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elikajinnie · 2 months ago

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eyes don`t lie | lhs

P: Lee Heeseung X fem!reader

Synopsis: you wanted to give the new jazz club a visit..

Warnings: Suggestive content!

a/n: i felt very Shakespearean (??) during this. (Only ogs get the last scene)

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Say you're mine Eyes don't lie

You tell me your secrets You keep your life between your lips You know you're my weakness

The sign above the jazz club flickers softly, casting a warm glow over the sidewalk as you stand in line. The soft hum of jazz music leaks through the door, a faint promise of what's waiting inside.

You glance at your phone, a habit you can't quite break, before glancing over at your friend, who’s busy touching up her lipstick in a compact mirror. Both of you look like you’ve stepped out of a classic film, your outfits carefully chosen for the occasion.

The sleek, black dress you’re wearing hugs your form just enough to give you confidence, paired with heels that make you just a touch taller. Your makeup is subtle but striking—bold enough for a night out, but not so heavy that it hides your natural glow. You can feel the liner tracing your eyes, the mascara giving your lashes a little extra drama.

Your friend nudges you lightly, bringing you back to the present. "There’s no way tonight won't be amazing."

"You're hyping it up," you tease, but there's no denying the excitement building in you. You can already imagine the dim lighting inside, the hazy atmosphere filled with low conversation and the tinkling of glasses. The rich, velvety sound of the piano drifting over the crowd, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

The line moves forward, and you're one step closer to the entrance. The bouncer, dressed in a sharp suit, glances at your IDs before letting you through with a nod. Inside, the club is everything you imagined and more. Soft, amber light illuminates the room, casting long shadows across the polished wood tables and leather seats. There’s a smoky haze that clings to the air, mingling with the scent of whiskey and old wood. The stage is dimly lit, a grand piano taking center stage.

You and your friend find a table close enough to the stage to feel like you're part of the show, but not so close that you’re drawing attention. You settle into the plush leather seats, the soft material molding beneath you as you scan the room. People are dressed to impress tonight—suits, cocktail dresses, sleek hairstyles.

The waiter brings you cocktails—delicate, sophisticated drinks with a bite that makes you feel alive as you sip them slowly, savoring the moment.

The band plays on, each note filling the room with warmth and soul. It’s like stepping into another world, one where time slows down and every moment stretches out, wrapped in the glow of the music. You lean back in your chair, letting the atmosphere sink into your skin.

Your friend takes a sip of her drink, a smoky golden concoction, and lets out a contented sigh, her eyes closing as she leans back into the leather of the booth. “Perfect,” she murmurs, the word barely audible over the swell of the piano, but you know exactly what she means. Everything tonight feels perfect—like the world outside the club has ceased to exist, and all that matters is the music, the ambiance, the warmth of the drink in your hand.

The band is in full swing now, each musician playing with a passion that speaks to years of honing their craft. The bass hums beneath it all, deep and steady, grounding the more delicate notes of the saxophone that cuts through the air like smoke. The drummer’s light touch is hypnotic, adding a gentle rhythm that feels like the pulse of the room itself. But it’s the pianist, who truly commands the space. His fingers glide effortlessly across the keys, as though the music is flowing directly through him, a natural extension of his being.

You lean back in your chair, feeling the leather soften beneath you as you let the music wash over you. Every note seems to seep into your skin, filling you with warmth and a kind of quiet contentment you hadn’t realized you were missing until now. The soft glow of the candlelight on your table flickers, casting faint shadows that dance across the glass of your drink. You take another slow sip, the bite of the alcohol mixing with the mellow jazz in a way that makes you feel utterly present—like this moment, this night, is all that matters.

Your friend nudges you gently, pulling you out of your reverie. She’s smiling, her eyes bright as she leans closer to whisper, “We needed this.”

You nod, unable to disagree. Life’s been hectic lately—too many late nights working, too much time spent worrying about things you couldn’t control. But here, in this dimly lit club with the music wrapping around you like a warm blanket, all those worries seem distant, insignificant. For the first time in what feels like weeks, you’re able to let go.

A few drinks in, the room starts feeling pleasantly hazy. The cocktail in your hand has melted into a smooth sweetness, and the music has become a familiar companion—its rhythm sinking into your bones, each note a gentle caress. You and your friend share a smile, your conversations dwindling as you let the ambiance take over. Then, unexpectedly, the band shifts, their playing slowing down to a softer, more subdued melody. You notice it first—the change in energy. The hum of conversation begins to taper off, replaced by a murmur of hushed whispers.

