter is done for. Ow.”

“Rafayel. Shut up unless you want me to gag you as well.” Forcing the covers over his body; she glowered at him for obedience while she hastened to take his temperature.

Rafayel’s mouth soured deeper in distaste the longer she fretted over him. Opening his mouth, surely to protest, before she cut him off. “You’re running a low-grade fever.”

Pressing a gentle hand over his forehead, “Please, rest now.”

A knot twisted in between Rafayel’s brow at her plea. Threading his fingers against hers. “Alright, alright I will,” he murmured, a gentle thumb he smoothed against her furrowed brow. “So, stop making that face now.”

His agitation at his prolonged ill-health, however, had manifested in numerous half-finished drafts and rough sketches, he’d filled sheets upon sheets of paper with, littered upon his bed.

The subject matter of most, inexplicably similar in features; a fact that surprised her, for Rafayel had always been one for continual exploration of a wide variety of subjects in his artworks, rather than one stationary objective.

She reaches for one such sketch now, discarded by his bedside. Predictably, it is the same subject her eyes have grown accustomed to: the graceful arch of a person’s — a woman’s — back, the cascade of her hair shrouding her gaze from view. It is ethereal, haunting. Lonely.

And.

She exhales an unsteady breath. Although a mere unpolished sketch, she feels Rafayel’s longing in the hastened strokes of charcoal across her visage. An inscrutable sprout of emotion twinges at her chest each time she looks upon this faceless woman, a desire to tear her gaze away from the care put into the strokes and never look at them again and yet, it’s as if her hands are not her own, each time they sift through his sketches to reveal a new one made. She despises it, and the feeling of her selfish loathing itself. Not when she bears reason nor right to feel the way she does.

The ring finger of her right hand throbs, an echo of her turbulent emotions manifesting in the faint red restraint flickering against the base of her digit before it winks once more out of existence.

No.

Her gaze instinctually jumps to Rafayel, his prone form still deep in sleep.

She'd nearly forgotten the other reason for her undue distress these past couple of days; worry for Rafayel occupying each of her thoughts, leaving little space for much else.

She sinks, weak-kneed, onto the bed, right next to Rafayel. Carding her fingers through the soft brush of his hair, gently thumbing a line down his temple.

She’d thought her mind was conjuring illusive tricks the first few times she’d caught that fleeting flicker of red across her finger.

Impossible, for it had been nearly twelve years since she’d lost her bond after being forced away from Rafayel. And then, her eyes had insistently tried tracing the line of it, every time it shimmered against her finger, hoping that it would perhaps....

Just maybe, if a miracle were to occur—

That it would re-connect. Back to the only person she’d ever loved. Back to him, her beautiful Lemurian. That perhaps, he’d grant her another chance. That perhaps there was a sliver of hope that Rafayel would love her back once more.

Once more.

Her yearning dashed in the brutality of a truth, far too incomprehensible to her mind.

On the day her grandmother caught sight of her glimmering thread before she’d informed her with much joy; a red thread of fate, if once severed, made an appearance once more, within the lifetime of rare, chosen… fortunate individuals. If Fate ever ordained for the individuals to find new love once more. Another love so great, it changed Fate’s threads and course itself.

“You’re blessed, my darling girl. Most people are happy enough if they get to enjoy even one fated love throughout their lives. But you've found two in your lifetime. It is a joyous thing, my love, do not be sad. Do not weep.”

“...Perhaps, it is time you let him — let your past go.”

Like ice curdling within her veins. As if Fate itself were playing upon her a cruel jest. She could never. How could she ever?

And then, her denials had crumbled entirely, shortly after that dreaded truth.

Her oldest friend, her sole pillar when she’d lost Rafayel. The person who’d held her close and kept her heart safe—

When she’d lie in bed all day during her earliest days, screaming from the deluging fever of her bond withering.

—It was the day her childhood friend, her Caleb confessed.

Even without the evidence of a corporeal bond connecting them, that had been her last straw.

She presses her lips against Rafayel’s cheek, overwhelming emotions threatening to surge, unable to resist or hold herself in control. “I could never.” she vows under her breath, fingers stroking down the line of his cheek. “Even if you have let go of me, Rafayel, I’m—”

She feels the roughened pads of his digits against where she touches his face, perturbed at the sudden movement. His eyes flitter, restless, beneath his lids, grasp tightening upon her wrist. “My beloved bride.”

She tries and yanks herself away from his touch, startled at his unconscious murmuring. Rafayel does not let go, nudging his cheek against the crook of her captured palm.

“Rafayel.” She urges, her heart stuttering over its beats. “Rafayel, please wake up.”

At long last, he listens; that beautiful, florid gaze misted with the callings of sleep still, as it focuses on her. He makes an indiscrete sound. “Is it morning already? Agh, my head hurts.” He continues to nuzzle his face against her palm.

“R-Rafayel! Hey!” She winces, hand unbearably hot within his hold. “Let go of me now. If you’re up, have some breakfast instead. You need the energy, dummy.”

“Don’t want to let you go. Pamper me more.” And yet, he refuses to heed her lukewarm pleas, extremely wilful in his post-sleep, feverish daze.

She huffs out a breathless laugh, her apprehension ebbing, gentle, into silence the longer she feels his warmth against her.

Maybe she is allowed to indulge just a bit longer.

VII. EBB

An errant thread and an inexplicable long spell of heat, as if trudging up a steep path, burgeoning fast towards an inevitable destination he could not quite clutch at. Unsolicited suspicions, as to the true nature of his predicament, incessantly rapping at his thoughts.

Rafayel feels that dour twist to his brow; darkening his features at the wheeling course of his mind.

She’s caught him in similar moods since his “illness” commenced, more times than he can count. The endless time afforded his way, involuntarily threading his thoughts to places he doesn’t wish to visit. He doesn’t wish, ever, to alarm or upset her, setting to ease her thoughts the moment worry mars her features, testing index and middle against the sharp knot at her forehead before his attentions — and hers — are compelled entirely her way.

That is also something that has shifted in between them, into something entirely different. He’s been unusually attuned to her for the duration of his peculiar period of ill-health.

She has always been his primary muse, the focal point where all of Rafayel’s tangled thoughts find eventual and inevitable convergence. However, somehow, all of those sensibilities have turned sharper, impossibly aware of... her.

Unconsciously turning to placations the moment he comprehends her distress. Choosing to bury, in turn; soothe the heat of his body within the scent of hers. Her hands on him when she fusses to take his temperature, her clothes, he takes a surreptitious, lungful breath of, when she moves close to towel the fevered sweat off his body. Truly, he does not understand what is wrong with him.

Two weeks in now and his need for answers has driven him to near madness. He’s loathe to admit he must consult one, perhaps, more knowledgeable on the subject than he.

He paces into the lounge, heavy in thought, fingers worrying at the phone in hand.

“Oh, you’re up. Are you feeling any better?” Just as she calls over to him from the kitchen counter.

“Of course,” he fibs, tucking the phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He ambles over to her, dressed neat in her trainee uniform as she works a paring knife around an apple. “What’re you doing?”

“You should have something healthy to eat while I’m away.”

“Ah.” He plucks a piece of fruit off the plate next to her, eyeing the peculiar shape. “So, you decided to cut me some apple bunnies.” The corners of his mouth drag into a skewed grin. “I am not a child, cutie.”

She makes an inflated motion of surprise, pressing a hand against her chest. “Really?”

And when he rolls his eyes at her, “Of course you aren’t,” she grins. “I’ve never met any children as stubborn as you.”

“Cheeky.” He flicks a gentle hand against her forehead.

His eyes skim towards the wall clock and back towards her neatly pressed outfit. “You have an on-field Hunter’s exam this afternoon, don’t you? You’ll be late if you dawdle any longer. Besides, I can feed myself just fine.”

She startles a bit as her eyes, too, take note of the hour. Hastily shoving the plate of her fresh cut fruit into his hands. “Alright, I’ll leave. You better eat, then rest up. Don’t exert yourself, alright?”

She steps past the counter. “Come, Kiki.” A white dutiful ball of fur capers up to her as soon as she calls. Rafayel hedges further against the counter just as the white ball tumbles into her waiting arms.

“There, what a good girl you are!” She croons over the cat, petting at that little fiend pet of her friend’s. She rises to her feet.

“I’ll drop her off at Tara’s before heading to the centre.”

“Good riddance,” Rafayel mutters, blenching just as she moves closer with the cat still in her arms.

“Rude, I’m sad to see her go so soon.” She pulls a glum face at him. “Do you want to pet her goodbye before she leaves and you start missing her?”

“I won’t,” He dissents, even as he braves the tips of his fingers against Kiki’s head in a cautious scritch before snapping his hand right back. “Bye, white menace.”

Rafayel’s moue of specious disapproval turns deeper with her knowing grin. “Let’s go now that you’ve said your farewells to Uncle Rafayel.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head as it purrs in elated satisfaction at her attentions.

He quirks a flippant brow at her. “All affections for the furry feline, I see.”

She laughs, the sound an aching balm against long-wrought nerves. “Why, is my fish jealous of a little kitten? Come here, then.”

“I am not—!” He sputters, just as her hand curves about the back of his neck and pulls downward, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.

The previously simmering, barely tamped warmth of his body bursts forth with a brilliant vengeance, his skin set ablaze at just the graze of her touch. Rafayel has to actively constrain himself from keeling over entirely on the floor from his sudden deluge of emotions. Has to curb the quiver of his arms from wanting to steal that heat back against his body.

She draws back, just as swift, on her feet. The pink of her cheeks is infectious, enticing. Rafayel stares at her, mute and slack-jawed, even as she backs out of the kitchen and through the front door. “I’ll see you tonight, my little fish!” And then he’s left to his own spiraling thoughts.

Ah. Rafayel scrubs agitated palms down the length of his face in the ensuing silence of their home. His scarlet thread burns incandescent in his hind-vision, flittering in its sporadic expansion. If only she knew how entirely ruined he was at her feet, alone.

VIII. FLOW

“You rejected Caleb’s confession?”

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t anticipated Tara’s baffled outburst.

It was part of the reason why she chose to reveal the ‘news’ to her this unceremoniously, as she gently eased Kiki over into Tara’s arms while they stood at her open front door. She adored Tara but was of no mind to be sat down at length while her best friend grilled the details out of her.

Not ready for the difficult conversations that would ensue; of her past grievances, the break of her fated thread and how she dreaded, within a dark crevice of her heart, that Caleb might turn out to be the one her Fate was once more, trying to bind her to. How could she even begin to delineate it wasn’t what she wanted?

No, she wasn’t ready for that conversation with Tara, at all.

“I’m going to be late for my exam, Tara.” She gives her a contrite smile.

“Yes, I know, sorry, darling, but… why? I really thought things were well between you too. And I was sure there was something going on—! I— can’t you say?” Her friend’s gaze is weighty, imploring. “Is there... someone else?” Her eyes widen. “Is it—”

And the longer she’s met with terse silence, the heat of her gaze wanes in gradual realization before, at last, she retreats her onslaught, a troubled groan leaving her lips. “At least tell me you’re alright. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know, Tara, I’m sorry. I’m perfectly fine.” She gives her free hand a squeeze before withdrawing back a few steps. “I should really go now.”

Tara loses another sigh. “You really should. Promise we’ll catch up later?”

“I promise.” She raises her hand in farewell, jogging down the few steps to her house.

Tara calls out to her just as she reaches the foot of her stairs. “Good luck, girl! I’m cheering for you.”

She flashes her friend an appreciative smile.

With Tara, she really can’t be sure if she meant her encouragement for her qualifying physical exam. Or something else entirely.

Knowing her friend, it was probably both.

She reaches the examination centre just under the wire, right as the towering gates to the grounds swing shut behind her and two other late-comers.

Toggling open her Hunter’s Watch, she hastens to join the formation up ahead of several other students, already lined in neat rows for their on-field Wanderers exam. Sidling in place, into her empty spot, just as the instructor in front drones on the list of rules for the exam, from upon his podium. “You are to form pairs of two, as per your roll numbers and enter your designated Protofields, to commence your exam. Before you begin, make sure...”

He goes over the structures of the regulations one by one, detailing what actions would mete them points and what would deduct them in case of improper conduct.

“These Protofields have been simulated under intensively controlled environments and contain a plethora of C and B-grade Wanderers you are to deal with, within the desired time limit. Coordinate with your partner, watch each other’s backs and follow all routine safety regulations. Violators will be disqualified on the spot.” He continues. “Keep within bounds of all marked fields, maintain your senses and you should do well. Lastly, trust your education and the skills you have acquired over the course of these years via means of your perseverance and hard work. May you reign victorious, young Hunters!” With his final words, the crowd disperses, heading towards their designated spots for their exams.

She taps her fingers against her Hunter’s Watch, pulling up the specifications of the Protofield she is to clear, before setting out.

“Gabriel? Hi.” She calls to her team-mate as she moves to join him, recognizing the man from the same class division as hers.

He returns her greeting, the two setting to sync their data via their watches within the final minute countdown before their exam commences. The flux nexus, in front, pulses to life upon confirmation of both their identities, filtering its pre-programmed wavelength to project upon the barren field. A kaleidoscopic flitter of energy wheeling across the space once is their only indication of a protofield activated, before the two step forwards, cautious, weapons at the ready.

“No.” Rafayel’s jaw steels in chagrin, hearing the resigned, gentle finality of the words on the other end of the line.

“Rafayel...” Talia coaxes.

“I said no. You’re wrong.” He gnashes out, even as the heat simmers, muggy and suffocating, within his body. Even as he continues to deny the indubitable truth of her words.

For if he did, he would have to face the looming fate of another horrifying possibility.

The regret of asking for Talia’s help sits heavy within his throat. Facts she utters in such certitude, it leaves Rafayel irrationally agitated. He knows it is not her fault.

He hears her soft sigh on the other end of the line. “You told me you’ve been suffering these bouts of ‘fever’ since the past two weeks, an ‘illness’ that refuses to abate and that your...” She pauses, as if seeking words best to voice her next. “incomplete thread has been showing sporadic signs as of late.”

“Yes.” His voice is quiet, stiff.

“Rafayel, you’re experiencing early symptoms of an oncoming rut and you know it. You feel it. You didn’t need to call me, when you’re well-informed on the matter yourself, even if you’ve never experienced it before.” She pauses. “The only reason you reached out to me is that you wanted me to validate your suspicions, isn’t that right?”

He does not respond to her astute observation.

“An unmated Lemurian cannot experience sexual cycles the same way as a bonded Lemurian. And as you are well-aware, my thread was long severed.” He refutes, contemptuous. “You know what, forget I asked. You clearly don’t understand what’s wrong with me any better than I do. Sorry for crashing your honeymoon. Goodbye, Talia.”

“Is your thread truly severed, Rafayel?” Her voice rings, solemn, from the other end of the line, just as Rafayel moves to disconnect the call. He pauses, gaze involuntarily skewing towards his lengthening line of red thread. The frown in between his brow turns severe, as if being coerced to witness a sight against his will.

“You’re experiencing a re-connection and you’re not allowing yourself the happiness that comes with new love. It’s a rare and beautiful thing, for your red fate to find itself weaved against a new person you would cherish.”

Rafayel does not have the resolve to discredit her words despite his vehement disagreement; having known her experience the loss of her first love, the agony of her days after. And only years later, had she allowed herself to love once more, a happiness Rafayel was content to stand in observance to, glad at her well-deserved peace.

He, however, was different from Talia. He’d rather his Fate dissipate entirely than for it to wind itself against a stranger. He was different, for Rafayel knew he would never love again, never cherish another, no matter the decades in between.

For him, there would never be anyone else.

A transitory pressure curdles heavy about her shoulders as they pace past the barrier and into the protofield. The familiarity of their training grounds dwindles away, large looming falls of thick trees rising, ominous, to blot the skies. Blanketing twilight, instantaneous, overhead. A slow, sweeping curl of gray, mists about their feet, soaking into the dank ground beneath.

Beside her, she hears Gabriel’s apprehensive breaths. “I can never get used to this.”

Weapons at the ready, they trudge a slow, cautious path through the simulated wilderness. Gnarled branches seize and snick at their clothes, the craggy mire beneath, a strenuous trudge to keep upright through; as if the forest itself were alive with wicked intent.

Gabriel’s firearm is the first to go off in a thunderous shot, breaking a flock of obsidian birds to startle into the skies. She follows suit, breaking into a dash along with him; the dark, hunched figure of a fleet-footed Wanderer she aims her gun at and fires, the shot catching it right against its head. The creature lurches forwards onto its body in a seething screech of sound, following its crackling demise into a spoor of pungent smoke.

The two maintain their steady pace of weeding the area of Wanderers, most they’re able to dispatch with ease. Reflexes and hard ingrained years of training coming into play, the more battles they win through, setting into an easy rhythm of partnership.

The Wanderer Gabriel skews his sword through in a final thrust, disintegrates into smoke with a rattling gurgle. She pauses to survey their surroundings, the deep, metallic skies yet to dissipate entirely: indication of a cleared exam. Up ahead, she spies a peculiar forking at the path, the protofield seeming to disperse into dense, murky mist past the intersection. Gabriel flicks the blood off his sword, moving to join her. “Strange.”

“Yeah. I don’t think low grade Wanderers can distort protofields to this extent.” She agrees.

“Likely an A grade, at least. Shouldn’t be harder than what we’ve handled so far.” He pauses. “Besides the fact that this one seems like it can replicate itself into weaker copies, judging from the splice it’s created in the field.”

She frowns at his conclusion, likely accurate. There shouldn’t be an A grade on the loose within a junior hunter’s exam, to begin with; a Wanderer class reserved only for the final year senior field exam. Signals are, as expected sparse, this deep within the protofield, and with an A grade, at hand, tampering the protofield, the possibility of communications being established sits non-existent, at present. She drops a distress signal onto the Hunter’s site, regardless, moving to join him at the fork.

“We’ll have to clear out the Wanderer, either way, if we want to leave this protofield.” She swipes her empty magazine for a new one, securing it fast back into her gun.

“Right.” Gabriel’s own fist tightens against the hilt of his sword. “You take the right, I’ll take the left? The distortion should be obliterated on its own once we eliminate all of its copies. I’ll see you soon, partner.”