You sit up straighter, exchanging a curious glance with your friend. Confusion flickers across her face too, and you both scan the room, trying to understand what’s happening. The soft, amber glow that’s filled the room all evening starts to dim, and the stage lights begin to shift. A single spotlight flickers on, focusing on the center of the stage, where a lone microphone stand has appeared as if by magic.

The murmur in the club dies down entirely, replaced by a kind of breathless anticipation. Everyone seems to know what’s coming, except you. Your heart starts to race, your senses heightened as you feel the tension in the air. The band continues to play, their instruments quieting to allow space for something else, something you can almost feel, but can’t quite name.

And then, through the soft darkness, a figure steps onto the stage.

You feel your breath catch in your throat, your eyes widening in quiet surprise. The man walking toward the microphone is striking in a way that almost doesn’t feel real. His suit is perfectly tailored, fitting him like it was made for him alone—crisp lines and smooth fabric that moves with every graceful step. But it’s his hair that stands out the most. It’s a deep, vibrant red that seems to glow under the stage lights, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He moves with an easy confidence, but there’s something almost magnetic about him, something that draws your gaze and refuses to let go.

You glance at your friend, but she’s just as transfixed as you are, her eyes locked on the stage as the man reaches the microphone. The lights shift again, narrowing to a focused beam that frames him in an ethereal glow, as if the entire world has fallen away, leaving only him.

For a brief moment, the room is completely still. The band holds the final note of their introduction, a soft hum that lingers in the air, creating a tension so thick you can feel it.

And then he opens his mouth, and the first note of his voice fills the club.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever heard before—smooth and angelic, yet rich with emotion, every word dripping with soul. The sound washes over you like a wave, wrapping around you and pulling you in. It’s haunting, beautiful, and utterly mesmerizing. You feel yourself gasp quietly, the sound barely leaving your lips as you try to process what you’re hearing. There’s a warmth to his voice, but also an aching vulnerability, like he’s pouring something deeply personal into every note, and you can’t look away.

The room, which had been filled with whispers and shifting movements just moments ago, has gone completely silent, every pair of eyes locked on him. It’s as if the entire club is holding its breath, hanging on to each note he sings, waiting for what will come next. You’re vaguely aware of your friend beside you, but even her presence feels distant now—your attention is fully consumed by the figure on stage.

The way he sings… it’s like he’s drawing something out of you, pulling at emotions you didn’t even know were there. His voice rises and falls, effortlessly weaving through the melody, and with every word, you feel more and more entranced. The red of his hair glints under the light, a vibrant contrast to the dark backdrop, and his expression is calm but intense, as though he’s lost in the music just as much as you are.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the song shifts into its final verse. His voice softens, barely a whisper now, and the band matches him, their instruments fading into the background. It’s intimate—like he’s singing just for you, and in this moment, nothing else matters. You don’t want it to end. You could listen to him forever.

But eventually, the final note rings out, echoing in the silence. The spell breaks, but you’re still under his sway, your heart racing and your skin tingling. You realize then that you haven’t moved for the entirety of his performance. It was like you were frozen, unable to do anything but listen, and now that it’s over, you almost feel a sense of loss.

Around you, the crowd erupts into soft applause, but it feels like a distant sound. All you can do is stare at the man on stage, still bathed in that soft light, wondering who he is—and how someone can have a voice that feels like it could reach right into your soul.

He bows lightly, his head dipping in a gesture of respect and gratitude, the soft spotlight casting a halo around him. The applause swells around you, but it’s a distant hum, muted by the beating of your heart in your ears. As he lifts his head again, his eyes sweep across the room, taking in the crowd with calm composure—until they land on yours.

Time seems to slow. His gaze locks with yours, you feel it instantly—a deep, almost magnetic pull, like an invisible thread connecting you to him. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you can’t help but gulp quietly, the sound swallowed by the silence that seems to surround this shared glance.

His eyes are intense, piercing in their focus, yet there’s something soft in them too—an unspoken question, or maybe recognition, as though he’s just as aware of the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The connection feels electric, a jolt running through your body, leaving your pulse racing and your skin tingling.

The eye contact lingers longer than it should, and in that span of heartbeats, you feel utterly exposed, as though he can see past your exterior and right into the depths of your thoughts. It’s overwhelming and thrilling all at once—like standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into an endless expanse and knowing you could fall at any moment.

Eventually, he steps back from the microphone, offering the crowd another subtle bow. His presence lingers, even as he turns away, vanishing into the shadows backstage, the spotlight dimming as if it’s reluctant to let him go. You realize you’ve been holding your breath the entire time, and it escapes you in a soft rush, like a weight lifting from your chest.

Around you, the quiet spell that had enveloped the club breaks. The low hum of chatter resumes, glasses clink softly, and the familiar rhythm of classic jazz fills the space once more, the music lighter now, a backdrop to conversations that spring up again. It’s almost like nothing extraordinary just happened.

Your friend leans over, breaking the silence between you with a low chuckle. “That dude was something else, wasn’t he?”

You don’t trust your voice to respond. Your throat feels tight, your pulse still racing from the intensity of the performance, from that shared moment of eye contact that left you unsteady. You nod instead, lifting your glass to your lips and taking a slow sip. The cold, crisp liquid hits your tongue, soothing you, bringing you back down from the high you hadn’t even realized you were on. The ice clinks softly against the glass, grounding you as the coolness spreads through your chest, calming your racing heart.

Your friend is still watching you, one eyebrow raised in amusement, clearly waiting for some kind of response. But all you can do is stare at your drink.

“Yeah,” you finally murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “Something else.”

“I wonder who he is,” she muses, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You shrug slightly, but the same question has been circling your mind since he left the stage.

Who was he?

After another show ends and the band plays their final set, the crowd begins to disperse, though a few people linger, still caught in the afterglow of the evening. The night air feels cooler now, a stark contrast to the warm haze inside the club. You and your friend sit quietly for a moment, sipping the last of your drinks, before leaving.

Curiosity gets the best of you. You lean toward the bar, catching the bartender’s attention as he’s polishing a glass. “Who was that singer tonight?” you ask, trying to sound casual, though your pulse quickens just mentioning him.

The bartender - Jay - glances up, offering a knowing smile. “Ah, that’d be Lee Heeseung,” he says, like the name is already becoming familiar around here. “We just hired him. Hell of a voice, huh?”

You nod, the name echoing in your mind. Lee Heeseung.

“He only sings once every other night,” Jay continues, placing the glass down and leaning in a bit as if sharing a secret. “Two times if he’s feeling like it, but mostly keeps to himself.”

Lee Heeseung. You repeat the name silently, letting it settle into your thoughts. It fits him, somehow—there’s something elegant about it, yet understated, much like the way he carried himself on stage. You roll the name over in your mind, each syllable striking a chord deep inside you. It’s as if now, knowing his name, he feels even more real.

You glance toward the darkened stage, where the spotlight had once illuminated him, now empty, the magic of the night beginning to fade. But his presence lingers in your mind.

Lee Heeseung.

It’s a name you won’t forget. A name that, much like his voice, sticks with you long after the night ends.

You take a final sip of your drink, the cold liquid steadying you once more. “Lee Heeseung,” you whisper under your breath, testing it on your lips. And somehow, you know that name is going to stay with you, just like the way he made you feel during his performance.

“I like it,” you murmur, almost to yourself. And it’s true. His name fits him perfectly.

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You found yourself returning to the jazz club more often than you ever thought you would. Some nights you came with friends, the laughter and easy conversations a comfortable distraction. Other nights, you came alone, drawn to the warmth of the dim lights, the hum of the music, and—though you never admitted it aloud—him.

You didn’t understand why, but something in you craved the moments when Lee Heeseung stepped onto that stage. It wasn’t just his voice, though that was captivating enough to make anyone fall silent. It was him—the way he moved, the way his eyes would always seem to find yours in the crowd, locking you in place like he could see right through you. You’d tell yourself it was just a coincidence, that he wasn’t really looking at you, not in the way you wanted to believe. But every time, it caught your breath. Every single time.

It was maddening.

He never spoke to you, not once. After his sets, he’d disappear backstage, swallowed by the shadows as if he was part of the night itself. And yet, you kept coming back, like a moth drawn to the flame, wanting to see more of him, to know more about who he was. What did he do when he wasn’t performing? What kind of music did he listen to? What made him smile? What did he think about in those quiet moments before he took the stage? Your curiosity about him grew with each visit, gnawing at you, and you couldn’t explain why.

And what you didn’t know—what you couldn’t have known—was that he felt the same pull. Ever since that first night, when his eyes met yours across the crowded room, something inside Heeseung had stirred. He had felt it deep in his chest, a subtle but undeniable tug, like an invisible string pulling him toward you. It was almost physical, a desire to move closer, to learn your name, to hear your voice. But every time, he resisted, clinging to his professionalism as he bowed lightly and disappeared behind the stage curtains. He told himself it was nothing, just another face in the crowd. But the truth was, you had done something to him.

You had caught him. Just as he had caught you.

And it was driving him insane.

Heeseung found himself scanning the crowd every night he performed, his heart skipping when he spotted you. No matter how many people filled the room, his eyes always found their way back to you. You had become his constant distraction, lingering in his thoughts long after he left the club. He didn’t even know your name, yet the desire to learn everything about you gnawed at him, growing stronger with every passing performance.