“Right back at you. Good luck.”

Gabriel flashes a flimsy grin at her before treading onto the left path. A swift heavy oppression belts massive across the field, the compression settling a deafening din to her ears. “Hah, Gabriel, wait—”

But it’s too late. Her partner’s form, long digested by the roiling clouds of black before she can call him back.

Something’s not right. An A-grade Wanderer shouldn’t be able to exert that kind of pressure.

An electromagnetic resonance tremors across the space, as if something rattles at the confines of the protofield from beyond. Wanting in.

Sweat gathers clammy and unpleasant across the back of her neck, her eyes skittering back towards where Gabriel vanished into the murk.

She firms a hand around her gun, steeling her spine for courage. Whatever anomaly has occurred within the premises of their exam can be dealt with later. Her first priority; to help Gabriel out in eliminating all of the A-grade's clones and dissipating the distortion in front before they planned their next move. And help would arrive soon, once transmission allowed her distress signal to go through, they just had to hold on until then; she reassures herself.

Moving forward to stride past the muted obsidian barrier at her right.

The dark cloak of the Wanderer’s protofield washes across her skin like skidding, frigid fingers of emptiness, it spills an involuntary shiver down her spine.

The cold, metallic spires of the protofield taper off into the void overhead as she steps onto the main field. A skittering figure, one, two, three; lunge, whip-swift, towards her as soon as they spot her, gaping maws and needle teeth poised to tear into her before her fight or flight reflexes jam in. She empties a volley of bullets into their bodies, sieving clean through the approaching Wanderers. Lobs of inhumane flesh, dissipating as soon as they hit the ground.

Several far smaller figures melt out of the darkness to aim their attacks at her; one after the other she takes down in swift shots. Breaths trembling harsh and hot, her heart hammering over its frantic beats the longer the fight persists.

A fatigued mistake; being mere seconds slow to switch her empty gun for another, costs her a hard, long gash sliced through the sleeve of her shoulder by the remaining Wanderer. Fire licks up across her arm in a sudden shock of pain, muted instantaneously underneath the roiling pump of adrenaline. She wrenches a dagger off her leg strap. Twisting her torso about to bring her uninjured arm up in a sharp arc, furiously tearing a split through the last Wanderer with a fierce yell and the remnants of her fraying stamina.

The Wanderer’s remains snivel into a fire just as it hits the ground, the cool, metallic gloom giving way to the unraveling edges of the original forest once more.

And just as her eyes adjust to the shadows of the protofield once more, she catches sight of a figure slumped upon the grass, unmoving. “Gabriel!” She yells, forcing her limbs underneath her through the pained grit of bared teeth. Clutching hard at her arm to stopper the slow rivulets of blood flow seeping from the gash before she stumbles across the grass towards the man.

Her Hunter’s Watch blinks, in indication of a transmission successful — her distress signal. Collapsing to her knees at Gabriel’s side just as her watch flares to life in blaring red, an ominous warning running across the screen.

S-Grade: Deluge Wyrmlord. Protofield type: Memory Distortion Solo Hunters, do not engage.

Her mouth runs dry at the far calls of her name—

“Special Grade—!” Gabriel’s voice resounds just from across the field. “—Run!”

The collapsed figure at her feet assimilating into thin air, a trick blanketed over her weary mind, by the workings of a high-class Wanderer.

She feels that intense bone-crushing pressure creep across her back once more, her breath coming through in fits of raspy air. Fixing the barrel of her gun back across her shoulder, she fires, just as a great, dark talon comes across her face, drowning her in darkness.

The call has barely disconnected when Rafayel tosses the phone aside, staggering onto his feet under the heated weight of his body. His eyes drift — an involuntary reflex — towards that squeamish glow of red, his thread flickering in and out of sight, the extended length of it, an alarming sight. Vexation ticks harsh at his jaw.

Before he’s able to reign control, the spits of a brilliant vermillion fire spurt forth from tapered digits, rushing across the incorporeal red string, in an effort to blaze the blasted thing off of him entirely.

The fire dissipates, harmless, as expected, with the absence of a pure solid medium to burn. His thread glimmers to life once more, as if deriding Rafayel with its presence.

Beyond agitated, fervent digits pluck upwards, summoning his Evol to life for a stronger burst of energy —

A sudden inundating contraction pierces in vengeance across his heart, sending a bolt of excruciating pain lancing through his chest. Rafayel flounders; violently pitching to his knees from the intensity of its sensations. His breaths are hard to smother past lungs that burn for oxygen and yet refuse to inhale.

Red throbs, vivid and urgent, across his ring finger, as if the call of a terrible siren, knelling of ill-fate and destruction.

His own fire, begs to consume, hurtling across his skin, a throat that chokes from the fervid heat of his bond, threatening to annihilate him entirely. He feels his humane features molding against the translucent glimmer of cerulean scales, his human form scattering in response to the irrefragable call of his bond, his mate.

She’s in danger.

Alarming apprehension dawns upon his mind, the sole thought of her throttling his mind, his oath promised, urging to call upon the one person her thread connects to, a Fate irrefutable, a bond everlasting.

No.

A savage inferno tears across Rafayel’s body — scarlet and florid licks of fire — until it engulfs him entirely, leaving nothing in its wake.

Silence is all that remains behind.

IX. EBB [TW for this chapter: passing mentions of domestic abuse]

White peels back from her field of vision; slowly revealing to her the dreary, stifling atmosphere of an incredibly familiar room. A young girl stands amidst a crowd of mourning adults, some in loud tears. Others who secrete their faces into handkerchiefs and shake their heads in dismay at the “poor orphan”. Nausea wrestles pungent within her belly at the sight.

Her gaze, involuntarily shepherded, past the throng of mourners and towards the picture of the deceased — she knows that face before she sees it — her absent father who had often left her to her own devices, save for the times he was not actively trying to assault her with stray bottles of alcohol, laying in plain sight or the utensils and plates she used to serve his meals, on days he wore down all of their expenses for another swig of tepid, cheap alcohol.

She knows the child in front of her now feels neither sadness nor remorse as people who call themselves her relatives step over, one after the other, offering words of specious pity and solace she has no use of.

It was also the day she’d met her Grandma for the first time.

The scene in front falls out from beneath her feet, traded for the sounds of defeated shrieks and futile violence in the tiny fists that try and shove off the social workers, from bodily dragging her away from the familiarity of her old house. The young girl screams and screams for Rafayel, begs them not to take her away, that she doesn’t want to live with her Grandma several cities across the seas; a gap so wide, how would she ever find the only person who had meant the entire world to her, once more? She hadn’t even told him she was leaving. They wouldn’t let her leave the house, for fear she might run away.

Her head throbs in vicious pain, ominous tendrils of rooted fire curling through the recesses of her brain as she watches the girl’s — her — futile resistance.

A gibbering shadow skates past the edges of her vision. She feels like she’s forgetting something direly important, skirting just past the edge of memory.

The young girl never told the adults around her of the young Lemurian boy — bonded though they were. She knew of the dark whispers that coiled through the cesspool she lived within, how the Lemurians were a species, well-coveted for how steeply priced their bodies sold for, within the black market.

Her fierce possession and numbing worry for her vulnerable Lemurian had kept her from ever revealing her thread in another’s presence. For how had any of the adults stepped up to be her protectors, ever, in the young girl’s life? She trusted no one, save for herself and her sole mer-friend. She'd promised him they’d stay together forever; she’d vowed upon the sole pair of glimmering seashells, they’d found sanded within their beach, that she’d marry him when they grew up. She had—

Obsidian smoke curls about her limbs, seeps into her lungs; a slow, poisonous ingestion. The deep, dark dreary roar of a beast sounds from afar, within the recesses of her memories.

“You abandoned me.” She whips on her heel, coming face to face with her young Lemurian, eyes listless, lightless.

“No.” She totters away from the horror of her nightmares manifested.

An ice-cold hand wraps about her torn sleeve, digits digging deep into her wound. She cries out in instinctive pain, wrenching at her arm in an effort to free it. Her wild gaze meets Rafayel’s. Older, far frigid; the present Rafayel looks at her with an insouciant emptiness, it tears at the heart bruising within her chest. “You abandoned me,” he repeats.

His hand jams about her throat, lifting her clean off her feet. She throttles violently within his grasp, breaths coming in rapid, tapering hisses. “And then, like the rest of those shameless humans, you thought it wise to appear before my eyes once more.” The pressure upon her wind-pipe increases, bit by bit, forcing tears into wide, panicked eyes. “You wanted to capture me too, didn’t you? You're just like the rest of them.” Rafayel’s just ire, cleaves like knives shoved right beneath her breastbone, bleeding out her heart.

It’s an illusion, Rafayel would never. A stray whisper catches at her ears.

“Would I really never? Well, aren't your thoughts so convenient. Admit it, you’ve always known.” Rafayel’s gaze is dark in barely tamped wrath and disgust. “I despise you, you and all your kind.”

“R-Rafayel...” The dull, grey curl of smoke — previously shifting in wait at the edges of her vision — approaches nearer, her defences swiftly waning underneath his assault. Fingers, she scraps bloody against his grip upon her throat, and yet he refuses to relent.

“It would be better for you to perish here, no? You'll leave me free to live my own life then. I would no longer be shackled to you like some pet.”

“Y-You were never—”

A furious scarlet fire splinters a path through Rafayel — his body distorts out of existence for a moment before he gathers form once more. A surprised brow he raises in question at the interference.

“Snap out of it!”

Rafayel?

Her swimming gaze hones in on her beloved, from across the indifferent Rafayel’s shoulder, surely another wraith of her mind; wide blown panic, turbulent within his gaze.

“What do you think you’re doing believing that sham?” Another burst of Evol sparks across his fingers, aimed at the other Rafayel.

“You must trust me, believe in me alone.” Another volley of enraged fire skewers through the Rafayel holding her captive — cleaving past him harmless — the latter views him as if he were an offending impediment. “That thing is not me. It’s trying to devour you!”

“Shut up,” the colder Rafayel speaks, hand jamming tighter against her throat, causing precious breaths to come through stuttered wheezes.

The other Rafayel steps forward, a desperate hand he holds outstretched for her; an electromagnetic interference rippling about his body, stalling his further motions. “You have to believe the truth in front of your eyes — believe me — to be free of its prison. I have never, not for a moment, held our past against you.”

“An imposter,” the cruel one says.

Rafayel drives another step forwards, through the whipping waves of the scape’s resistance, snicking wounds across his jaw, tearing at his clothes. “I don’t regret meeting you.” The gentle azure of his gaze sparks vivid in a deluge of emotions; misery, panic and hopeful sincerity commingling. You were — you have always been my greatest joy, my only muse.”

The Rafayel that holds her captive bites out an inhumane bark, eyes fading swiftly into obsidian. “I hate you, I’ve always hated you.”

“Do you remember,” Rafayel urges, heaving another step closer. “the seashells you used to weave into necklaces and put on me when we first met? You told me they made me seem as brilliant as a Sea God, your Sea God, when you did.”A splintered laugh escapes his mouth at the recollection. “Even when I told you the ocean’s gods didn’t wear necklaces made of shells.”

His voice breaks, emotions raw and desperate within the throaty catch of it, dragging her down the spiral of fond memories. “And the songs you used to hum for us in that odd, off-note voice when you were happy, you’ve retained that silly habit long even into your adult years now.”

Emotions spurt and tumble free-fall from the inky desolation of her heart, tearing open at the seams of doubts and guilt.

“And when you are mad, the reckless storm that gathers at your face is endearing. When you forgive me just as easily, the smile that lights your face...”

A distant rumble sounds through the scape of your illusions, world crumbling apart at the seams.

“I remember it all, like irreplaceable ornaments, treasures. Without you, I—” He bites back, harsh, at his words. The curious blue sheen across his face, glimmers.

Eyes that glisten in moisture that threatens to seep past damp lashes; Rafayel’s eyes fall shut in a scraped plea.

Emotions fueled by the catch of a distraught mind though he were, his words snag, painful, at her throat, springing tears to flow free-fall, at the comfort of his tender confessions. She, too, remembered all there was to know about him, her Rafayel, because of how she adored him. His words and steadfast affection seeping gentle into her mind now, in swift recollection.

The great, dark beast in front has long shed its false skins, rattling useless in the face of her realization; it wrenches away from her body as if burned. “Pestilent humans.” As it flees entirely from the scape of illusions, great, dark fractures spilling up the space with its departure.

She drops towards the disintegrating floor, once released, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Rafayel — the wraith of her mind — lunges forward, snatching her body mid-air against his as they fall, with the demolition of the Wanderer’s illusions shattered from her mind.

A deluging rush of remembrance; the exam, the Wanderer, of being dragged into darkness by the Deluge Wyrmlord tumbles back into a now clear mind.

And this Rafayel, having stood witness to all her memories.

He lands on nimble feet, upon the now revealed protofield of the Wanderer; the weight of his Evol, she feels, scatter into the air.

“You’re injured.” He mourns softly, fingers glancing gentle against the abrasion of her throat from where the Wanderer choked her, down her bruised arm, the blood long staunched in dark red across the cut.

“I’ll be fine.” She cradles his face within a careful palm, face softening in overwhelming gratitude. If only she, too, could tell him how much she truly loved him.

Rafayel makes a skeptical sound of disapproval. A hand, he sifts up into her hair and curls about the back of her head. “Hold still.” And before she can finally think to question why a figment of her mind still persists outside the cast illusion, Rafayel is pressing his lips against hers, mouth moving to part hers until she feels warmth flow into her, the shock of his actions making her throat swallow around him on instinct.

The dull throb at her arm, the cuts and bruises across her aching legs — breaths that seep in easier, with the patched abrasions of her throat — give way to strength as she witnesses her wounds stitch up, in disbelieving surprise.

“A Lemurian’s essence holds healing properties,” He breathes, heated against her lips. “our tears, saliva—” He pauses. “You’ll feel better soon.” The fever of his skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his shallow breaths come in quick; the flush across his cheekbones feels much too corporeal to be mere figment of her imagination.

Her eyes widen in disbelief, mind refusing to comprehend his presence. Restless hands tracing the shape of his firm body underneath hers; his neck, the strength of his shoulders, down the unyielding expanse of a solid chest.

It just couldn’t be.

“Are you... real?” She slips a palm about the curve of his cheek, index and finger pinching at the flesh. “You can’t be real, you can’t be here.”

Rafayel chokes on an incredulous laugh. “What an inane question, can’t you tell, silly girl?” He sounds offended.

A plethora of questions tumble within her mind as Rafayel bumps his forehead up against hers, moisture glistening like pearls upon his cheeks. “I can sense you. And I felt it, when I nearly lost you.” He grits out the words, chagrined; breath hitching in pain as if reliving a nightmare.

Her heart shrivels at his admission, aching gaze tracing the outline of his Lemurian features. “But, I... I don’t understand. You look so different, Rafayel, what—”

A great ominous roar sounds from the center of the protofield, the Wanderer now having recovered from its short rebuttal of having been torn away from its prey.

Rafayel lets her down onto her feet cautiously. Taking her hand in his, his skin sits unbearably warm against hers, “Questions later. We have to get rid of that Wanderer right now. Come on.”

She nods at him, the two turning to face the Wanderer before they fixate their stance. Hurtling forth in tandem towards the approaching monster; weapons materializing within firm fists.

They rush, as one, at the large winged creature, aiming right against the base of its great talons. A shield thrown upon the Wanderer, comes half-way down with their first assault.

Back against his, she feels him tackle down the monster’s onslaught of weaker Wanderers, unearthly fire blazing away at its minions. A shimmering, amethyst line of fetters gathers form with his Evol, to grasp about the Wanderer’s body as it rages. She feels his breaths coming in harsher, feels the way he tightens his body through each motion of offense against their enemy — in no condition to be fighting off a high-class Wanderer with the weight of his sickness slowing him down.

She captures Rafayel’s wrist in hers, jolting him backwards. Lunging in front of him to take the Wanderer’s next full-bodied assault. “Rely on me, I’ll fight for us both!” She calls to him over her shoulder.

She catches his mute moment of surprise, out the corner of her eye before he bursts into quiet laughter. “What a reliable bodyguard.” Curving a palm about her shoulder, his Evol, she feels resonating against hers in harmony. “But if you insist.” Weaving their Evols together to strengthen; the dark fetters that plunge forwards this time, chain about the Wanderer’s girth, firmer, breaking clean through another of its shields.

The Wyrmlord screeches in crazed agony, ramming a heavy appendage straight for them. The two lunge in opposing directions to avoid the assault; Rafayel, a split second too slow to dodge as its claws catch at the side of his abdomen, tearing at his shirt.

He hurtles heavily onto the ground, body rolling across the Protofield before he swiftly catches himself, teetering back on to unsteady legs. His pants come in harsher, the scales across his face glimmering in fevered sweat; his body’s condition holding him back.

“Rafayel!” She calls for him on an urgent shout, rushing the Wanderer from its side, to cleave clean through its shield of defense. “Don’t push yourself anymore and stay back! You aren’t well!”

He shakes his head at her, holding his body high once more. His shallow wound, she sees, stitch up soon after, the incandescent cerulean glow of his scales striking against his features. “It’s not what you think it is.” Rafayel streaks forward just as the Wanderer attempts to take flight for a sweeping offensive.

He springs for the monster, using the momentum of his run, punting hard off its body; vicious chains of static purple zipping through it, to bring it crashing down onto the ground. The Wanderer’s remaining shield shattered in one critical hit, bringing it down in a violent collision of great, dark wings and a massive scaled body, vulnerable to damage.

“Now! Rafayel instructs. Coalescing the bulk of his powers into the clench of a fist, he lunges for the Wanderer; her own movements, complimenting against his. Raising their weapons up high, their Evols converge against the other’s in a final, galvanic purple blast of energy.

The Wanderer screeches one final sound of agony before it skitters lifeless at the ground, its disintegration setting into tattered fragments of energy.

The protofield around them begins to wane, jagged shards of breakage appearing across the domed surface of it, as soon as the Wanderer falls.

“It’s over.” She exhales, relief plucking sharp across the back of her breastbone.