It wasn’t just curiosity—it was need. A deep, aching want.

He wanted to know you, to talk to you, to hear your voice outside of the quiet applause you offered after his songs. What did you think about when you listened to him sing? Did you feel the same pull that he did? He was desperate to find out. Every little detail you could give him, he would greedily soak up, wanting more and more.

But he held back. Always. Keeping his distance, even though it was killing him inside.

And so it went on, night after night. You, caught in his presence, unable to look away. Him, mesmerized by you, holding onto his professionalism by the thinnest of threads, but wanting nothing more than to be near you. It was an unspoken, maddening dance, both of you trapped in the same pull, yet neither making a move.

It was only a matter of time before one of you would break.

And so it went on, night after night.

You, seated in your usual spot, caught in the gravity of Heeseung’s presence. Each time the lights dimmed and his figure appeared on stage, your heart would race with anticipation. You’d try to steady your breath, convincing yourself that tonight would be no different, that you’d enjoy the music, maybe share some laughs with friends, and leave. But the moment his eyes met yours, all your resolve dissolved.

He always found you.

Even in a room full of people, it was like you were the only one he saw. The first time it happened, you thought it was just chance, but now, it was unmistakable. Heeseung’s gaze would sweep across the room, but when it landed on you, it lingered, locking you in place. And as the weeks passed, that eye contact grew more intense, more charged.

It wasn’t just his eyes that betrayed him. On the nights when he sang love songs—slow, romantic ballads that filled the room with heat—you noticed something else. His voice would deepen, become more sultry, almost like he was singing just for you. The lyrics would hang in the air, every word dripping with meaning, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was intentional. There was something unmistakable about the way his voice would dip into the lower register during certain phrases, how his lips would curve slightly when he sang about longing, about desire.

And every time, you felt the same pull, that magnetic draw you couldn’t explain.

One night, the tension between you reached a fever pitch. Heeseung was in the middle of a song—one of those slow, yearning ones, where the lyrics spoke of unspoken love and hidden desires. His eyes found yours as he sang the chorus, the words wrapping around you like velvet. His voice dropped, soft and husky, as he delivered the line, "I can’t breathe when you’re near, you’re everything I need."

Your breath caught in your throat. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, like every word was meant for you and only you. His gaze didn’t waver—he was locked in, completely focused on you. You could see it in the way his fingers gripped the microphone, in the tension in his jaw, that he was holding himself back. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable, as if he was silently asking you to break the silence between you, to cross that invisible line neither of you had dared to step over.

And yet, neither of you made a move.

Heeseung would sing, and you would listen, your heart pounding in your chest, caught in the rhythm of his voice, the weight of his gaze. Then, when the song ended, he’d retreat into the shadows, leaving you breathless and wanting.

But the pull between you grew stronger with each passing night. You could feel it in the way his performances shifted. The sultry edge in his voice wasn’t just an act anymore—it was personal. His songs became a reflection of what simmered beneath the surface between you two. Every time he sang a song about love, about yearning, it felt like a confession, a silent message that only you could understand.

One night, the tension became almost unbearable. The band started playing a slow, sensual tune, the kind that made the room feel warmer, more intimate. Heeseung’s eyes found yours almost immediately, and as he began to sing, his voice was lower, rougher, more emotional than you had ever heard it before.

"There’s something about the way you move, the way you look at me…"

Your heart skipped a beat. His voice was velvet and smoke, smooth but with an edge that made you shiver. He wasn’t just performing anymore—he was speaking directly to you, his gaze never leaving yours. The lyrics dripped with desire, each note resonating with something deep inside you. The words hit harder because you knew what was underneath them, what was brewing between the two of you. His fingers wrapped tightly around the microphone, his stance more rigid than usual, like he was barely holding himself together.

By the time he reached the final verse, the air was thick with tension. His voice dipped to a near whisper, the intimacy of the moment almost suffocating.

"I’ve been waiting for so long, for you to see me too…"

Your breath hitched, your hand tightening around your glass. Heeseung’s eyes burned into yours, and for the first time, you saw it—really saw it. The restraint, the struggle. He wanted to make a move, just as badly as you did. It was in the way his gaze darkened, the way his voice became more desperate, like he was pouring everything he felt into the song.

As the song came to an end, he lingered at the microphone for just a second longer, even as the last note faded and the soft hum of conversation filled the room again. And then, for the first time, he hesitated. He stood there, gripping the microphone stand, his knuckles white, as though he was fighting with himself. The crowd was waiting for him to leave the stage, but he didn’t move.