“Let me take… a moment to catch my breath.” And with the sheer adrenaline of the fight holding him up now, gone, so too does Rafayel’s strength ebb from him entirely, as he pitches onto his feet. “Rafayel!” Just as she dives forward to catch him within her arms before his body hits the ground. “Hey!”

Rafayel’s breathing harder, the sweat that dampens his brow far more pronounced with the appearance of his Lemurian features, glimmering scales gradually fanning wider across his skin. “Stay with me, it’s over.”

And then she sees it, the flittering of vivid red, burning against his ring finger. Pulsing harsher with each labored sound of breath he endures through and her breath frosts within her lungs.

She feels the distant pattering of approaching footsteps just as Rafayel’s hot palm curves about her wrist in a possessive hold. “We have to get out of here. I need to get home.”

The frantic calls of her name echo across the field; she lifts her head to catch sight of a pale-faced Gabriel, waving his hands at her from just across the area. She shouts at him to stay where he is, cradling Rafayel closer to her torso for fear of his scales being seen.

In this moment, she cannot bring herself to care for anything except providing what Rafayel needs; the frenetic urgency to his words enough to have her obeying without questions asked.

Calling for her teammate, once more, to let the others know they were both alright and that she’d be back at a later time before Rafayel urges her thoughts back to himself.

“That’s... enough. Come now.” He moans within her embrace, just as Gabriel utters an unintelligible question of confusion. Her Lemurian’s fingers spasming against hers, “Hold tight.” he grinds out, before they’re both engulfed in a florid sea of fire.

X. FLOOD

The two of them come crashing onto a hard, polished surface; Rafayel’s arms tightening about her body in protection, just as his shoulder connects with the floor, with their fall. Deposited into the empty safety of his room — she notes in shock — by his Evol already shriveling out of existence.

He shudders in visible pain beneath her, just as she scrabbles to get off his body. “I’m sorry—” The ferocity of his strength, however, hauls her back, bodies crushed against each in a firm, searing line.

Rafayel’s pants rattle hot against the skin of her neck; the harsh rise and fall of his chest, she feels burn against her own, even through their clothes. He keeps them enclosed within that sweltering space of silence for several, long moments.

Reaching her fingers out to comb through his unruly hair, in comfort, the adrenaline of their fight having fast shifted into worry for his health.

Why had he decided to come after her in the fevered state he was in? How had he even known to come for her? The questions, unanswered, careened about in an endless cycle within her mind.

Her Rafayel shifts, face sinking deeper against her breasts. Nosing, delicate, at the space exposed by her open collar as he inhales, long. His previous labored breaths seemingly soothed in her proximity, as he continues to breathe her in.

Her next gasp soughs past her lips on a catch of barely tamped sound, Rafayel’s gaze rolls up to meet hers — hot and piercing.

“Rafayel,” She cups a hand about his warm cheek. “Let’s get you off the floor now, you’ll worsen your fever.”

He knocks his cheek further into the space of her palm, lashes quivering shut, in comfort. “I told you... it’s not a fever ruining my body.” He repeats the words he’d uttered to her back in the Protofield.

“It’s you.” Her mind jostles to a screeching halt.

“What?”

Rafayel’s body tightens beneath hers, the lean strength of his arms coming about to lift, with an ease entirely unexpected of a sick man. He moves them both onto the expanse of his bed, seating himself down, with her firm on his lap. “I’ve been going through these feverish bouts because you’ve been calling for me.” He heaves. “I’d never experienced them before because we’d never—” his words break. Rafayel’s fingers slip a slow, cautious path along the base of her spine, it makes her shiver above him. “I could’ve lost you,” he murmurs, “back there.” Hauling her close once more to sink his face into the crook of a tense shoulder as he breathes her in deep.

“I’m here now, I’m fine.” She soothes a gentle palm down the line of his back, the mild quivers that take it, muted into rest with her strokes. “Thank you for coming for me earlier.”

“Of course I did.” His grip upon her body tightens. “You called for me.”

She rakes her fingers through his hair. “I... did not call for you, Rafayel. Even if I did, it’s impossible for you to have heard—”

“Silly girl.” He captures her hand within his hair, entwining his fingers in between hers. “Do you not see?” Bringing their palms up close together for her to witness—

Red flitters about her ring finger, vivid — her heart jostles over its beats — the line of it longer and far corporeal, glimmering within the dark of his room, spiraling an undulating path up, up.

Finding its other half, caught against the base of Rafayel’s finger. Her breath seizes within her throat at the sight, wary gaze tracing the line of the previously absent thread against their fingers. Not daring to believe the implications of the sight and what Rafayel too was saying. “How could this— I thought we were—”

“A Lemurian’s very being is set to perceive their beloved, in their entire capacity. Without exception.” He brings their entwined fists up to his mouth, feathering a kiss onto her knuckles apiece. “And I have not changed since the first moment I met you.”

The heat of his words is within her head, the frenzied hammering of her heart within her throat. She dares not breathe too loud, dares not speak for fear of this precious moment shattering. The inference of his words could not be clearer and yet. A fleeting recollection of the Wanderer’s cast illusion comes to mind, the cold Rafayel’s unforgiving gaze flashing against hers.

“Has your heart then... changed?” He asks, the wavering azure of his gaze fixated firm upon hers.

She caresses the back of her fingers against his cheek, down the line of his jaw. “It has not, not for a single moment in all these years but—” She whispers. But could you ever forgive me for leaving you on your own?

“I’m not asking you for anything beyond that. I don’t care for it.” He shifts a thumb against the line of her lips dampened with a nervous swipe of her tongue. “I’m asking to know if the woman I love is willing to accept me again.”

Her breath hitches within her throat. Turbulent emotions burst forth within her chest at his words, a sweet ache quivering at the back of her breastbone, the magnitude of his words she isn’t able to comprehend. Unable to believe the words she’s been wanting to hear him say, all this time, leaving that beautiful mouth.

She surges forward onto his lap, desperate to answer the man who’s entrusted his heart so keenly into her hands. “I never stopped in the first place.” She speaks, adamant. Her fingers brush at his face, down the length of his neck to hold. The pads of them grazing the beauty of his scales, glimmering within the moonlight that shafts into the quiet dark of his room through the gauzy curtains. “I’ve loved only you all these years and by god, Rafayel, I don’t think I could ever love anyone but you.” She’s out of breath and dizzy in love, it’s a feeling she never wants to clamber out of, if it means he’d continue to look at her, just the way he is now.

She hears the audible throttle of his breath; a low, anguished sound, as if she’d told him something he’d considered entirely impossible. Rafayel had seemed so sure of her feelings, and yet, he looks at her now, with a relieved sort of devotion and desire. “Which god?” His whisper is sultry, his gaze along with the heat of his skin beneath have her feeling faint within his embrace, the flex of his arm tightening its hold about her waist.

She tips her head closer, her lips shaping her answer a mere breadth from his. “My Rafayel, my own Sea God.” She braves a kiss against his mouth. “I love you.” She confesses, “I love you so—”

Rafayel heaves forwards, filching the rest of her words right against the desperate tongue he sweeps into her mouth. Lips moving against each other in a mesh of reckless teeth and tongue, refusing to release from each other. Her fingers catch at the fabric of his collar, in a bid to drag him closer. Rafayel’s palms, a stable hold about the flare of her hips as she bucks against him in instinctual desire at the feeling of his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her core grazes against the distinct line of his stiff arousal, straining beneath the placket of his trousers.

Rafayel moans a low, throaty sound against her damp lips. “This is your fault,” he whispers, feverish. “You’re the one who has left me so vulnerable.”

The turbulent seas within his gaze burn luminous, the gentle florid pinks of his irises swallowed within the blue that takes them. The scarcity of his scales now fleshing a path from his face. Down the graceful arc of his neck and across the expanse of his clavicle. Disappearing just under the line of collar of his shirt. She treks a reverential path about his beautiful Lemurian features; a shuddered exhale leaving Rafayel, in his inexplicable state of heightened sensitivity. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?” He seizes her exploring wrist within his gentle hold, halting her movements. His chest heaves once more in vehement, anguished pants, his skin impossibly hot beneath hers.

“No, tell me what’s happening to you. Why are you—”

“—so sexually aroused?” He supplies, mouth skewing into a smile with the hot flush of her cheeks.

“...I was going to ask about your humane features unraveling but that too. You're... burning up.”

He sighs against her glancing touch, at the scales of his neck. “Each year, when the moon shifts phases and the tides ebb from the shores, bonded Lemurians go through an inevitable period of increased sexual activity. We are,” he pulses a delicate kiss to the inside of her captured wrist. “extremely vulnerable during this time, our base appetites, near insatiable, unless we bear it through with our bonded mates.”

A streak of desire spurts within her chest, seeping down into her abdomen to pool in between her legs. “So then, all this time, you were...”

“‘Sick’”, he continues, “because I wasn’t funneling my desires with my mate.” He tugs her close by her imprisoned hand, murmuring, hot, within her ear. “within my mate.”

A low moan of desire breaks from her lips at his licentious provocation.

“I’ve never experienced one before.” He confesses heavily. “I wasn’t sure what it was, when it started; the time of the year seemed to coincide with my symptoms but we weren’t bonded... not to my knowledge.” Rafayel’s gaze treks against the shimmering line of their thread, re-connected. “It’s a rarer miracle for it to find itself weaved against the ones it broke in between, more so than it is for the thread to re-emerge in between new lovers.” He laughs; a low self-deprecating sound. “Fate really played me for its fool.”

She murmurs his name, gathering his hand closer to press a reverent kiss against his ring of red at his finger. “I love you, Rafayel.” she reiterates, dragging his wide, wavering gaze back towards herself, letting the irrefutable truth of her words sink in. That it’s not Fate that tugs at the cogs of their bond now, but her feelings, unchanged as they’ve remained.

“Promise me,” he implores. “Promise you’ll continue to see me the same, no matter how many years pass us by. Promise you’ll stay by my side this time?”

Her answer rushed, eager, yearning to soothe. “Yes. Yes, I will. I want to stay by your side.” Stealing her arms about the broad strength of his shoulders, to pull closer.

“Don’t let me go.” Rafayel breathes. Their mouths crush against each other in a consuming kiss; an urgent prayer he makes of her name.

Each time she squirms atop his lap with the force of his kisses, her increasingly damp core shifts in glancing strokes above his clothed length. Her fingers jolt about Rafayel’s shoulders, sinking harsh into the skin through cloth, with a particularly ruinous lap of his tongue into her mouth.

Her fingers fly for the clasps of his shirt, rushing down the length of buttons, generously revealing the unyielding expanse of his chest, the line of his toned abdomen. Briefly trekking the warmth of his skin with the pads of inquisitive digits before her mouth follows suit, drifting from Rafayel’s to kiss a path across the firm expanse of his chest. Slicking a gentle tongue right above his heart in devoted gratitude for the one who loves her so wholly.

She glides a slow palm down his abdomen, appreciating the tremulous clench of muscles, underneath her touch. Her coveting digits pause at the metal clasp of his belt, gaze canting up to meet Rafayel’s in silent request.

“Yes,” he grinds out, through arduous pants of her name. “It’s yours, I’m yours, do as you please.” She pushes off his lap, dropping onto her knees in between his legs at his affirmation. Rafayel’s breaths hitch higher within his throat, at the snag of her fingers reaching to swiftly undo the fastenings of his belt, pulling it clean from its confines to discard it onto the floor of his room. Her palm slips down the line of his zipper, stimulating him impossibly harder as she works to release him from the confines of his trousers.

Until Rafayel sits there; her devastatingly alluring Lemurian, near-naked, save for the shirt that sags against broad shoulders, and the remaining modesty of his underwear. She takes a moment to control her shaky breaths before her thumbs slip under the waistband of his final barrier, keeping him from her gaze. Sliding the garment in one careful stroke, down the strength of his legs until she tosses it off to the side. His cock springs to full length, freed from its confines, hard; it curves, slight, towards his abdomen, the gentle slick of minute bluish scales running along the underside of his shaft. A thing of beauty, just as its owner.

The twitch of his length within her grasp is palpable as she moves to work an admiring fist about it. A lone bead of pre-cum sits upon the flared head of his cock; her tongue darts out in instinctual rapacious desire to sweep it into her mouth. The sweet-salt tang of him she hums against, in a soft moan, “I love how you taste.”

Long, tapered digits thread through the fall of her locks, curving a loose fist at the back of her head. Her eyes traveling up his torso to meet his, bright in aroused impatience. It makes her want to flip that expression over into something entirely different. She tips forwards, lips falling apart to take the head of him into her eager mouth, just as Rafayel rewards her with his first approving groan. Tongue slicking about the head of him to lick, down, at a vein just underneath the flare of his head. His hips judder up into her face with the action, slipping more of him into her welcoming throat. “What’re you doing to me?” He moans, in gravelly rapture. “Your mouth feels divine.”

She feels the clench of her own abdomen at his praise, wetness seeping further into the cloth of already damp panties. Her mouth slips further down the thick length of him, working him deeper into her throat as she tries and relaxes against the instinctive gagging intrusion of him. A shuddering string of words, he makes of her name, in overwhelming arousal, help her along on his cock. Until she is sliding about the length of him, back and forth, tongue drooling its spit down the expanse of his cock she cannot fit into herself.

His fingers have tightened into a near-spasm within her hair, not nearly enough it hurts, holding her fixated in place; the pads of his digits tracing soothing, encouraging circles about her scalp as she sucks at his cock. “You’re doing so — agh — so well.” The fingers of his free hand, Rafayel brings to curve, delicate, about her jaw, tipping up; her eyes finding his, on silent instruction.

He looks entirely gone, the rugged flush of his cheeks enticing as it dashes across his ears. Springs down the crescent of his neck and across the firm expanse of his chest. Rafayel’s cock hits the back of her throat on her next intake; she swallows against the heady swell of him, deliberate, measured, refusing to relent her gaze as she does. It immediately has the effect she desired; Rafayel’s next breath rattling out of his chest on a wrenched groan of pleasure, the blue of those inhuman eyes glistening brilliant as he propels his hips into her, in a reflexive bid for more.

His fingers skid along the underside of her jaw, where mouth meets throat, grazing for the place he knows she has him settled inside. A long, tapered index, he flicks down the line of her neck — she swallows on instinct, dragging another choked moan out of him as reward — before it comes to rest at the buttoned collar of her shirt. “Off.” He murmurs, hazily. Deftly unfastening open the first few buttons before he curves his index beneath her collar to tug. “Take it off. I want to see all of you when I come.” Pooling a blush into her cheeks at his sweetly sensual appeal.

She pulls her shirt over her head, lured along by the nimble hands that drag her close, reaching around her, to undo the clasp of her bra before he coaxes that too, off her body. Mouth falling slack, cerulean flashing vivid, in flared arousal and want; to witness the heaving tremble of her breasts as she descends on him once more.

Rafayel eases stray locks of her hair back against her ear to better afford himself the view of pink, moist lips parting to swallow around him once more in renewed enthusiasm.

Her hands flitter about the length of him, slick slide aided by spit and pre-cum as she moves to work her tongue around the tip; the broad of it she teases at the slit, making Rafayel shudder above her. Slipping, slow and sure, down the generous length of him, insatiable desires flooding in the clench of empty walls, for the brimming taste of him within her throat.

Rafayel’s pants have turned far harsher, sporadic in impending release. She continues to ease her tongue about his length, her palms soothing down the tense muscle of his thighs before she moves to cup her fingers about his balls. “I’m—” Rafayel snaps.

The skin beneath her fingers tightening, as she sucks about his shaft, to help him along the final stretch of his incoming release, swallowing up to the base of him in one forceful go. Her throat constricting in protest at the rough intrusion. Rafayel groans out loud — frenzied palms pressing at either sides of her head to force her off of his cock, just as he comes in thick, spurting strokes, across her cheeks, her nose; down the curve of her chest.

“I can’t take it any longer,” he rasps. Hauling her onto her feet by her arm, he tumbles her back onto the cool, crumpled sheets of his bed.

She barely has but a single moment to catch her breath — more from the surprise of his vehemence — before the shorts of her uniform, are being wrested off her body in the fervent catch of desperate fingers. Rafayel gets the material half-way down her thighs before his long-frayed patience snicks off entirely; a cool rubescent fire licks up clean across the material, blazing the offending cloth away entirely.

She’s left dumbstruck, pleasure-addled mind wrung in between faint amazement at his precise Evol manipulation and mild offense at his ruination of her uniform. “We’ll get you a new one.” He heaves — as if he’s read her mind — in between kisses laid onto the instep of her bare leg, working up across her calf. “As long as you let me have you right now, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Her breath seizes within her throat at his sultry request. Rafayel’s palms trace about the shell of her hips, curving about the sides of her abdomen before he caresses them up her stomach, pressing, light, into the yielding flesh. Her body shudders beneath his testing caresses. One of his hands steals down the cusp of her clothed mound, index and middle stroking at her labia above panties, before he skates them in between her folds. The two moan in unison; to feel how drenched she is for him.

Her body squirms against his, begging for more of that sweet friction. Hips bucking up into his hand to force more of him against her aching slit. Rafayel towers above her, the delectable flush across that slack, sensual expression has her fluttering in on emptiness, her hole aching to be filled completely — as if she too has taken on the fever of his desires, writhing in phantom heat. Her drifting mind wonders for a fleeting moment, if a human bonded to a Lemurian could experience the mind-numbing lust of their cycles, along with their partners. That stray thought, she believes, with each passing second he riles her up in delirious rapture.

Holding himself above her upon the crook of a folded arm, Rafayel descends for her mouth, covetous tongue savoring a moan against hers. She feels the hot, wet strength of his cock — already firmed to stone once more — rolling against the inside of her thigh. Just as he slips a long, tapered digit past her underwear, to curve it directly against her soaked opening. Her hips jump violently at the contact, her squeal of arousal Rafayel pilfers against a throaty chuckle. “You’re so wet.” Pressing up into her to make his point, the audible squelch of her slick, loud within the quiet night. “Are you enjoying this, my love?”

“Isn’t,” she gasps, heat gathering, strong, into her face. “isn’t the answer obvious?”