You didn’t know what to expect. Maybe he would finally walk over to you, say something, break this unspoken tension that had been building for so long. But instead, he just stared down, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths, like he was trying to steady himself. Then, with a barely noticeable shake of his head, he stepped back, his steps were purposeful, but there was a visible tension in his stride, like he was trying to escape something that was chasing him. You watched, transfixed, as he disappeared behind the curtain, his silhouette swallowed by the darkness.

The curtain fell, and the applause continued, but it felt distant now. The music resumed—a classic tune playing softly, almost as an afterthought. You were left sitting at your table, your glass nearly forgotten as you stared at the empty stage.

The moment passed, but it left you shaken. Your friend leaned over, murmuring something about how amazing the performance was, but you barely heard her. All you could think about was the way he had looked at you, the way his gaze had felt like a question, one that you didn’t yet know how to answer.

But what you didn’t know was that Heeseung had reached his breaking point. Backstage, he leaned against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t keep doing this—this dance of almosts and maybes. Every time he saw you, it became harder to hold himself back. He didn’t even know your name, but he wanted to. Needed to. Every glance, every shared moment across the crowded room only made him more certain that he had to know you. The thought of you consumed him, drove him mad, until he couldn’t think about anything else.

As he stood there, catching his breath, he made a decision. He wouldn’t walk away tonight. Not again. He needed to do something—anything—to break this cycle, to get closer to you.

Heeseung straightened himself up, his heart pounding in his chest. The decision had been made. He couldn’t keep doing this—dancing around the tension, pretending that the looks you shared were just fleeting moments. Not anymore. Tonight was different. The connection between you had grown too strong, too magnetic to ignore. He had to see you, had to break this maddening cycle of unspoken desire.

He took a deep breath and walked out from backstage, his eyes immediately scanning the room. The usual post-performance crowd lingered, patrons scattered in small groups, chatting, laughing, sipping their drinks. His gaze swept across the dimly lit space, searching, yearning.

And then, just as he was about to lose hope, he saw you.

You were making your way towards the back, disappearing into a hidden hallway beside the bar that led to the restrooms. Heeseung’s pulse quickened, and without a second thought, he followed.

A few patrons stopped him on his way, eager to congratulate him on his performance or exchange a few words. He smiled politely, though his focus was elsewhere. He shortened the conversations, nodding and offering quick thanks, but his mind was locked on you. The pull, the need to reach you, was too strong now. He couldn’t delay any longer.

As he neared the hallway, he slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he slipped into the shadows. The hallway was quieter here, away from the buzz of the bar. The dim lighting cast long, soft shadows along the walls, creating a more intimate, almost secretive atmosphere.

Heeseung stopped at the entrance of the hallway, his breath catching in his throat. He could hear the faint sound of running water from where you had stepped into the bathroom. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made everything sharper—the sound of his heartbeat, the way the air felt cooler back here, away from the crowd.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing. What was he going to say? How was he going to explain this—this overwhelming need to finally talk to you, to break the distance that had grown between you?

He leaned against the wall, trying to calm his nerves as he waited for you to reemerge. His breath was shaky, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making everything feel heightened—more real, more dangerous. This wasn’t just a passing attraction anymore. It was something deeper, something that had grown over time, night after night, with every glance exchanged between the two of you. The distance that had existed between you wasn’t something he could live with any longer.

His fingers drummed lightly against his leg, a nervous habit he hadn’t even noticed until now. Each tap was a reminder of the ticking seconds, each moment building his anticipation higher, tightening the knot in his stomach. He was caught between excitement and fear, unsure of how this would play out but certain that he couldn’t walk away again. Not tonight.

The hallway was quiet, the soft hum of music from the club fading into the background, leaving him in this private space, alone with his thoughts. He tried to calm the storm in his mind, rehearsing different ways to start the conversation. How are you? felt too casual. I can’t stop thinking about you felt too raw. The words swirled, none of them feeling quite right, but then again, what words could encapsulate what he had been feeling for weeks?

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair, trying to slow his racing heart. He wanted to tell you everything—how every song he sang was a message to you, how every glance you exchanged lit something inside him he couldn’t extinguish. But would you understand?

When the door opened and you stepped out into the hallway, you hadn’t noticed him yet. You were adjusting your dress, fixing your hair—small, absent-minded gestures as you prepared to return to the bar. But the moment you looked up and saw him standing there, everything froze.

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and the air between you felt instantly charged, thick with the same unspoken tension that had been simmering for weeks. Heeseung straightened up, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Neither of you spoke at first. The hallway was silent, save for the distant hum of music from the club. He took a slow step toward you, his movements careful, almost tentative, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to close the space between you. But the look in his eyes was clear—he wasn’t backing down this time.