Rafayel hums, the skew of his smile tugging higher; a slow, relishing tongue he runs across his upper lip, end to end. And before she can think to parse the intention behind that wicked gaze, Rafayel’s palms are cupping about the soft of her ass — digits pulsing into pliant flesh — to shear her underwear off, lifting her hips up to shove his tongue in between her legs.

Her next sound leaves her on a shriek of pleasure, blaring stars wheeling across her field of vision. Fervid digits she convulses into the yank of his hair, in a manner that has to hurt and yet Rafayel makes no move to budge back, mouth sinking deeper against the wet flood of her heat. He curves his tongue up against her fluttering walls, sweeping at the slick. Nosing a stifled hum against her clit and that is all it takes for her over-sensitised body to break, spasming into a prompt, violent orgasm that siphons the breath from her lungs and the voice from her throat.

Dazed in her floating awareness of the scrupulous mouth that continues to suck at her folds, laving away all of her released desire for himself. And when she sinks a quivering hand into tousled locks in whimpered protests of being too sensitive, all Rafayel offers her is an impish chuckle pressed into the soft of her thigh, right beside her mound. “You had your fun, didn’t you? It’s my turn now.”

With that sensuous warning uttered, his mouth returns its attentions to her weeping slit once more, lips closing about the nub at her apex, sucking gentle at the bead. The jump of her hips Rafayel conquers, in the indolent arm he shackles about her waist, fingers reaching to hold hers across the quivering pliance of her stomach.

The broad of his tongue laps a path above her entrance, catching at any stray slick that leaks from her before he eases the tip of it back into her slit, relishing the clench of her walls in a throaty groan. He continues to prolong that titillating torture of his, edging his tongue at just the entrance of her pussy, till her body burns once more within the kindled flames of a cresting orgasm.

“Rafayel, there — hah — right there. Rafayel.” Sliding that tormenting tongue into her walls once more, to her relief, to the mewls of his name flooding like rain from a parched tongue, the spasm of her fingers she smothers against their entwined digits at her abdomen.

“Sing higher,” his stuttered groans smothered enthusiastic, into the drench of her slit. Tongue curling up against her frontal walls, in a drag that has her fracturing under his mouth once more. Tears sprung to lust-hazed eyes from the overwhelming arousal wrought upon her body under Rafayel’s dexterous tongue.

He exhales a pleased sigh against her mound, each heated breath causing shivers to jump across tender skin. A kiss, Rafayel lays right against her swollen clit.

“Once more.” Her walls clench in wrecked protest, a whimper leaving her throat at his whispered words. “Give me just one more.” He entreats. “I need your taste in my mouth again.” A flitter of kisses he strokes against the line of her pelvis, her mound; dark gaze rolling up to meets hers from in between her legs. She flushes at the intensity of their contact held, without mercy. Her wordless squeeze about her hand given, is all the permission her hungering Lemurian requires to sink back towards her wet heat.

Tapered digits reach to shape a path about the sensitive bead of her pleasure, pinching in between steady, pleasurable strokes. Before they descend lower, coveting towards her fluttering entrance. Rafayel presses up, gentle, into her walls to coax wetness onto his digits with each drenched thrust of his fingers into her.

His hand releases from hers, palm drifting up across the plane of her body to cup about a pliant breast. Fingers caressing a circular path about her areola in soft, stimulating strokes and she quivers at the sensation, breaths coming in short, stifled bursts of air.

Rafayel’s mouth closes about her clit, just as the arch of his fingers hit at a particularly hot, sensitive spot within her pussy; walls spasming about his fingers, swallowing him in. His name soughs past her lips on whimpered gasps with each steady thrust of him up into her walls.

The pads of his digits tweak about the puckered bead of her breast, thumb denting gentle at the bud, sending a jolt of arousal straight in between her legs.

Rafayel continues to lap her up, dutiful; his lashes descending in pleased satisfaction just as her third, mind-numbing release crests through her body, leaving her skin a drenched, ruined mess Rafayel sucks at, in throaty moans of delight.

“Rafayel,” she urges, unable to stand the searing desire he’s put inside her, body hungering for the heat of his cock in desolate emptiness. The overwhelming desire to feel his heat flooding into her, with how long he’s strung her dry for himself. She catches his face in between tremulous digits, pulling him from in between her legs to meet his gaze, dark in fervent desire. “I need you inside me now.”

Heated obscurity scatters momentarily from his eyes at her fevered request, hips rolling against hers so she feels the hot strength of his arousal brush against her inner thigh; her gasps breaking into the air, at that brief second of contact. Burying her next moan in the vicious bite of teeth at his clavicle, when his cock ghosts across her mound, so close to where she wants him. “If you’re sure you want this...” He groans in ardent murmurs against her mouth.

Her clambering response is swift and eager. “I want this, I want you.”

“I’ll let you have me,” he relents in between their wet kisses. “this time, all of me. So drown with me, my beloved bride. Love me.”

Just as he snaps his hips forwards, the head of his cock pressing her open for himself. The delectable stretch of him, so easy within the drenched warmth of her body as it ravenously sucks at him, all the way in. Rafayel’s searing groan of pleasure, he breaks against her jaw; mouthing, mindless, at the taut skin.

The union of their bodies, have left them both winded, without breath to draw into aching lungs; several moments they take in between heated gazes and consuming kisses, unmoving. Growing accustomed to this new, exquisite feeling of being so deeply intertwined into each other, she feels she could live like this against him for the rest of her life.

Until Rafayel begins to move and her world explodes into turbulent sparks of blinding pleasure, unlike anything she’s quite experienced before. His hands are upon her body, covetous digits flittering in between them to touch at dewy skin. Testing his touch against the trembling give of her breasts. Mouth capturing a pert nipple into his mouth, to suck until she keens underneath him.

Her ankles hook about the base of his spine, dragging Rafayel’s propulsions deeper into her. A stuttered moan, she throttles out of him, at the stimulation before his hand steals about her ass to lift her lower body entirely off the bed. Angling his hips, Rafayel’s thrusts turn impossibly deeper, with the assistance offered in their new position; his pelvis grinding flush against hers on each fevered plunge. “You’re perfect around me, so very — hah — warm,” he grinds out in heedless praise, hips snapping against her harder, in rising intensity, in chase of a hovering orgasm.

She moans in appreciation around the tongue he slips into her slack mouth in yearning want. “Rafayel,” she chokes out. “I’m so close.”

“Me too,” he groans, shifting his weight forwards to lean against the crook of his arm at her side. His fingers trek up a path against her slack arm, digits entwining through hers, the line of their red thread flickering in between them both as they approach the crest of their combined pleasures.

“I love you,” she sobs in between quivering gasps; his gaze crinkling in warmed affection and desire so acute, it drags another whimper out of her.

“I love you.” Rafayel declares, into the catch of his kisses against her mouth, her cheeks, down the crescent of her jaw. Laving a kiss into the curve of her neck in a worrying bite of teeth, marking her for his own. He switches his pace once more, cock spearing up against her frontal walls in frenzied thrusts. “Come for me,” he beseeches.

Jaw falling slack in a daze of undulating desire when she obliges at the heated scrap of his words, tumbling over the edge in an orgasm so vehement, her spine arcs clean off the bed. “You’re so good for me.” He worships.

Cresting waves of pleasure, she rides in the hard clench of her walls against Rafayel’s throbbing cock, pulsating hot within her until he too follows soon after. An incomprehensible swell of his cock inside, rising with its pulsations, has her gasping out a low, keening sound at the aching stretch of her pussy, it prolongs her high onto wondrous, searing moments of dizzy elation. Her toes curling into the sheets as the steady bulge of him catches at her walls and snags inside, hot spurts of cum surging into her, so much of it, she feels light-headed from how stuffed he has her. Just as Rafayel’s head falls low, on a loud, long groan of release.

Their damp breaths break against each other’s mouth for several moments that follow after, as they try and muster their senses back to themselves. Her fingers tracing absent, soothing circles along the curve of Rafayel’s spine until his trembling body stills to a gentle lull above her, quieted in the wake of their vehement orgasms.

A strange, fascinating imprint, throbs scarlet right above his heart — in the fleeting likeness of a fish — just as Rafayel’s rattling breaths abate. Captivated fingers she ventures, to trace against the edges of the mark. “...What is this, Rafayel?”

“A sign of Lemurian loyalty.” A quiet smile tips across his face at the question.

The swell of breathless surprise, she knows is upon her face. “My devotion, here on, it’s yours to do with, as you please.” A kiss he buries into her palm in overwhelming affection. “I’m allowing myself to be trapped by you.”

A low sob of adoration breaks from her throat at the words, just as the proof of his vow fades fast into his skin. A hand, she brings about his neck, to haul him down against her, to treasure a kiss right above where his heart thrums its beats, elated desire burning warm within her chest.

Rafayel moves above her, maneuvering their positions until she rests at her side, within the circle of her arms, bodies still conjoined. His cock — she realizes with dazed shock — is still hard within her body. “Are you afraid?” He asks, gentle fingers carding through the mussed tresses of her hair. “I’ll need you much more times before I’m sated, you know.”

She shakes her head at him, palm moving to cradle against his cheek. “I want all of what you have to give me, Rafayel. I’ll take it all.”

He drags her closer by the hips at her affirmations; his touch along the back of her ass tending a slow fire back up within her weary body, as he moves to hoist her leg up against the cut of his hip.

And she lets him show her just how profound a Lemurian’s devotion to his beloved truly runs, throughout the entirety of the night and into the greeting of dawn — a depth as unbounded as that of the Oceans.

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to scream with me about hot characters.

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darkbluekies · 6 months ago

Note

Oooo okay for the Drabble I think Jerry and Silas cause you know why not also because i like them a little too much

Silas & Jerry drabbles: comforting a scared darling

Mafia!yandere OC & female!yandere!mafia

Warnings: graphic threats from Jerry

Silas:

First, you didn't want him to leave for a mission when you were supposed to go to bed, and when he did you wanted the lamp on. You and Silas had watched a horror movie not too long ago. Silas hadn't imagined that you would take it so hard.

He knows that he shouldn't have left you alone in the bedroom, but he has to have this meeting. He should have seen it coming.

"Boss, your spouse is here", his second in command says from the door. He's been standing by the wall to keep an eye over the room, to make sure that no one will try to do anything. "Should I send them away?"

He should have known that you wouldn't go to bed. He excuses himself and stands up, walking over to the door. You're standing outside, wearing one of his hoodies. This new fear of yours have brought out a clinginess for him that he can't resist. You're just too cute.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he asks in a hushed tone so that his men won't hear and grab your arm. He knows why you are here, but he wants to hear you say it.

"I can't sleep", you whisper for him only. "I'm so scared, please ..."

"We've talked about this, little thing, nothing will hurt you. Everything we saw was made with cgi and rehearsed numerous times. Nothing was real. You know that."

You glare at him. How dare he belittle your fear? He senses his wrongdoings right away.

"No, I didn't mean that", he says quickly and moves closer. "Baby, listen, I'm just saying that what you are afraid of was never real. It can't hurt you."

"That doesn't mean anything. Just because you say that doesn't mean that I'll surprisingly stop being scared."

He can't resist your scared eyes. Silas sighs and hugs you.

"I have to do this meeting, it's urgent, I can't go to bed with you", he says, and then decides. "Okay, you'll sit next to me and stay here until the meeting is over. Eyes down, got it?"

You nod. Silas leads you into the conference room and lets you sit on a chair close by him. Your head is turned down, hand holding onto his pants. No mafia man is as scary as that fictional monster.

Jerry:

Darkness? Why are you araid of darkness? It's such a stupid thing to be afriad of, when Jerry is the definition of it.

"Don't be absurd", Jerry says and turns off the car. "Nothing will touch you as long as you are in the car!"

"Then let me keep the car light on", you say.

"No, it will attract threats."

"You said that nothing would hurt me in the car!"

"As long as you keep the lights off."

"Jerry, I can't deal with darkness."

"Y/N, I really don't have the time to fight with you. I have a man to kill if you have forgotten and the longer I am here, the further away he comes."

She sighs at your teary eyes.

"I'll be gone for a minute — two at most — and then I'll take care of you. Wait here — in the dark — for me."

With that said, she's gone. Those two minutes she's away, you've already started crying. She's back in a wit and is quick to take you in her arms.

"You're such a coward", she cooes and hides your face into her shoulder. "You have nothing to fear as long as I am here."

"But you weren't here! You were out killing some man!"

"For two minutes, baby. I'm here now. Breathe before you pass out."

"I fucking hate the dark ..."

"I know, baby, I know." She kisses your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere else for tonight. I'm going to take good care of you."

You cling onto her.

"Don't cry, you little baby", she whispers. "The darkness isn't anything to be afraid of, you know? It is actually a good thing, believe it or not. Without the darkness, i would be in jail by now. The darkness hides things you don't want to see. You should actually be thankful."

You sniffle.

"Oh, pull yourself together, baby", Jerry sighs. "I already told you that I am here and that nothing will happen. I will cut the throat of anything that tries to put their hands on you. Does that comfort you?"

"A bit ... maybe."

"Well, let me try again then, if you insist on being so fucking difficult. I will, personally, dig out the eyes of the naive enough to come close to you, in darkness or not. I will cut their hands of, braid their veins and create skipping ropes with them. Is that good enough for you?"

She laughs as you tug at your lips. Jerry might not be the best at comforting, but she will do everything for you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere fics #female yandere #yandere drabble

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confusionmeisss · 7 months ago

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baby cousin - c. sturniolo

🫧 chris sturniolo x fem!reader

🫧 where you bring chris along with you to a family party and your little baby cousin absolutely steals all his attention.

🫧 fluff.

🫧 1.4k words.

🫧 hi lovelies!! thank you so much for wanting to read! uh this idea just popped into my head when i seen this picture of chris, i was like, “i got the perfect thing to write based on this” i think i was also heavily inspired by the fact that my baby cousins baptism was coming up so i was gonna be seeing my little cousins! anyway, enjoy bc i loved writing this! much love to you all!! <3 oh also, apologies if ur ovulating or have baby fever 😣 masterlist

Your five year old cousin, Lila, had to be the most bubbly and extroverted of all your cousins. She would chat to anyone willing to listen. Most of all, she’d been attached to you since you could remember, turning herself into your little shadow. She mimics your mannerisms and what you say. And whenever you’re anywhere with her there as well, you have to be so careful with moving about because she’ll be stuck to you like velcro.

So it was normal that as soon as you set foot into your aunt’s backyard and the little girl spotted you, her features lit up and she made a mad dash for you; her small body colliding with yours.

You let out a breath at the collision, a smile overtaking your face afterwards. “Hey Li,” you say, crouching down to her level.

“Hi, Y/N!” She shouts out brightly.

You laugh softly. “Heard you started kindergarten. How’s that been for you, bug? Make any new friends?” You ask, brushing back a piece of stray hair from her face.

She nods her head enthusiastically. “Yes! His name is Austin and we push each other on the swings and play legos together!”

“That’s great! Hey, I have someone I want you to meet,” you say, standing back to your height.

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you say, grabbing her small hand and leading her to where your mother is standing talking to your uncle; Chris standing next to her.

“His name is Chris and he’s my boyfriend.”

Lila stops you before you reach them by tugging at your shirt.

You look down at her. “Do you think he’ll wanna be my friend?”

“Oh for sure. I think you two will get along real well in fact.”

“Okay! Then let’s go meet my new friend Chris!”

You let out another soft laugh as you both finally reach your mother and Chris. Your mother spotting you both and letting out a gasp.

“Oh well if it isn’t my favorite five year old!” She says, reaching down and tugging Lila into a big hug. “How’s school going for you so far, darling?”

“Great! Made new friends! Bout to make a new one now!” Lila lets out from her place in your mothers arms, squirming just a little bit.

“Oh, yes,” your mother lets out a chuckle. “Go on and meet Christopher now, darling.” Your mother lets go of the girl with a pat on her head before wandering off to talk to another family member.

Almost immediately Lila looks at the man now standing next to you. A bright grin taking over her face, making her cheeks squish and her eyes squint.

“Hello! I’m Lila, and I would like to be your friend! Would you like to be my friend?” The little girl asks with a little hand outstretched towards Chris.

His bigger one engulfs hers as he returns her greeting. “I would love to be your friend, Lila.”

Lila lets go of Chris’ hand and claps her hands together with a squeal of delight.

“That’s great! Do y’wanna go play in my sandbox with me? We can make sandcastles!”

“I would love to!” Chris says brightly.

And as soon as the words left his mouth, he was being dragged away by Lila and towards her sandbox.

“So, I heard that you’re in school now. Do you like it?” Chris asks, as he plops down onto the grass next to the sandbox.

“Oh I love it!” Lila replies, picking up two pink shovels, and shoving one towards Chris. “It’s super fun! Like, I get to color, but I gotta stay inside the lines which I guess can be hard sometimes. But like we also get to watch movies sometimes. And now I can count up to twenty! Which is how old Y/N is! How old are you?”

Chris lets out a chuckle at the girl’s enthusiastic debrief. “Well, I’m glad you enjoy school. I’m twenty too, but I won’t be in a couple more months; then I’ll be twenty-one along with my brothers.”

“You have brothers? I’m an only child, I dunno what that’s like. Wait, why are you and your brothers all turning the same age at the same time? That’s not how it works,” Lila says, her head tilted to the side in confusion.

“Ah, you see my brothers and I were born on the same day, so we all turn the same age at the same time,” Chris explains. “We’re triplets. It’s like twins but instead of two, there’s three of us.”

Lila gasps, sand flying up from her excited hand movements - which Chris notes she’s picked up from you - and into her hair. Lila remains unphased by this as she says, “That’s so cool!”

“Yeah, it really is.”

Lila quickly changes topics though as her gaze focuses on something behind her. “Let’s blow bubbles, and then we can chase them trying to pop them before they disappear!”

“Alright,” Chris agrees easily, standing up from the grass. He watches as Lila runs over to a little plastic picnic table and grabs a tube of bubbles.

“Will you blow them?” She asks, running back over to him. Once she reaches him, she holds out her hand with the bubbles in it out to him expectantly.

“‘Course I will,” Chris says, taking hold of the bubble tube and twisting it open. “Ready?” He asks.

Receiving a nod in response, he starts blowing the bubbles, watching them float out into the air and Lila chase after them trying to pop them.

Chris has a happy smile on his face as he watches the little girl giggle while trying to pop the bubbles.

“Chris, can you try and make a super big one? Y/N can do it, and it’s always so cool!”

Chris nods and focuses on attempting to make as big of a bubble as he can. It takes a few tries, all of which Lila giggles at, before he finally gets one out.

“Woah!” Lila gasps out, before giggling and reaching up to pop it with her little finger.

The bubble bursts and splatters against Chris’ face, making him scrunch it up in distaste. “Oh ew, soaps on my mouth now.”

Lila lets out a loud laugh at Chris’ distress.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Chris asks.

“Mhm,” Lila says, attempting to suppress a giggle.

Chris doesn’t even hesitate before he drops the tube of bubbles and starts chasing after the girl. Her giggles so loud, they make you look over from where you’re making plates of food.

A soft smile overtakes your face as you watch them run around, your smile widening when Chris grabs hold of Lila and starts tickling her, making her giggles somehow get louder.

“Mercy! Mercy! M’sorry for laughing at you!” Lila squeals out. Chris surrenders and places the girl down on the bench of her picnic table, then sitting across from her.

“You’re silly, Chris,” Lila giggles. “I’m hungry,” she then whines out.

“Ah, well lucky for you, I’ve come to be your savior,” you say, placing a plastic plate in front of her. You place another in front of Chris before setting drinks down on the table as well.

“Thank you!” Lila shouts, before stabbing her fork into her mac n’ cheese.

“Thank you,” Chris says, smiling at you softly and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re welcome, my love,” you reply, going to sit down before you’re stopped by a small hand.

“Sorry Y/N, but only two people can fit at my picnic table and I want Chris to sit with me,” Lila says looking up at you with an apologetic expression.

You let out a gasp of fake offense, placing a hand over your heart. “I can’t believe this! I’ve been replaced!”

Lila gasps. “No! You can’t ever be replaced! You’re my favoritest! Chris move, you can sit on the grass and Y/N can take your spot!”

You suppress a laugh at this. Chris takes it all in stride though, and moves to sit on the grass and you take his spot.

“So I’m taking it you like Chris then?” You ask Lila, taking a bite of your food.

“Oh yeah! I hope you keep him around, he’s real fun! And silly!”

“Yeah. Yeah he is, isn’t he? I hope he sticks around for a long while too,” You say looking at Chris softly.

He reaches over and grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers, resting them on the bench. “I will,” he assures.

#ali’s writing 🖋️#chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #ali’s thoughts & opinions 📼

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corroded-hellfire · 1 year ago

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My gorgeous soulmate. The love of my life. I can’t stop thinking about Reader waiting for a ride and accidentally overhearing Eddie talking to the Hellfire guys about some beautiful girl and how he’s afraid to ask her out. Reader assumes it’s someone else and leaves because she’s upset and doesn’t want him to see her. Bonus points for wingman Dusty Bun, but not necessary. Okay love you byeeeeee xoxoxo @munson-blurbs 💚

Hello, my darling dearest. I hope you enjoy this and I love you too! 💕

Words: 1.5k

Band practice ran late, but that didn’t matter one bit. Your older brother was always running behind to pick you up, leaving you the lone person sitting outside the school, waiting. Usually, you had a book with you, but you’d finished your last one and hadn’t gotten a chance to check a new one out of the library today. Honestly, the fierce autumn wind may have prevented you from reading anyway; the pages would be obeying Mother Nature, not you. The wind whistles and whips so viciously that you slide off of the brick wall you’re sitting on top of and seat yourself on the cold sidewalk, pressing as close to the wall as you can to avoid the harsh blowing.

Luckily, the gust eases up and you only end up having four leaves stuck to your clothing. As you’re picking them from your gray sweater, you hear the telltale squeak of the main doors of the school opening. Your brow creases in confusion because you didn’t realize anyone else was here this late. The dark evening has your mind floating back to the dozens of slasher movies you’ve seen that started with this very scenario. Taking care to be as quiet as possible, you tuck your legs up against your body as you hug your backpack to your chest.

“Damn Eddie, I’ve never heard you talk this way before.”

The voice is vaguely familiar. Nancy’s brother maybe? Right! He’s in Hellfire with Eddie Munson, who must be the Eddie he’s speaking to. An involuntary smile curls on your lips at the boy you’re head over heels for being just a few feet away. The closer they get, the easier it is for you to hear the thunk of the metalhead’s boots coming down the sidewalk.

“Ugh, I know,” Eddie says, a hint of a whine in his happy-go-lucky voice. “But she’s so fuckin’ beautiful.”

The butterflies in your stomach sour, churning at hearing Eddie talk this way about some girl. He’s not doing anything wrong, and logically you know that. He doesn’t owe you anything. But irritation bubbles up in you as a defense from the heartbreak you’re desperately trying to run away from. Your fingers dig into your backpack as you squeeze your eyes closed to prevent the tears from leaking out.

“Ask her out!” That voice was Jeff’s—from your history class.

Eddie scoffs and you can just picture him shaking his head, his frizzy curls swaying back and forth. The thought of Eddie asking a girl out forces the hot tears to leak down your face, despite how tightly you’ve been keeping them closed.

“Like she would want to go out with me,” he says.

Now your heart also breaks for Eddie. Who could be so stupid as to not want to go out with him?

“Aww, I think you’re scared,” another voice goads. Probably the curly-haired boy that’s friends with the Wheeler boy.

“I’m not scared,” Eddie says. “I’m just…afraid.”

“That’s the same thing!” Wheeler says before you hear a thump and the boy mutters an, “Ow!”

“Shut it, Wheeler. I don’t want to hear shit from you or Henderson on girls. Both of your girls live far away. Huh, kind of convenient, isn’t it?” Eddie asks. “They’re probably as real as the damn hair on top of Higgin’s head.”

“Hey!” Wheeler shouts.

“That’s bullshit!” the boy who must be Henderson shouts at the same time.

“You guys are letting him change the subject,” Jeff says. “When are you going to ask her out?”

Instead of giving an answer, you can hear Eddie grumbling under his breath the closer they get to you. It won’t be long now before they’ll walk past the wall and see you sitting on the ground. Waiting for a ride is easy enough to explain, but the tear tracks running down your face are a different matter.

Before the group of guys can get any closer, you carefully push yourself onto your knees. Balancing yourself against the wall with one hand, you seek out somewhere you can hide. The corner of the wall is pretty far away, you’d never be able to crawl there fast enough. If you stand up though, you could walk that distance. Realizing crouching down so far is going to kill your back, you push up to your feet and keep your torso and head low as you speedwalk to the corner of the wall.

Luckily, it’s just a grassy lawn on the other side of the wall, so you throw yourself down on it and catch your breath. Unluckily, you hear the piercing whine of your brother’s car pulling up towards Hawkins High. Fuck. Of course he comes now.

You peek out from your safe space around the wall and see that Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire gang are climbing into Eddie’s van. A rush of breath leaves your lungs and you’re sure your adrenaline is about to come crashing down.

Your brother pulls up to the curb and you push yourself off of the grass and quickly slide into the passenger’s seat.

“Uh, you okay?” your brother asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Fine,” you huff. “Just go.”

Like the piece of gum you’d stepped in last week, the sharp pains in your heart stay with you much longer than you’d like. The next day, right before last period, you’re at your locker, switching out your books and hoping your eyes don’t look as puffy as they feel.

“Uh, hey.”

The voice makes you jump and drop your biology book. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is; you’d know that voice anywhere. It’s just never been so close to your ear before.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Eddie says as he bends down to pick up your book. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s okay,” you manage to say as you turn around to face him. “Thank you,” you say as he gives you your science book back.

Eddie clears his throat and glances over his shoulder before looking back at you—or rather, your shoes. Curious, you follow the line of sight where Eddie had just looked, and you see the curly-haired boy from Hellfire peeking around the corner. Henderson. As soon as he notices you looking, he pops back out of sight.

“I, uh,” Eddie says as he finds the courage to meet your eye. “Hey.”

“You said that,” you say with a shy smile. “But then I freaked out, so…hi.”

The smile Eddie gives you isn’t his biggest by far, but it still makes your knees go wobbly.

“You’re in band, right?” Eddie asks, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck.

“I am.”

“Yeah. So, I was wondering if maybe after the game this Friday you might want to grab a bite to eat? With, um, me?”

The world freezes around you, time completely stopping. Your body is locked in place as you stare at Eddie with wide eyes. He just asked me out, you think. Why would he ask me out? He thinks that other girl is beauti—holy shit. I’m the beautiful girl he was talking about? This defies all that you thought you knew in the world. Is this a parallel universe where guys actually like you back? You realize you’ve just been staring at him since you spoke.

“Yeah. T-That sounds nice,” you say.

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes light up and your heart comes to a halt inside your chest.

“Yes,” you say with a small chuckle.

“Wow. Awesome. Okay, wow.” His disbelief shocks you. How in the hell was he afraid to ask you out? You’re just…you. He gives you a wider grin now before tugging up the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Do you have a pen?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah!” You grab a pen from your locker and write down your number on Eddie’s pale skin, right below a colony of inked bats.

“Great,” Eddie says as he pulls his sleeve back down. “Um, I’ll wait in the gym after the game?”

“Sure. It’ll only take me a few minutes to change and get everything put away.”

“Awesome,” Eddie says again, and seeing him acting this nervous just tickles you pink. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard him say “awesome” before and now he’s said it twice within the last minute. “I guess I’ll see you in English tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Oh, Eddie, wait. You’re going to go to the game?” You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. “I thought you hated basketball.”

“Oh. Well, I do,” he says with a chuckle. “Easier to take you out after the game if I’m there, though. And, uh, you know, Sinclair’s been bugging me to come see him play.”

“Right,” you say.

Eddie’s cheeks turn a light red as he gives you a bashful smile.

“See you later, beautiful,” he says. He doesn’t give you time to even react to his words before he’s heading down the hall.

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself. “I make Eddie nervous?”

A jovial giggle slips past your lips as you close your locker. You feel like you owe the Hellfire guys a thank you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #request

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spirit-lanterns · 1 year ago

Text

THIRST COMMENTS

synopsis: (celebrity! AU) reacting to thirst comments with your celebrity girlfriend. (part 1/2) part 2 here.

featuring: kafka, himeko, serval, yukong, topaz

rating: 18+ suggestive (men and minors dni)

warnings: celebrity! fem reader, no smut but very suggestive, mentions of strap ons, mentions of tit-sucking, jealousy, possessiveness, secret relationships, teasing, sugar mommy relationship (topaz), se.xual innuendos, dirty talk, mentions of mommy, milf, legal age gap relationship (yukong), may be ooc.

art credits: act-age

KAFKA

“Anonymous said: I will let Kafka break my back like a glow stick.”

Kafka’s eyes widened slightly and she let out an amused chuckle, staring at the camera with a subtle, yet flirtatious grin. “My, my…I had no idea my fans were quite the masochists.” She hums into the mic, trailing a seductive finger across her lips and whispering in a lower tone. “Perhaps I should star in an 18+ BDSM movie at some point. What do you think, darling?”

Kafka gave you a teasing nudge and you laughed as you continued scrolling through Twitter for more thirst comments. The two of you have been invited to read thirst comments on the set of one of those giant social media platforms, but the crew had no idea that you and Kafka were actually dating behind closed doors. They had just invited you both since you were frequent co-stars for various films, yet they didn’t anticipate the amount of tension you two would have while being filmed without any scripts.

“Only if I get to star as the main girl.” You reply teasingly, Kafka giving you a light flick on the forehead as you laughed and read the next comment. “Okay, okay, here. Here’s another thirst comment for you,” you say jovially, handing Kafka your phone.

“Hmm, I’ve been getting too many of these recently.” She chuckles, taking your phone and reading the next thirst comment out loud.

“@/itsmeanobody said: I know she’s strapped and I’m not talking about the gun.”

Kafka let out a breathy laugh and covered her mouth with her hands, clearly flattered by the subtle innuendo. “Oh, dear…”

“I can confirm, she is very strapped.” You smile at the camera, giving it a playful wink and watching as the director’s face slowly morphed into one of shock. Kafka squeezed your thigh under the table to hush you with your words, causing you to gasp under her grip. “Shhhh, careful dear. You don’t want to tease the fans too much…” She grins and reads the next comment, eyes widening slightly as she reads it out loud.

“Speaking of the fans. This next comment sure is interesting. Anonymous said: "When Kafka came on screen, so did I.”

Your secret girlfriend bites her lip at the comment and can’t help but let a few laughs escape her throat. “You naughty, naughty fans…” Kafka purrs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer against her. “I didn’t expect my fanbase to be so dirty.”

“Well, have you seen the ten thousand TikTok edits of you in Flash and Furious (Parody of Fast and Furious)? I’ve seen more content on you than anything else from the movie.”

“Awe, come on,” Kafka pouts, giving your cheek a little squeeze and giving a snide smile to the camera. “Can you blame me? I was cast in such a sexy role.”

“I think I was sexier.”

“Yeah, you were.”

Kafka grins lazily and sits back upright, the tension so unbearably strong, all the people on set were blushing and sweating under the stage lights. You and Kafka didn’t mind, though. As celebrities, you knew the tension between you was more than enough to have fans buzzing, and despite actually dating in real life, you wanted to keep the buzz going.

“Mm, one last thirst comment before we move on to your turn, dear.” Kafka says as her eyes trail down to your phone. “Anonymous said: I want Kafka to mess up my insides with that big strap she hides in the back.”

After that very bold comment, Kafka sucked in a breath and watched as you frowned slightly in a bit of jealousy. Though you were aware that fans often thirsted for both you and Kafka, you couldn’t help but grow a bit jealous as fans wanted so desperately to sleep with your girlfriend.

“Actually, that big strap is just for m—”

Kafka quickly covered your mouth.

“Haha, we’ll be right back!”

After your accidental slip up, the camera was cut and Kafka turned to you with a knowing smile. “Darling, are you jealous?” She chuckles with a sly grin. “About four comments in and this one is the one that gets you all riled up?”

“It’s true though, that strap is mine and mine only.” You whisper into her ear, giggling a little before playfully shoving her. “What, like you wouldn’t get jealous when it’s my turn.”

“I happen to be very good at concealing my emotions though, dear.” Kafka replies in a sultry tone. “Besides, you’re the only girl who’s bed I would willingly climb in.” She grins and lowers her voice to a husky whisper. “And the only girl who’s insides I’d ruin with that ‘big strap’ of mine.”

Your cheeks heat up at her words and you feel a jolt of arousal pulse at your core.

“Ugh…stop trying to turn me on, we're still in the middle of filming.” You mumble.

“Sorry, sorry.” Kafka replies before resting her chin on her hands. “Why don’t you begin reading your thirst comments, darling. I promise, I won’t even get jealous.”

She laughs and gives you a flirtatious wink, causing you to roll your eyes and signal the director that you were ready to continue filming. “Sure, sure. I bet your face would turn all green from envy.”

“We’ll just see about that.” Kafka smirks. “Go on, let’s continue shall we?”

“Oh, sure.” You smile, playing along as you knew Kafka would eventually fall prey to her jealousy. “This thirst comment says…”

And you watch with joy as Kafka’s hand twitches slightly at the start, making you smile with amusement as your girlfriend was not as good at concealing her emotions as she said.

HIMEKO

“Anonymous said: If Himeko’s breasts are feeling a bit heavy and in pain, I’d gladly suck the pain away.”

After reading the first thirst comment, Himeko’s face flushed bright red with embarrassment. Her hand instinctively shot out for yours under the table, as she tried her best to remain calm in front of all the cameras. “O-Oh…Oh my…” she laughs a bit nervously, unsure of what to do with the raw desire of some of her fans. “That is uh, well…thank you for the offer, anonymous commenter. Your generosity is quite admirable.”

You chuckled softly at Himeko’s attempts to remain calm and polite, before cupping her hand under the table and giving it a comforting squeeze. “To be fair, Himeko does have a nice chest.”

“Hey—”

Himeko narrowed her eyes at you before instantly smiling and jabbing at your sides. To the public, you were just a pair of co-stars who had “intimate” moments with each other that seemed to spice up your careers. But behind closed doors, you and Himeko were closer than ever, as you had secretly gotten together after the filming of your latest movie.

“But it’s true, Himeko has a very nice figure. It’s nice to admire it once in a while.”

“Darling, that's called being a pervert.”

“No, it’s called appreciating your beauty.”

You smiled and winked at her, causing Himeko’s face to flush as red as her hair. Your tension was a lot more…romantic than some of the other celebrities in the industry, and whenever you and Himeko got together, you always made her laugh.

“This next comment is from another anonymous user. Anonymous said: "Everyone repeat after me, Mommy Himeko.”

Himeko raised a brow at this, confused by this certain comment. “…Darling, what do they mean by… ‘Mommy Himeko?’ I don’t have children yet.”

You burst out laughing at her reaction, Himeko’s obliviousness to the comment clearly showing her age. “Himeko, they’re calling you mommy because you’re very…mother material. In a hot way.” You clarified, Himeko only growing more confused at this. “In a hot way? Isn’t that ince—”

“No no no—!”

You took a brief intermission pause and cut the cameras. After a good two minutes of explaining to Himeko what being called “mommy” meant, the cameras were turned back on, as you and Himeko sat back in your seats.

“And we’re back!” You exclaim jovially, your girlfriend Himeko just hiding her face on the table as steam poured out of her ears. Too embarrassed after realizing what being “mommy material” was. “Sorry about the cut, I had to teach old grandma Himeko what being a Mommy meant.”

“I’m not…old.” Himeko grumbles against the table. “Let’s just read the next thirst comment already.”

You chuckle and slide Himeko your phone for her to read, the redhead hesitantly picking up the device and reading the first comment that caught her eye. “@/sinsmockingbird said: Ahhhh the need to suck on Himeko’s titties is so strongggg”

“…Again with the tit-sucking.” You chuckle behind your hand, Himeko’s face burning even brighter than before as she groaned. “I— how do people say these things on the internet…” Himeko stutters, her eyes unable to look at the cameras and choosing to stare at the floor. “I am just…shocked at how bold people can be.”