“I—” Heeseung hesitated, his voice catching in his throat, rough and uncertain as it broke the silence between you. It wasn’t the smooth, honeyed tone he used on stage, the one that captivated entire rooms with its easy grace. This was different—raw, vulnerable, as if the weight of his own feelings was too much for him to carry any longer. The sound of it hit you like a tremor, sending a ripple through the thick air between you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment to talk to you,” he said, his gaze flicking across your face, searching, almost pleading for a response. His voice was quiet, but there was a current of desperation beneath it, like he was on the verge of losing control. “I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sound of his words, at the way they carried so much more than just what he was saying. It was in the timbre of his voice—the slight tremor when he spoke, the roughness around the edges, like he was struggling to keep his composure.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, but it was difficult to push past the knot in your throat. “What do you want to say?” The words came out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. Heeseung’s eyes widenened as he heard your question, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was weighing his next words carefully.

He let out a soft, frustrated sigh, his hand running through his hair in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know how to explain this… whatever this is between us.” His voice dropped lower, almost a murmur now, but each word carried a weight that hit you square in the chest. There was something about the way he spoke—quiet but intense, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling completely.

“Every time I see you, every time I sing—I can’t stop thinking about you.” His confession hung heavy in the air, thick with the tension that had been simmering just beneath the surface. His voice, though still soft, grew rougher, tinged with the frustration of having kept this inside for so long. He sounded like he was fighting against himself, against the feelings that had been building up night after night, threatening to spill over.

“It’s been driving me crazy,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “But I couldn’t just let it go.”

The depth of his voice, the strain behind it—it made your pulse race even faster. It wasn’t just the words that got to you, it was the way he said them. The rawness of it all, the fact that he was laying his emotions bare in front of you, made everything feel impossibly real.

He was holding on by a thread, and his voice, so full of emotion, told you everything he couldn’t put into words.

He took another step closer, his presence commanding the space now, the intensity in his gaze making it impossible for you to look away. “I’ve tried to stay professional, tried to keep my distance, but I can’t do that anymore.”

You felt your throat tighten, the air between you charged with anticipation. “I feel it too,” you admitted quietly, the words leaving your lips before you could second-guess yourself. “I’ve felt it since the first night.”

Heeseung’s expression softened at your words, the tension in his features easing ever so slightly, a flicker of relief crossing his face. But his eyes—they never left yours, still burning with the intensity of everything he hadn’t said yet. He took another step closer, his breath mingling with yours in the confined space. His warmth seemed to radiate off of him, filling the small distance between you, and then it hit you—the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was woodsy, with a hint of spice, sharp yet smooth, and it made your senses reel. It clung to the air around him, wrapping around you, pulling you in even further.

As he stepped closer, you saw his nostrils flare slightly as the scent of your perfume reached him. His gaze darkened, the fragrance catching his attention, something warm and sweet that seemed to mix perfectly with the heady tension between you. It was like he was drinking in every detail, every part of you, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the floor as the weight of the moment overwhelmed you. But Heeseung wasn’t about to let that happen. Slowly, with a deliberate, almost tender movement, he reached out, his hand lifting to gently brush against your arm. The touch was light, tentative at first, but it sent a shockwave through you, your skin tingling where his fingers made contact. His touch lingered for a second before his hand moved upward, his fingers grazing your skin with a softness that felt both electrifying and grounding at the same time.

His hand found its way to your jaw, his fingers gently cupping your face, tilting it upward. You could feel the warmth of his palm against your skin, the gentle pressure as he guided your face up.

Your breath caught again as you met his eyes. The way he looked at you, so intense, so unwavering, made it clear that he wasn’t letting you go.

Heeseung’s thumb brushed lightly along your jawline, the touch so soft yet so deliberate, as if he was memorizing the curve of your face, the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. His touch was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, every detail.

“I don’t even know your name,” he whispered, his voice low, rough with emotion, yet there was a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips. “But I need to.”

His words, the way he said them—it made your heart stutter in your chest. The quiet urgency in his voice, the way he was holding onto this moment like it was the only thing that mattered, sent a thrill through you. You smiled softly, your pulse quickening as you told him your name, the sound of it lingering in the air between you like a promise.

Heeseung repeated your name under his breath, his voice barely audible, as if testing how it felt on his lips. The way he said it made your skin tingle, a shiver running down your spine, his gaze still fixed on yours as he committed your name to memory, as if the sound of it alone had the power to pull him closer.

His breath, warm and steady, fanned across your skin, and you felt your heart race in response. His hand stayed on your jaw, the gentle pressure grounding you, but the heat of his presence was overwhelming, intoxicating.

He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your lips as his eyes searched your face, as if waiting for something, something only you could give him.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, rough with anticipation, he asked, “Please?”

Just that single word, but it was loaded with meaning. You didn’t need him to elaborate; you knew exactly what he was asking for, what he was begging for.

You didn’t need time to think. You simply whispered back, “Yes.”

And that was all it took. The moment the word left your lips, Heeseung closed the distance between you, his hand slipping from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you in as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was deep, hungry, filled with all the pent-up desire that had been simmering between you for what felt like an eternity. It was intense, urgent, as if he had been waiting far too long for this moment to finally happen.

You kissed him back without hesitation, your hands instinctively reaching for him, one finding its way to his chest, the other curling around his shoulder, pulling him even closer. The heat between you was overwhelming, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his mouth moved against yours with a desperation that matched your own.

His lips were soft but firm, and the taste of him—mixed with the faint trace of the whiskey he’d been sipping earlier—was intoxicating. He kissed you like he had been starving for it, like this was the moment he had been waiting for since that first night when your eyes had met across the room.

Your body responded to him naturally, as if it had been waiting for this too. You pressed yourself closer, feeling the solid warmth of his body against yours, your heart racing as the kiss deepened. His other hand moved to your waist, gripping you gently, but with enough pressure to let you know he wasn’t letting go anytime soon. The feel of his fingers, warm and strong, sent a thrill through you, making you gasp softly against his mouth.

Heeseung took that small sound as encouragement, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further. The way he kissed you—it wasn’t just passion. There was something more, something that made it feel like this moment had been inevitable, like it had been building toward this from the very beginning.

Heeseung’s grip on you tightened as his kiss grew more insistent, more desperate, his hands roaming your waist like he couldn’t get enough. And then, without warning, he pushed you gently but firmly back toward the bathroom. His hands never left you as he maneuvered you into the dimly lit room, the door closing behind him with a soft click before he locked it.

Your heart raced, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt the solid door behind you. The bathroom was small, intimate, and the air was thick with the tension that had been building for what felt like forever. Heeseung’s eyes, full of unspoken need, flickered with something primal as he looked at you, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Without another word, he pressed you gently against the cold tile of the bathroom wall, his hands sliding to your hips as he caged you in with his body. His lips found yours again, but this time there was no hesitation, no restraint. The kiss was rougher now, more urgent, as if he had finally let go of whatever had been holding him back all this time.

You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, your body arching into him as you kissed him with just as much hunger. The heat between you was overwhelming, the tension finally snapping as he kissed his way down your jawline, his lips brushing across your skin, igniting a fire with every touch.

By the time his lips reached your neck, you were panting, your fingers gripping his shoulders to steady yourself as he kissed down the exposed skin of your throat. The dress you wore—classy, elegant, yet with an open neckline—left plenty of room for him to explore, and Heeseung took full advantage of it, his lips trailing along your collarbone, hot and soft against your skin.

His breath was ragged, his movements unrestrained as he kissed his way down your neck, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, the sensation of his mouth on your skin making your pulse race even faster.

Heeseung's breath was hot against your skin as he continued his descent, each open-mouthed kiss igniting a deeper fire inside you. His lips moved with a mixture of reverence and hunger, like he was savoring the feel of you, the taste of your skin beneath his lips. Your heart pounded in your chest, every nerve alight with anticipation and the intoxicating sensation of his mouth exploring your neck, your collarbone.

You gasped softly when his teeth grazed your skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to send a sharp thrill racing through you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging lightly as his hands roamed your sides, his grip firm but careful, as if he was trying to hold himself back from giving in completely to the urgency that pulsed between you.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, lingering there, and you felt the heat of his breath as he exhaled, his body pressed so close to yours that you could feel every rise and fall of his chest. The scent of his cologne, warm and woodsy, filled your senses, mixing with the heady smell of your own perfume, creating a cocktail of desire in the small, enclosed space.

“Heeseung…” His name slipped from your lips, breathless and soft, and he responded with a low, quiet groan that reverberated through your body, sending a shiver down your spine.

At the sound of his name on your lips, he lifted his head, his eyes dark with a mixture of need and admiration as he took in your flushed face, your slightly parted lips. He looked at you as if he couldn't believe you were real, as if he had been dreaming of this moment for too long and now that it was happening, he didn’t want to waste a second.

Before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, this time with more urgency, more need. The kiss was deeper, hungrier, as if he was trying to convey everything he had been holding back, all the feelings that had built up between you with each stolen glance, each electrifying moment of eye contact that had passed between you over the nights.