“Yeah, the internet can be pretty bold at times.” You laugh softly, running a comforting hand through your girlfriend’s soft locks. “Do you wanna do one more thirst comment before it’s my turn?”

“Ah…I suppose.” Himeko says with an awkward expression, mustering up the courage to read another comment. “It can’t be that bad after this, right?”

No. She severely underestimated how down bad her fanbase actually was.

“Anonymous said: I would totally have a threesome with (Reader) and Himeko. They can punish me whenever.”

After reading that final comment out loud, Himeko couldn’t help but let her face slowly fall as she reread the comment multiple times.

“…Wow. I didn’t expect that comment to be in there.” You laughed softly, a little surprised yourself as you had no idea Himeko’s fans would also be lusting after you. “That must mean we’re a pretty hot couple, eh Himeko?”

You nudged her playfully, expecting her to nudge you back like you always did for your playful banters, but Himeko said nothing. Just staring at the thirst comment in silence as her eyes kept trailing over the words like it was a paragraph.

“…Himeko?”

“Hm? Oh. Sorry.” She smiles softly and looks up at the camera, flashing her signature smile like nothing was wrong. “Thank you for the flattering comment, anon.”

You felt shivers go down your spine as an aura of uneasiness swept across your body. Normally Himeko would be embarrassed or not understand what the comment was implying, yet this time she was being eerily calm and it was starting to spook you a bit.

“H-Himeko? Ah—!”

You quickly closed your mouth as Himeko trailed a hand down to your hips and gave it a possessive squeeze. Her face was still neutral to appease to the cameras as she slowly turned to you with a smile. “…I believe it’s your turn now, dear.” She says in a calm tone, her hand still holding you roughly which was very unlike Himeko’s usual personality.

“Wh— I…okay…” was Himeko jealous? One look at her eyes and you instantly could tell, she was going to wreck you later on the car ride home.

“Well, go on. Let’s read the first thirst comment together, shall we?” Himeko hums, sliding the phone over to you and ensnaring your fate.

“…Yes ma’am.” You say in a softer tone, shakily picking up the phone to read your thirst comments, and praying for your legs later tonight.

SERVAL

“@/lindseynguyen said: I want Serval to play me like how she plays her guitar. Rough and hard.”

Serval wheezes after reading that and hides her face into the table, laughing like a lawnmower gone bad as she struggles to keep herself from dying. “I ca— what the heck…” she’s close to tears and you have to hit her on the back to stop herself from choking. “Serval…get it together girl.”

“I can’t—” she’s laughing so much and has a bashful blush spreading across her face. The cameras capturing the radiant smile of famous singer; Serval Landau, who could capture the hearts of millions just by existing. “Just— holy sh*t. My fans are so bold.”

She flashes a wink at the camera and grins. “Don’t worry Lindsey, I’ll play my guitar extra hard for you in my next concert. Have a fun time.”

She bursts out into giggles again and pulls you closer to stabilize herself. The two of you are just a bubbling mess as you couldn’t stop yourselves from giggling like a bunch of school girls.

“Okay okay, next comment…” you ushered playfully, smacking Serval on the arm and showing her the next thirst comment. Your girlfriend takes the phone and lets her eyes scan over the comment, bracing herself for what’s to come.

“Anonymous said: Me if I was the guitar 🤰”

Serval’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but choke a bit.

“…If that’s the case. I got a lot of guitars pregnant in my time.”

She smiles at you flirtatiously and you can’t help but give Serval the death glare. She grins like the mischievous woman that she was and gives your thigh a teasing squeeze from underneath the table. “You’re a weirdo.” You say through giggles, knowing exactly what Serval was talking about as she stares at you.

“Oh, I know.” She giggles back. “But you’d let this weirdo get you preg—”

You playfully kick her shin under the table and Serval winces mid sentence. “AH—!”

The cameras cut for a brief intermission and a few minutes later you were back to filming. With Serval rubbing her shin and making a pathetic “sad” face from your “abuse.”

“You’re so mean…” Serval pouts, resting her face on your shoulder. “Can you kiss it all better?”

“You’re a grown adult, Serval.” You laugh, giving her a gentle pat on the head. “I’m not your babysitter.”

“Yeah, but you could be my mo—”

“Next thirst comment!”

You smiled at the cameras and pulled Serval closer so she could react to the next Twitter comment. Her face immediately lying against yours as she got comfortable beside you.

“Anonymous said: Not a waiter, but I would take her tip.”

Both you and Serval absolutely lose it at this one, the singer sucking in air through her teeth and trembling as she tries so hard not to scream. “Oh god…” Serval is smiling so hard her lips hurt. “Well uh, that’s…quite the compliment.”

“Just an FYI for all you Serval fans,” you chuckle, leaning in closer to whisper at the camera. “Serval doesn’t have the tip—”

“HEY—!”

You laugh as your girlfriend gets offended by that and moves to pull you back from the camera. “Hush now, there are people watching!” You roll your eyes and hold the next thirst comment in front of her for her to read. “What, the video is explicit enough anyways. Just read the next comment so it can be my turn!” You were excited to see what the comments would be about you, so you ushered Serval to hurry up and read the last comment.

“Okay okay!” The singer exclaims, taking the phone and reading the next thirst comment, which ended up being the most downbad and horny comment Serval had ever seen.

“@/itsmeanobody said: Her strap is purple and sparkly. Was on it last night 🤭”

Serval’s face grew flushed and you couldn’t help but raise a brow at the mention of her strap. Though you weren’t jealous by any means, the words spilled out of your mouth faster than you could control.

“Well actually, Serval’s favorite strap is hot pink with ridges instead of spark—”

Your girlfriend stared at you with wide eyes and you suddenly realized what you were saying. Both you, your girlfriend, and all the producers in the studio were all blushing red and laughing nervously before cutting the cameras. “Oh sh*t.” You laughed, Serval blushing red before smiling bashfully and giving your head a small smack. “You dumbass…” she laughs, pulling you closer for a brief hug.

“You’re gonna regret saying that later…”

Your eyes widened at her darkened tone yet Serval resumed her playful and relaxed nature, glancing at the director and making small talk with them as if it were nothing. “Could we cut that part out? We could just resume where we left off and continue onto her turn, yeah?”

The director nodded and gave a thumbs up, the cameras clicking back on as Serval ran her fingers down your back. “Let’s hurry up and get this video done with, hm? Go on, read your thirst comments.” She speaks in a gravelly tone, causing you to swallow nervously as you pick up the phone to begin reading your own comments.

You knew what was waiting for you the moment you got home.

YUKONG

“Anonymous said: At this rate, No Nut November is gonna turn into Nonstop Nut November.”

Yukong raised a brow at this comment and glanced over at you with a confused expression. “Uhm…what is ‘No Nut November?’” Yukong asked with genuine confusion. She was one of the older actresses within the acting industry, so it was common sense that Yukong wouldn’t know a thing about modern terms and slang.

“Uh…it’s like…” you chewed your bottom lip and tried to think of a way to explain it to your older girlfriend. “Uh, perhaps we should move on?”

“No, no no no.” Yukong frowned and stared at you with that intimidating, motherly look that made you feel like a child being scolded by your mother. “What is No Nut November. I want to know.”

You winced and made a hand gesture for the cameras to stop filming.

“Cut!”

There was a brief intermission pause and after a few moments, the cameras resumed to Yukong sitting in her seat with a shocked expression on her face. Her eyes wide with newfound understanding for the younger generation, as she looked like she had just discovered the meaning of the universe.

“…Yukong?”

“Why do younger people call masturbation ‘nutting.’” She sighs, rubbing her temple in dismay. “That— it doesn’t have anything to do with nuts?!”

“Let’s…Let’s just move on to the next comment.” You laugh nervously, rubbing a comforting hand against your lover’s back.

“@/chucapybara said: When Yukong is done with me, I’m not the only one with granny knees by morning ✌️”

Your girlfriend looks almost offended by that and seems to gloss over the sexual innuendo written in that sentence. “Granny knees?! I am not that old…!”

“Well…” you stifle a chuckle and look away, Yukong glaring at you briefly before glancing at the cameras. “Oh please, not you too…”

“Awe, but there’s nothing wrong with being older, Yukong…” you giggle softly, teasing your partner by running a hand over her thigh. “You know I love the age difference…”

Yukong tenses up at your purr and she can’t help but grow excited with the way you were stroking her thigh. Sure Yukong was one of the older people within the acting industry, but hooking up with you was one of the best decisions she has ever made in her life, even if you were several years younger than her.

“I…suppose you are right.” Yukong sighs, a small smile breaching her lips. “Let’s move on then, shall we?”

She makes a move to read over the next comment, but it only leaves her more confused than ever.

“Anonymous said: MILF MILF MILF YUKONG IS SUCH A MILF THAT CAN TAKE CARE OF ME AND RUIN ME, MOMMY I'M ON MY KNEES PRAYING THAT THE LORD FORGIVE MY SINS.”

Immediately after reading that, Yukong turns to you with the utmost expression of concern. The poor woman was still trying to comprehend what she had just read and seemed genuinely worried for the well-being of her fans. “Dear, what is a milf?”

A look of discomfort spread across your face as you sucked in a bunch of cold air between your teeth. You weren’t sure if you should tell Yukong what a milf was, and was starting to regret accepting the invite to be on this show.

“Uhhh…they’re saying that you’re very attractive.” You say with a bit of hesitance, barely lying through your teeth in order to not tell her the true definition.

“Ah, really?” Yukong smiled at the flattering compliment. “I see then…”

She leans forward and grins innocently. “You’re a milf then, dear. A very nice milf.”

You choked on your spit and the cameras cut for a moment. Once you regained your senses, the recordings were flipped back on and you continued on with the video. “Okay…one last comment and let’s switch over to my turn, sounds good?”

Yukong nodded in agreement.

“Okay, here’s another comment for you, Yukong.”

“@/the-voxington-tavern said: I want Yukong to breed me. I want her to be feral and just break me. I want her to just rut her strap into me. I want her to be feral.”

Now this…this comment was one that Yukong fully understood. Her cheeks going hot at the way this commenter was so straightforward, and unable to speak for the first few moments. “Ah…my younger fans surely are enthusiastic…” Yukong chuckles, fanning her pink cheeks with her hand. “And very…descriptive with the way they describe their wants.”

You could tell Yukong was struggling to keep her composure, yet you were in the same boat as you couldn’t help but feel jealous that someone wanted your Yukong as desperately as you did. You knew Yukong was yours and yours alone, but you couldn’t stop yourself as you leaned in closer to whisper something into Yukong’s ear that had her perking up with delight.

“Yeah, but I’m the only one you rut your strap into every night, right?” you murmur quietly, a smile curling up on your lips.

The older woman shivers at your words and you see a glint of ferocity appear in her eyes. Though you were just trying to tease her, it appears the teasing worked a bit too well, as your girlfriend was beginning to grow excited the more the video went on. She couldn’t wait for the filming to be over, and it was evident in the way she stared at you hungrily, waiting for you to finish your round of thirst comments so she could devour you when the cameras were cut.

Perhaps after reading your round of thirst comments, her feelings would escalate. After all, not only was she impatient, but maybe she’d even grow a bit jealous…?

TOPAZ

“@/servalisms said: when I die, bury me in Topaz’s thighs.”

Topaz smirked at this and stood up from her seat, lifting her leg onto the table and giving it a confident smack. “I got your coffin right here, baby.”

Everyone on set, including you burst out into laughter, causing Topaz to chuckle before sitting back down. “I’m glad we can appreciate my thighs, though. I’ve been going to the gym to workout on my legs ever since I got that role for Triassic Park (Parody of Jurassic Park)”

“Mm, yeah. That movie was a pain to film,” you sighed, leaning your head on Topaz’s shoulder as she wrapped an arm around you to pull you closer. “Fun fact about the production of the film: Topaz was not expecting to do so many athletic stunts, so she had to work extra hard on an athletic build while filming on set. The first time we met, she was doing squats next to a raptor costume.”

“Heyyyy, at least it all paid off in the end. Now look, everyone is admiring my beautiful physique.” Topaz hums, giving you an arrogant smile. “Look, there’s even more comments about my thighs…”

“Anonymous said: Is it too hard to understand that I just want my head crushed between her thighs? 😔”

Topaz just smirks smugly at this and gives the camera a naughty look like she expected this to happen. “Oh? My fans want me to crush them between my thighs? Won’t that hurt?”

“If it hurts, it would be a good kind of hurt.” You say with a smile. “I’m sure everyone’s preferred death would be getting suffocated by you, Topaz.”

“Oh, everyone is just a masochist nowadays aren’t they?” She chuckles, “If that’s the case, I’d gladly crush any fan’s head. So long as they pay a proper price…”

There’s a mischievous glint in Topaz’s eyes that tells you she’s not even joking. The determination in her eyes making it obvious that she’d do anything for an extra income of cash.

“Hm, so you’d make me pay if I wanted to get my head crushed by you?” You ask in a joking tone, gauging her reaction from your words.

“Pfft. Of course not.” Topaz smirks, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You’re the only one who gets my services free, babe.”

The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife, Topaz chuckling at the way you tensed up at her words and flush at the way she started squeezing your hand. “Anywhoooo I believe we should move on to the next comment, hm?” She grins before scrolling up to the next comment.

“Anonymous said: TOPAZ 😩 I WANT TO BE HER CHAIR!”

“Woahhh there.” Topaz chuckles, ears going a bit pink due to embarrassment. “Is that an offer for me to sit on your face…?” She grins at the camera, pulling you a bit tighter against her figure. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but unless you’re paying me some good money, there’s only one chair I’m sitting on tonight.”

She ruffles your hair at the implications and laughs at the way the producers all flush with embarrassment. Topaz surely was one of the bolder celebrities out there, and she didn’t hesitate to break the filters if she wanted to even if it might cause public outrage.

“Topaz…” you mumble under your breath, getting a little nervous with how blunt Topaz was being.

“What, it’s true.” She chuckles. “But, it’s interesting to know I have so many people willing to become my chair. Perhaps I should ask if any of our other co-stars are interested in it too.”

“I know I am.” You mumble under your breath, Topaz catching the words before smiling a little at the thought. “Oh, I know…”

She lets out a small, amused laugh before opening up the last comment to read. “@/qqinggue said: TOPAZ BE MY SUGAR MOMMY????”

“Hey that’s my sugar mom— MMPF!” Topaz quickly covered your mouth and began laughing at the comment, trying to keep your relationship a secret despite how bold you two could get on camera. “Ahhh, a Qingque fan, eh?” Topaz chuckles, still keeping your mouth muffled as she threw a sleazy grin at the cameras. “You sure you don’t want Qingque to be your sugar mommy instead?”

Topaz continues laughing to cover up your muffled talking before moving in to whisper in your ear. “Don’t throw a fuss. You know damn well we have to keep that part of our relationship a secret.” She chuckles, rubbing a comforting finger across your temple before turning back to the camera.

“Well, that’s all the thirst comments for me! We should move on to (Reader) now, hm?” She smirks and side glances at you like nothing was wrong. “Be a good girl now. Hurry up and finish filming so we can go home.”

Your eyes widened before nodding enthusiastically, eager to comply with Topaz’s requests to begin your round of thirst comments.

Who knows, maybe Topaz will get a little jealous her sugar baby is receiving all this attention…?

#kafka smut #kafka x reader #himeko smut #himeko x reader #serval smut #serval x reader #yukong smut #yukong x reader #celebrity au #hsr smut #hsr x reader #star rail smut #star rail x reader #star rail women x reader #star rail women smut

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iamgonnagetyouback · 15 days ago

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muggle christmas and gingerbread houses

muggleborn!reader who introduces the slytherin skittles to muggle christmas

↬ word count : 1,104 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : none ⋆˚࿔

↬ requested : by @leeny-leens ➺ here ♡

↬ author's note : thank you so much for the request, leeny! love ya <3

It all started on a chilly December morning in the Slytherin common room, where you, the lone Muggleborn among a brood of purebloods, found yourself stuck in a conversation about Christmas plans.

“Father’s hosting the annual gala, of course,” Regulus drawled, looking like he’d rather jump into the Black Lake than attend. “It’s a tedious affair. Wine, polite chatter, more wine, and some distant cousin inevitably gets hexed.”

“I’ll be in France,” Barty chimed in, lounging on the emerald-green sofa. “Mother insists we spend Christmas at the villa. Snow-covered vineyards are apparently very ‘in’ this year. Never mind that I despise snow.”

Evan, sprawled on the armchair like a cat, added, “We just exchange gifts and drink until someone passes out. Classic Rosier family bonding.”

Dorcas shrugged. “I’m just here for the food.”

“What about you, sweetheart?” Pandora asked, perched cross-legged on the carpet, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she looked at you. “What do Muggleborns do for Christmas?”

The room went quiet. All eyes turned to you. You blinked, caught off guard by the question, but then your face lit up with an enthusiasm so un-Slytherin it almost made Regulus flinch.

“Oh, it’s amazing,” you gushed, leaning forward like you were about to unveil the secrets of the universe. “We watch Christmas movies, bake cookies, drink mulled wine—”

“Mulled what?” Barty interrupted, raising a brow.

“Wine, but it’s warm and spiced! Like… liquid Christmas,” you explained.

Barty squinted. “Sounds cursed.”

“It’s delicious!” you insisted. “And then there’s plum cake, gingerbread houses, carols…”

“What’s a gingerbread house?” Pandora asked, tilting her head.

You gasped audibly, clutching your chest. “You don’t know about gingerbread houses?!”

“Why would anyone live in a house made of bread?” Regulus muttered, looking genuinely baffled.

“You don’t live in it, you eat it! It’s a house-shaped cookie! Decorated with icing and candy!”

“So it’s a building you eat?” Evan asked, pen and parchment suddenly in hand. “How structurally sound is it? Is there a charm involved?”

You stared at him. “It’s not real architecture, Evan. It’s… it’s just fun!" you said, throwing your hands up. “Fun. You’ve heard of it, right? Or do purebloods have a ‘no joy’ clause in their family crests?”

Barty let out a bark of laughter. “I like Treasure’s energy today. Keep going.”

“Sounds inefficient,” Regulus sniffed, though he didn’t look away from your animated expression.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you groaned, throwing your hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. How can you lot be so deprived? Do you even know about Christmas movies?”

“I’ve seen A Christmas Carol,” Pandora offered helpfully.

“No, no, no,” you said, shaking your head furiously. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. There’s Home Alone, Elf, Love Actually, Grinch…”

“What’s ‘Home Alone’?” Barty asked, sounding both skeptical and intrigued.

“It’s a masterpiece!” you exclaimed, your voice echoing slightly in the cavernous common room. “A kid gets left behind when his family goes on holiday, and he outsmarts burglars with booby traps! It’s iconic.”

Regulus’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t the parents use a locator spell?”

“It’s Muggle,” you sighed. “No magic. Just wit and… household objects.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Dorcas commented, but her interest piqued when you added, “Also, he eats a ridiculous amount of pizza.”

Pandora clapped her hands together. “Darling, you must show us all of this!”

“Show you?” you repeated, an idea already forming in your mind. “Oh, I’ll do better than that. I’ll educate you. Prepare yourselves for the most Muggle Christmas experience of your lives. I’m taking you home for the holidays.”

“Oh, treasure, you’re inviting us home?” Barty grinned mischievously. “How sweet.”

You ignored him. “PowerPoint presentation. Slides. Visual aids. You’ll see.”

Your cozy, fairy-light-strewn living room was a far cry from the grandeur of the Slytherin common room. The gang had been skeptical about “Muggle festivities,” but after hours of your enthusiastic explanations, their interest had piqued.

You stood before them with a literal PowerPoint presentation projected onto the wall.

“Slide one: Christmas Movies,” you announced, pointer in hand. “This is The Grinch. He’s green, he hates Christmas and people, and he’s iconic.”

“Relatable,” Regulus muttered, sipping mulled wine with far more sophistication than necessary.

“Slide two: Food!” you exclaimed. “Behold: mince pies, Christmas pudding, turkey with all the trimmings—”

Dorcas leaned forward. “You made all of this?”

“Some,” you admitted, “but most of it’s from the bakery down the road.”

“I love your Muggle bakeries,” Evan said under his breath, scribbling in his notebook.

“Slide three: Ugly sweaters,” you said, holding one up triumphantly. It was garishly red with a Rudolph nose that lit up.

Barty snorted. “You actually wear that?”

“Not only wear it,” you said, grinning, “but we have competitions for who wears the ugliest one.”

“This is ridiculous,” Regulus muttered, but he was watching with unnerving focus.

“Last slide!” you announced. “Mistletoe! Hang it in a doorway, and if two people stand under it…”

“They duel?” Barty asked, eyes sparkling.

“No, Barty. They kiss.”

“Oh,” he said, smirking. “Much better.”

As you launched into an enthusiastic explanation of Christmas traditions, complete with visual aids and holiday snacks, the reactions were… mixed.

“Wait, so you hang socks over a fire?” Pandora asked, horrified. “Why?”

“Stockings!” you corrected. “And Santa fills them with gifts!”

“Who’s Santa?” Evan asked, taking meticulous notes.

“A magical man who delivers presents to every child in one night,” you explained.

“That’s absurd,” Regulus muttered. “He’d need to Apparate faster than…”

“Regulus, it’s not about logic!” you exclaimed. “It’s about magic… the non-wand kind.”

Dorcas, meanwhile, was utterly focused on the food slides. “Do you have these… sugar cookies? Right now?”

Pandora was already halfway through decorating a gingerbread man. “This is delightful,” she said, adding tiny buttons with a concentrated frown.

Regulus, trying to appear disinterested, kept glancing at the screen as you explained Christmas movie plots.

“And in Elf, the main character…”

“Wait,” Barty interrupted. “You’re telling me a grown man thinks he’s an elf?”

“Yes, and it’s hilarious!” you insisted.

Regulus’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “Ridiculous,” he muttered, but didn’t look away.

By the end of the evening, the room was littered with crumbs, icing, and half-decorated cookies. Evan was still taking notes, Pandora was humming a carol, and even Barty admitted he’d try mulled wine if you made it again.

Regulus lingered by the fireplace as the others left, staring at the stockings hanging there. “It’s… quaint,” he said quietly.

You grinned. “Muggle Christmas wins, admit it.”

Regulus didn’t look away from the stockings. “It’s tolerable.”

But the faintest flush on his cheeks said more than words ever could.

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marauder-misprint · 2 months ago

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Birthday

Sirius Black x fem!reader

microfic - 765 words

cw: fluff, established relationship

Growing up, you loved your birthday. A day where you got cake and presents and just about anything you wanted. It was all about you. As you grew up, your want for material things dwindled, as did you liking for being the center of attention. Sure, you still liked cake but it wasn’t your favorite dessert. Not that anyone at Hogwarts would bug the house elves for a birthday cake. It wasn’t like you hated your birthday, it just wasn’t special. Whatever magic faults sprinkled on the day had faded and now it was just another day, except with more cards from extended family.

Being that the day wasn’t special to you, you didn’t mention it to your friends. It was a don’t ask, don’t tell kind of situation. You think Pandora knows your zodiac. She had demanded to know it when you first met. So she has an inkling that it’s around now, but she doesn't know the exact date. And that’s how you like it. It comes and goes without anyone knowing.

“Hey sweet thing,” Sirius says, climbing to sit on the armrest of the bench you’re sitting at. “How was Divination?”

“Boring. Talked about how zodiac signs influence people.”

“Huh. Compatibility come up?” he asks. He leans forward to whisper, “Do the stars say we’re compatible? I’m a scorpio and you are…”

You shake your head with a smile. “I think we cover compatibility later.”

“But what are you?”

“A witch with the poor choice of Divination for an elective.”

“Well, yes,” he says. “But when’s your birthday? I figure it’s something I should know as your boyfriend. Seems like the boyfriend type thing to know.”

You hum and pat your chin with your fingers, as if in deep thought.

“I… don’t have one.” You sound hesitant. It’s not that you don’t want Sirius to know when your birthday is, but you don’t want him to go overboard with gifts and doting on you. His tendencies to go all out were enough for you to withhold the information.

Sirius lets out a haughty laugh. “Darling, everyone has a birthday.”

You hum again. “I’m one of those special people without one.”

You give him a sickly sweet smile, which he responds to with a pout.

“My girlfriend won’t tell me her birthday. That cuts deep, love. Right here,” he says, pointing at his heart. “Why you not telling me? What are you hiding?”

You shrug. “Nothing. It’s not a special day for me. So why bother?”

“Mine wasn’t special until I came to Hogwarts. Perhaps you just need to know how to celebrate it properly!”

He stands up, as if ready to plan you a birthday party at that moment, despite not knowing when it is. You see his eyes flicker with a wicked glint. You know that if he had his way, whatever he was planning in his head would be the most outrageous rager Gryffindor Tower has ever seen. You reach out and place a gentle hand on his arm, bringing his attention back to you.

“My birthday was celebrated just fine, my love. My childhood wasn’t… like yours.” His face tightens briefly. “I got presents and cake and everything. I just don’t want that.”

He bites his lip as his face twists to the side. His eyes bore into your face, studying your expression carefully.

“You… don’t want that.” His words come out slowly as he processes.

“And I know you love celebrating and throwing parties. I don’t want that. Not for my birthday.”

He nods and sits next to you. He’s quiet for a moment before he leans back and throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side.

“What if we did a dinner or a muggle movie night? Something just the two of us. No gifts, nothing flashy. Just good ol’ quality time with your dear loverboy?”

You snort a laugh. “Loverboy?”

“That’s me,” he says before smashing his lips into your cheek for loud sloppy kisses that make you giggle.

“Sirius!”

“When’s your birthday?” he asks, face still smushed against yours.

You sigh and mumbled your birthday. He pulls back, looking offended.

“Last week?” he gasps loudly. “Your birthday was last week? I MISSED IT?”

“Yes,” you say shortly, but you’re smiling widely.

“I can’t believe you! The anniversary of the moment you arrived on this earth, the most holy day that we were blessed with your presence, passed and you told no one?”

“That could be correct, Sirius.”

“Well, clear your schedule for this weekend, love. I have a birthday to make up.”

#marauders fic #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #marauders #sirius black fluff #microfic #marauder-misprint

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misguidedasgardian · 3 months ago

Text

Kinktober 2024 (1/3)

PURGING ON YOU TONIGHT

Summary: A last minute emergency makes you stay home for the annual Purge, everything should be fine, you mostly kept to yourself the rest of the year, what you didn’t know is that you where in the scope of two men of your surroundings

Pairing: Dark!Negan Smith x Fem!Reader x Dark!Daryl Dixon

Warnings: Dark!content, The purge AU, 12 hours of free crime, reader has a gun, age gap! reader late 20’s Negan and Daryl late 40’s, curses, masks, barbed wire bat, allusion to murder by our men, NON-CON TO DUB-CON, forced orgasms, threesome, unwanted threesome, force entering, mean!daryl, asshole!negan, humiliation, oral sex, plenty more of warnings, but I think this are the big ones, MIGHT MISS SOME PROCEED WITH CAUTION PLEASE

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 6.2 k

Notes: Uffff I've been obsessed with The Purge for a while now, hope I did it justice. I escaped horny jail this halloween to bring you this jijiji

“You should be on that plane right now…!”

“I know”, you said gently, closing your eyes in exasperation, as you heard your mother’s desperate rant on the other side of the phone, “I know mom”

“I can’t believe this, you had months to plan this! It's the same day every year darling! I can’t believe you didn’t see this coming!”

“It was at the last minute, just today they told me I had to stay”, you said

“Working the very day after the purge! what kind of job is that?”

“I’m going to be safe here mom”, you just entered the big metal gate of your building, you looked around, you were not very hopeful really

“Can’t you take the bus? quit if you have to, please”, hearing desperation in your mother’s voice broke your heart, “DC is so big, and dangerous, I…”, you held the phone tightly in your ear

“I’m going to be fine mom, the door has three locks and I can put in this metal bar I found”, you heard her sigh. “This is a…”, you looked around, this was not a good neighborhood, “decent place”, that wasn’t quite true, but it was near your job and the low rent allowed you to save some money.

“Do you have your gun?”, she asked then, now more angry than worried, because you were as stubborn as her, and she knew it, you were staying

“Yes”, you answered truthfully

“Loaded?”

“Yes”, you answered again, you opened the old but sturdy door that was the entrance to the building, the weight and the fact you were not using both hands made you stumble into the hall and collide with a poor bystander.

And when you put the phone away from your ear to focus you realized that it was none other than Negan himself.

Now Negan was your landlord, owner of the rundown ten story building, four apartments per floor, and he was…

Negan as a piece of work

“Oh hey darling”, you smiled but didn’t dare to answer as your were still hearing your mother’s rant through the phone

“Mom, I’ll call you later”, you said softly, and hang up, smiling at him

“Hey Negan”, he lived on the last floor, you on the ninth, you smiled at him, he smirked at you back

“Was that your mom?”, he teased.

“Yes, she is concerned because I couldn’t make it back home for tomorrow”, you explained

“Ah, so you're staying here?”, he asked, his smile widening

“Yeah”, you said simply.

“Uh, well, I can always make room for you at my place”

Remember how you said Negan was a piece of work? He was recently divorced, when you started living here last year he had just purchased this building, he was separating from his wife, and you knew this because they overestimated the thickness of the walls.

They fought ugly

Lucille dropped his ass and since then, you had seen so many women coming and going from his place the door might as well be a revolving door.

He wasted no opportunity to flirt with you unabashedly, every time he saw you

“Thanks but I…”, you trusted no one on the most dangerous night of the year.

You had heard from people closer to you do things that you could only think belonged in a scary slasher movie. You had lost so many people and not because they died, but because of all the things they had done on this terrible night. You couldn’t believe that people went out there to kill and torture and destroy things and then the next day they just went on about his day like nothing had happened. You couldn’t believe this.

“I think I’d rather spend it calmly and alone”, you said with a soft smile. His grin faltered, only for a second.

“Well, if you need anything, the offer will stand all through the night”, he said them winking at you

“Thank you, really”, you said, sincerely.

“And uh… Dixon’s coming… for a last check on the gas line we installed a bit ago”, oh you did remember paying for that

“Sure”, you said nodding.

“One last round today and tomorrow, he should get up there tomorrow afternoon”

“So close to Purge night?”, you asked him with a frown, Negan shrugged

“Dixon works good and cheap, and nobody’s gonna mess with him if he ends up out there late”, he said simply, you guess it was right

Now Daryl Dixon… You met him because he was the handyman around, he lived nearby. Gas leak? he could fix it, water was running down the stairs? He was right there knees deep.

Miss Pasternak once called him so he could open a can of pickles for her.

You were convinced that the eighty year old woman only wanted to see him flexing his arms that were thick as logs. And who wouldn’t?

You had the biggest crush on him, you got so nervous when he came around, he was so handsome. But you felt like a child, like a little girl with a crush. He was rough around the edges and always talked to you like you were the dumbest person on the planet. It was completely platonic, he had this thick southern accent that made it a bit hard to understand.

Every time you spoke to him it seemed like it annoyed him, so you procured to never break anything or really give him more work and make him come unnecessarily

“You tell your mommy we are going to take good care of her little girl”, he said in a way so creepy you felt tickled up and down your spine.

“Well I will tell her that her almost thirty year old is going to be just fine”, you teased back, and stared your alk up the stairs

The hundred year old elevator was broken… again.

You got to your floor almost gasping for air, and opened the door in a hurry.

Your apartment was a mess and since you planned on not being here, you had not made preparations, you didn't have any food or anything really. It was already getting dark and tomorrow was going to be a very busy day. The city always lost it the day before the purge, people selling guns on the street, all the supermarkets closing in your face, preparing for the looters…

Fuck the Purge.

Well at least you were calm in the sense that nobody had it out for you tomorrow night, meaning, there is nobody that would hate you enough to come in and try to kill you or anything like that, well, you didn’t believe so

You were confident that you could have a nice calm night. You could load up some music and download some movies for you to watch, you had some nice headphones you could use to quiet the horrible noises you were certain you were going to hear.

Because you weren’t going to sleep, that’s for freakin’ sure.

You spend the rest of the day cleaning up, making your apartment more comfortable. And you could barely sleep.

Which meant that the very next day your mood was in the gutter, you had half a working day, and they let you leave early, you barely looked at that dickhead you had for a supervisor, the one that had canceled your leave at the last minute.

You bought some things on a market near your place, and then you tried to dodge as many people as you could. But the streets were packed, people going from one place to another.

You successfully evaded three knife salesmen and two that tried to sell you guns.

You entered the building and tried to ignore Negan giving a hefty amount of money to some guys that didn't look friendly at all, they had masks hanging from their belts. Purgers, dangerous people who were going to be out there tonight, and Negan was paying them to stay around the block and protect the building, purging, but at least, not purging on you.

It wasn’t unusual, this sort of arrangement

In fact, you all pitched in for said amount of cash

When you were in the hall, you saw the old lady, Mrs Pasternak, with a couple of bags of groceries, you helped her put the rest inside her apartment, she smiled at you.

“Thank you my dear”, she said, “I thought you were going home for this condemned night”, she said, “cleansing our souls! purging!”, she raised her fist in the air, “in my time men went to real war! they did not stay here and vandalized and killed innocent people!”, she kept saying, you only smiled, “we cleansed our souls by going to church! praying and be nice to one another”, you only nodded, not really knowing what to say. “You take care now!”, she said, grabbing into your hand and give it a squeeze, “be safe tonight”, she warned

“I’m sure we are all going to be fine, right?”, you said hopefully

“Oh who’s gonna bother this old bat?”, she said, in her eyes there was something unsettling, “It’s you that needs to take care”

“I will”, you promised her

“There are dangerous men in this building”, she said, “starting with that dickhead we’ve got for a Landlord”, you couldn’t help but snicker

“He is not so bad”, you murmured

“Trust me”, she said, “you lock your door tight!”, she warned one last time, “if you have a gun, use it!”, before you said your goodbyes, you wished safety and parted ways.

As you were starting your ascent the 9 flights of stairs, Negan was was your side, smiling down at you

“Planning anything fun for tonight?”, he asked, grabbing half your bags to help you

“Not really”, you said, “how about you?”, you asked him

“Nah, I might take out my rifle, set myself up on the roof, to take care of the lot of you”, he said simply.

“Oh”, you offered, “have you… purged before?”, you asked him, he smirked at you

“Well darling, we all have repressed urges, right?”, he said, “things we need to get out there, the purge is exactly for that right?”

“Right”, you said, clearly uncomfortable.

Oh you were definitely using that metal bar tonight.

When you got to your floor, you were surprised to see the door opened, you stood in surprise as you looked up at Negan

“Relax doll, it’s Dixon, I had to open, you were not here”, he said, and as the landlord he could open your door in situations like this.

You entered your place and found the handyman in your kitchen, like they say the day before, he was checking the gas line that led to your oven.

“Hey Darlin”, he greeted, Negan put your bags on the floor and got comfortable against the doorframe, with no intention of leaving.

Your apartment was small, a single space for the kitchen, living room and enough space for a table to eat, and then a small hallway where you could find a bathroom and a very small room, not enough to fit a bed in there, which you used as storage, and at the end of the hall, your bedroom.

“Hey Daryl”, you greeted softly, with a smile. Today he was wearing an old henley, and he had cut off the sleeves, his thick arms working full time as he was using a wrench on the old pipe.

You were taken out of your stupor quite rapidly, as you realized, quite nervous that the cupboard under the sink was open, that is where you kept your gun, now it felt more childish to keep it there, rather than near your bed, you were actually thinking about taking it, but it had this special spot where you could hide it and keep it out of sight.

You really hoped this was the case.

You watched the old clock perched up on the wall nervously, it was a bit past five, the purge started at seven, it was a bit late to be doing stuff like this.

It was only going to take you a few minutes to lock up, but still, you got so nervous, you should have been home, with your family and their strong security system by now. But instead you were here, in downtown DC

“It’s getting late”, you said, Daryl frowned as he looked at you, “do you have someplace safe to be tonight?”, you asked him, to strike conversation

“Why? ya invitin’ me over or sum’?”, he asked, smirking at you. You immediately regretted your question, getting extremely nervous

“Oh I’m sorry… I don’t know you that well”, you tried to explain, but a chuckle of him interrupted you

“Relax doll”, he said, as he stuck his head underneath the sink again. “I gotta ‘couple of things I need ta take care of”, he said

Great, you were an hour and a half away from the Purge with two men who had clearly purged or intended to do it.

“Yeah, relax doll”, teased Negan, and you did not appreciate the nickname given you by the two of them.

Daryl adjusted one last… whatever, his sharp eyes never leaving your form and made a big show of putting his tool back into his bag that he closed rapidly

“All done sunshine”, he said, still looking at you, you smiled at him

“Thank you Daryl”, you looked back at Negan who was watching the scene, completely interested in its development.

“Whatever”, he mumbled, “stay safe tonight sunshine”, he said

“You too”, you offered, and you really hoped he would. You couldn’t imagine the building without him, and the thought of something happening tonight to him really made you nauseous.

“I’ll see you out”, offered Negan, who was already out in the hallway and you found it strange that he didn’t take the opportunity to say a last hello to you before the awful night ahead.

But you were probably imagining things, why would he want to tease you specially? he talked that flirty way to every woman from ages 21 to 50, he didn’t discriminate.

You started to put everything in order, not really even caring about the safety precautions until the very last moment, once you were done, putting everything in order and tidying your place, making it more comfortable for the long night of stress and death really, you looked at the clock and realized it was already 6:55

You ran to close all the windows, putting the locks on all of them, you even went ahead and closed the blinds your mother made you buy, so it wouldn’t attract any attention from the outside. Then, you closed the one of the bathrooms that led to the back of the building.

You turned on the TV and you went to the main door to lock it tight.

youtube

With it as your background sound, you went ahead with your plan. The msot important one, you couldn’t believe you were doing it this late…

You realized in horror that out of the three locks, only one worked, the one of the doorknob, which was the weakest one, as you tried to pass the chain, you realized it was cut, the damn chain was cut!, and the second lock was so rusty it didn’t lock

What the hell? you could have sworn they were good the day before! or at least last week! you never used them but you had! Meaning… They worked!

You looked for the last line of defense, and in horror, you realized that the rectangular metal bar to barricade the door wasn’t behind it anymore, it was gone too!.

You looked everywhere for it, but to no luck, it is not like you could hide it anywhere, right?

Blessed be out New Founding Fathers, and America, a Nation Reborn

May God be with you all

It was a horrible coincidence, right? it had to be, because, what else could it be?

You needed to believe that

You tried to calm yourself, trying to steady your breathing, but still you could feel your own heart pounding inside your chest, anxiety taking a tight hold on you

Nothing is going to happen

Nothing is going to happen…

You jumped when you heard a car speeding down the street and someone screaming, but it came from outside too, so you tried to calm yourself again, to no luck

Nobody was coming for you, right? this was just a coincidence, you never used the extra locks, never, so… they might have broken, maybe you caught the chain with the door without realizing or something, right? accidents did happen

And the bar, well, maybe you put it elsewhere.

You grabbed one of the old wooden chairs and you used it to barricade the door.

Nothing is going to happen

Nothing is going to happen…

You probably put the bar somewhere else, so while you had that chair doing its job, you almost turned your apartment outside down to find it.

But to no luck.

It wasn’t inside the apartment.

Alright the locks might be one things, but the bar… that was strange, right?, that didn’t seem like a coincidence at all! that thing was there YESTERDAY, you made extra sure to check it, it was there, since you moved in, you never touched it.

You jumped again when the silence of the apartment allowed you to hear clearly a loud noise coming all the way to the first floor.

You went to the kitchen then, your last resort, it's gotta be, well, you were not going to use it because nothing was going to happen right? nothing was going to happen if you had a gun in your hand.

Right?

RIGHT?

You let out a whine when you realized that the gun wasn’t there either.

Another sound made the whole hall of the building trembled

You didn't want to think that sounded like a gunshot, like a shotgun shot.

Probably you were imagining things

Yeah, like you imagined the locks, the bar, the gun and the fact that the sound was indeed a shotgun, you had heard them hundreds of times in movies and series.

But then, you waited… one, two, three and nothing happened, no other sounds, no voices, nothing, so you took a long breath, grabbed something to eat from the fridge, and something to drink, and took a seat on your old couch. to watch something on the TV

Purge news, already.

People going out there to the streets to purge, to let out the beast or whatever

It made your skin crawl.

You cuddled yourself hugging the cushions of the couch as you watched the whole country unfold in violence, death and gunshots, reports all flooding in. You wanted to fall asleep and wake up in a new day, done with this madness but that could not be possible, you were hyped, nervousness keeping you wide awake.

Another sound made you jump on your spot, screams followed by gunshots and a car speeding, then hitting the breaks and a horrible sound, like it had crashed into something, or someone.

It was outside, it was you there, not in here, you were going to be fine…

And then you heard it.

Voices, hushed voices, heavy steps coming up the stairs.

The building was trashy, you could hear everything that went down.

Then, a shotgun went off, right one floor down. You jumped from the couch and thought quickly on what to do.

Was somebody purging on a determined person? Was it an isolated thing?

You were standing in the hallway, looking right at the door, no sounds followed, so you guessed you were fine.

From the second to the next, your door burst open. It was like in slow motion, pieces of wood flew through the air as the door slammed open against the wall.

You screamed, you couldn’t help it as the person immediately spotted you as you were right in front of the door. It was a big man, broad shoulders, all dressed in black, dirty jeans, heavy boots, and his face was hidden behind a mask. A huge shotgun in their hands.

This was it.

You tried to run back to your room, but as you tried to close the door, but a boot stopped you from doing so, he forced it open, your strength no match to his. You stumbled backwards not knowing what to do, fear taking a strong grip on you

“No! please!”, you begged, you noticed that the shotgun was gone, and that relieved you somewhat.

But it was short lived as this person leaned forwards and trapped you against the wall of your room

“Please!”, fat, fear induced tears started streaming down your face, the horrible mask was looking down at you, making you tremble, you never liked masks, especially ones that covered so much of someone’s ‘humanity’ just like this one

“please”, you begged one more time.

The figure lifted one of its hands, grabbed the edge of the mask, and pull it off.

You gasped when you saw him. Daryl was standing right there in front of you, looking down at you with those sharp eyes of his

“What are you doing here?”, you asked him

“I came ta purge f’course”, he said, smirking darkly, like you had never seen him before

“What?”, you whined, the brief relief disappearing instantly, “Please… I don’t want to die, please”, you begged, crying, scared out of your mind. “Don’t kill me”

“Now, I ain’t gonna kill ya sweetheart”, he said, caressing your cheek, “there sum’ other ways ta’ release the beast ya know?”, you cried out as he grabbed your face. “Good thin’ I found ya gun”, he teased, and you whimpered, “that silly little thing would have made things a bit complicated for me tonight”

“Daryl please”, you cried, “Don’t kill me please”

“I ain’t gonna kill ya”, he said, “I ain't some psycho bastard”, he chuckled, he looked so calm, like this was just another wednesday, he then leaned in, and licked your face, from the corner of your mouth and upwards.

“Ah!”, you wanted to cry out, to scream, but a moan came instead, as you couldn’t release yourself from his tight hold

“I’m gonna release the beast though”, he said, “I bet you’re gonna like it”, he then placed one of his legs in between yours, making you now really trapped. You immediately noticed the friction as he pressed it even further between your legs, you moaned again

He certainly didn’t mean that, didn’t he?

No, no, it can’t be

“Ya like that don’t ya?”, he teased, “Mmm?”

“Please don’t do this”, you cried, “please”

“This s’my right”, he grunted against your ear, “m right to do whatever the hell I want”

“Daryl”, you called, as he dropped a wet kiss right under your ear, he kept grabbing your face, and he kept you still as he trapped your lips with his.

It wasn’t by any means romantic, it was aggressive, wet, messy, even rough.

Oh this was happening, this was happening and you couldn’t stop him, you were no match for him, and you gave up embarrassingly quickly.

“Ya always treat me like I aint shit”, he said against your lips, grabbing your neck

“No”, you said back

“Yeah, like I’m so hick”

“That isn’t true”, you whispered, “I really liked you”, you admitted. “thought you were handsome”, he only chuckled darkly, with his free hand he grabbed the cotton pants you were wearing and he deadass ripped them off of you. Making you whine and trash against the wall

“Daryl!”

“Damn right, scream my name”, he purred, you tried to close your legs, but his thick one was right between them, making it impossible, and now his hand, as the one in your neck threatened to take your air.

And then you felt them, his hands caressing, touching, feeling you up until he reached that place in between your legs making you shake

“Mmmno”, you mumbled

“Yer so wet fer me”, he grunted, you whined as you felt his fingers teasing your entrance, “ya dirty little whore”, this was not happening, you were not getting turned on by this, right? you couldn’t possibly be

Oh but you were

“Daryl”, it was a plea but sounded like a freaking prayer

“You like this don’t you?”, he asked, his breath hot against your neck, “yer so beautiful, and tonight yer all mine”, he grunted. He’s got two fingers deep inside of you, and he was skilled, finding that special spot so quickly it made your head spin

Oh this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening

You were in the brink of being undone when he released you, it was so sudden it took the air out of your lungs, one second he had his hands and mouth al over you and now you were alone, shaking against the wall.

You whined like, in fact, a dirty whore

He grabbed your top part roughly and made you take it out, leaving you completely naked in front of him, and he was still completely dressed.

“This aint some love-making bullshit”, he threatened, you barely nodded.

He threw you face up on the bed, your head landing on the foot of the bed. And in a second he was all over you

“Ya understand?”, he asked, you nodded, “good”, he placed himself on top of you and between your legs, he wanted this quick, no more bullshit, he had said it, and yet, you thought there was the whole night ahead of you. But he seemed like he was in a rush

He released his cock, you leaned to see it and you whimpered when you did, fuck he was thick, and big

“Yeah, ya like it?”, he asked, he pumped himself a couple of times and then he accommodate himself at your entrance, you spread your legs even wider to make it comfortable for him, and he thursted, hard inside you, burying himself to the hilt

You screamed/moan a curse, filling so full, the stretch hurt, but it felt so fucking delicious, this was so wrong, yet you were so turned on. Your body twisting in fear, excitement and ecstasy that you didn’t know what to feel anymore.

So you surrendered even more to the man on top of you.

“Fuck yer so tight”, he cursed, trying to contian himself

He retreated until he was almost out, and then he thrusted back in again, making you moan again, he started fucking you in an unforgivable pace, relentless, hitting all the right spots on each one.

The old bed cracked under you, making you whimper as you laid underneath it and just took it.

You felt your orgasm building inside of you, and you welcomed it, you wanted it so bad. But again you were denied as a whistle made you both stop all movement.

“Little pig… little pig! let me in!”, it was Negan’s voice, hitting a wall with something heavy. His thick boots sounded as he passed through broken wood and glass, and he advanced down the hallway towards your room. Daryl covered your mouth with his big hand, not letting you scream for help.

“What do we have here?”, he asked, appearing in your eyesight, although backwards for you. He was not fazed at all for how he found you, under Daryl, “damn!”, he had a barbed wire bat on his hand, and he was wearing a leather jacket and a white shirt underneath, “fancy finding you here Dixon, I thought you were allergic to women or something”, he teased

“Shut the hell up”, he drawled, moving on top of you.

“Negan”, you called, under Dixon’s hand

“Oh darling”, he teased

“Help”, you begged

“Help you?”, he chuckled, “oh darling, Dixon here got ahead of me!”, he teased, “I had been so pent up this last year, I really thought about what I wanted to do to let all my anger go, all my needs… released…”, he hissed, “Now, there you were, all cute and sweet”, you whined in fear as Daryl started moving inside of you again, “well, apparently you had been fanning Dixon’s flame too, not only mine”, he pleased his hand on his own chest in a hurtful stance, “and that makes me fucking angry! you are a dirty, little, attention seeking-whore, aren’t you?”, you shook your head but a moan escaped your lips instead as Daryl started pounding into you again.

“Either ya join us or you get the hell out!”, he grunted. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling you towards him, a slick, wet sound sounded louder

“Damn this is hotter than I thought it was going to be!”, Negan teased. “you got ‘er all broken down already Dixon! damn!”, he moved his abt and only then you realized that it was all dirty with blood and… was that skin? meat?.,

“Oh this? I had to take care of something tonight”, he said, “have you ever wondered why nobody messed with this building?”, he teased. “and if we are being honest, you don’t look like you need help at all!”, he mocked, “damn!”, he threw the bat somewhere on the floor, and got ready.

He was going to join you

You were going to protest but a particular hard thrust from Daryl got you all messed up, moaning.

“She is enjoying this”, Negan tease, “I love that”

“Yeah, she pretends like she is all good but at the end of the day…”

“She is a needy little thing isn’t she?”, he asked, Negan caressed your face with one hand, a glove placed in it, and with the other, he released himself.

You wanted to protest, you did, all alarms in your head ringing, but you couldn’t as he stuffed his cock down your throat

“Uff that’s a good girl”, he moaned, “fuck, can’t wait to try her pussy”

“Damn, the best I’ve ever had”, offered Dixon.

He was feeling threatened, and as such he started fucking you even rougher if that was even possible. You couldn’t enjoy it much, feeling light headed because of lack of air, as Negan used your mouth like if you were a fleshlight

“Fuck she is good”, Negan grunted

Daryl cummed inside of you, you knew because he gripped your hips tightly, and buried himself deep, deep inside you. That triggered your own orgasm, as you shook underneath him, trashed and tried to get rid of Negan, who released you with a smirk.

“Fuck!”, you cursed, your climax washing over you as Daryl still had you on a tight hold, releasing the last of his load in your warm cunt.

“Alright, my turn, I wanna cum inside her too”, Negan said, but you were completely destroyed, laying on the bed.

“She’s all yours”, invited Daryl. You wanted to protest, but not really, as you let them manhandle you into any position they wanted.

Daryl sat on the bed, his back pressed against the headboard of the bed, and he accommodate you in between his legs, Negan climbed onto the bed, grabbing your thighs, making you spread them for him

“A damn piece of art”, he admired Daryl’s ‘work’ as he licked his lips.

“Come on”, he pushed himself inside you, he didn't feel as thick as Daryl but rather longer, reaching even new spaces inside of you.

You whimpered, being already super overstimulated, but you spread your legs for him too, inviting him even deeper

“Good girl”, he grunted, as he drove himself home deep inside your tight walls, “damn, we are going to spoil men for this one”, he teased, “I don’t think I ever had pussy this good”

“Damn right”, Daryl looked down at you with something you might even considered sweet, he caressed your face, and your hair, like he was soothing you, and you needed it as Negan started pounding into you

“I usually take my time, but… can’t wait any longer”, he admitted. “she is too damn good”, he thrusted in over and over, making you push against Daryl, who held you tightly, letting Negan have his turn, sharing his Purge’s spoils.

He cummed inside you, just as Daryl had done, stealing another climax from you as well, that by now you were putty on the bed, like some ragdoll, with a stupid look on his face.

You had never been fucked like this.

Just when Negan released you and you believed you were done, Daryl accommodated you on your side.

“You got me all hard again”, he grunted against your ear.

It was around five in the morning when they were done with you, accommodating you in between them, both caressing your skin marked by their hands and mouths

“Uf how I wish I could keep her like this all year round!”, teased Negan, “wouldn’t that be nice Dixon? having this sweet thing all to ourselves, uh? all full of us, laying on our bed like this”

“Damn right”, he drawled. kissing your cheek

“I can’t wait for next year”, teased Negan in your ear, is the last thing you heard before you lost all knowledge of what was going on.

You woke up with the sun sneaking through the window, hitting you right in the face.

You grunted as you came to your senses, becoming aware again of where you were and what had happened.

You looked around to find your room almost normal, it's the first thing you noticed, you frowned, sitting on the bed and then standing up, your body hurt, all of it, you were sore and in pain, you grabbed the firs hoodie you could find in your closet, and when you went back to the living room you realized that the door had been fixed, and it was closed, like nothing had happened at all. you looked around and everything was like it was the day before, before the Purge.

The only reminder of the events of last night was your trembling body. You were certain you didn’t imagine any of it. You looked at the clock and realised you were late for work, but they could go and fuck themselves.

You went to your bathroom and got into the hot shower quickly, it was cold at first but that is what you needed to come back to your senses completely.

You got dressed in the baggiest and more comfortable clothes you got, granny underwear included, and after applying make up to your horrified looking face, you got out of your apartment, ready to face the day.

“Good morning darling!”, you jumped when you heard him, looking up the stairs, he, as you, was fresh out of the shower. smiling down at you.

“Good morning”, you mumbled

“Have a good day darlin”, he said simply, he didn’t come after you, he didn’t make any comments or remarks, he was just being… him, you barely nodded and you ran down the stairs without looking back.

As you had your hand at the heavy door, you came face to face with Daryl.

You jumped in your place, he only looked back at you like nothing had happened.

Today he was wearing a blue overalls with the sleeves ripped out, he had this thing against sleeves… so weird.

“Daryl”, you greeted, he only hummed, looking, again, like nothing had happened, but yo seemed to miss the little smirk he drew as you passed him.

Had you imagined the whole thing? no, impossible.

And yet…

You went into the street at noon, they were being cleaned, but no signs of bullets or corpses, or anything, it was like nothing had happened, the city was returning to how it was the day before. People were walking up and down the street, going or coming to work…

Like nothing had happened

It made you feel like you were insane or something, so you did what you had to, you took the bus and you went to work.

“Sorry for being late”, you whispered as you passed your supervisor

“It’s fine, somebody purged our boss so this and the next week is going to be pretty mild”, he said like it didn’t mean a thing that our boss was freaking dead, “I’m glad you are here at all!”, he said with a soft, guilty smile, “everything alright back at home?”, he asked, you frowned

“What do you mean?”, you asked him

“Well, after we approved your vacation days and all, we were so surprised you decided to cancel last minute and come to work”, he said

“What? I didn’t cancel anything’, you said

“Yes you did! your boyfriend called, said for you that you were not going to use your days, that you were staying here!”, he said all chirpy, “he said you had some fun plans for purge night! didn’t know you had it in you!”

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