Your body responded instinctively, pressing closer to him, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you against him, his fingers brushing over the delicate fabric of your dress, teasing the curve of your hips. Your own hands were restless, wandering up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his suit. Heeseung groaned softly against your lips, his grip tightening around your waist, his body pressing you against the wall, as if the space between you was unbearable.

“I can’t stop,” he murmured again, the rawness in his voice pulling at something deep inside you.

You swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet, and the weight of your own words seemed to linger in the air. “I don’t want you to.” The second the words left your mouth, Heeseung’s restraint crumbled completely.

His eyes narrowed, pupils blown wide with desire, and his breath hitched as if the words had unlocked something inside him, as Heeseung surged forward, closing the distance between you with a kiss that was deep and slow, but laced with a fire that had been building for far too long.

His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost agonizing slowness, as if he wanted to savor every second, every sensation. The softness of his mouth was contrasted by the firm grip he kept on your waist, grounding you as his kiss deepened. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and you parted them for him, a quiet, involuntary sound escaping from the back of your throat as he kissed you with more intensity.

The kiss grew more fevered, more frantic, both of you losing yourselves in the moment, in the intensity of everything that had been building between you for so long. It was like a dam had broken, and now there was no stopping the flood of emotions, the raw, undeniable desire that had been simmering beneath the surface.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your body reacting instinctively to every touch, every kiss, as Heeseung pressed you harder against the wall, his body caging you in, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible. His lips trailed down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed a path to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh there, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, his voice rough with want. His words made your heart race, your pulse quickening as his lips continued their descent, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck, tasting, teasing, worshiping.

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked gently at the base of your throat, marking you in a way that made your entire body hum with pleasure. Every kiss, every touch felt like it was setting you on fire, the heat between you so intense it was almost unbearable.

The sudden knock on the bathroom door jolted you both, tearing you from the intoxicating haze of your moment. The sound seemed almost foreign, harsh against the tender intimacy you had just shared.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?” The voice came through the door with a note of casual curiosity, but the urgency in it made your heart race.

You pulled back from Heeseung, your breath coming in quick, startled gasps. “It’s the bartender! What is he gonna think if he sees you with me?” Panic edged your voice, your mind scrambling for a way to salvage the situation.

Heeseung, looking dazed and disheveled, blinked at you with a lopsided grin, his face covered in lipstick marks, his suit jacket discarded on the floor, and his shirt half-unbuttoned. His hair was a wild mess, and his expression was a mix of confusion and bliss, like someone who had just been woken from a beautiful dream. “Eh… lucky me?” he offered, his voice soft and slightly slurred, as if he was still under the spell of your kiss.

You glanced at him, your eyes wide with a mix of concern and disbelief. His appearance was a far cry from the composed, suave performer you had seen on stage. The sight of him, so undone, only added to your growing sense of urgency. “Just—just…ugh!” You grumbled in frustration, trying to focus as you scrambled to tidy both of you up.

With swift movements, you attempted to fix your appearance—straightening your dress, wiping away smudged lipstick, and fixing your disheveled hair. You glanced at Heeseung, who was still leaning against the wall, looking like he was in a trance, his grin widening as he caught your frantic attempts. You shoved him gently, trying to help him re-button his shirt and smooth down his hair, though the results were far from perfect.

When you finally felt presentable enough, you unlocked the door with a deep breath. The moment you swung it open, you were met with Jay, the bartender, standing in the hallway with a look of utter shock on his face. His eyes widened as they took in the state of the bathroom and the two of you emerging from it.

“Sorry!” you blurted out, your voice high and rushed. Before Jay could react further, you slipped past him, grabbing Heeseung by the arm and pulling him along. Heeseung, still in a blissful daze, gave Jay a casual wink, a smirk playing on his lips as he followed you.

Jay stood frozen in the hallway, his mouth opening and closing in confusion as he watched you both make your hasty exit. The entire scene felt surreal, and as you led Heeseung down the dimly lit corridor, the adrenaline from the sudden interruption made your heart race even faster.

You walked quickly, trying to keep your composure, but the thrill of what had just happened left you breathless. Heeseung, now more alert, gave you a playful nudge. “Well, that was quite an exit, wasn’t it?” His voice was teasing, his smile wide and infectious.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you led him back towards the main area of the club. “You’re impossible,” you said, though your tone was affectionate.

The tension had finally snapped.

#enhypen fic #enhypen #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung fanfic #lee heeseung #heeseung #fanfiction #fanfic #lee heeseung x y/n #heeseung enhypen #heeseung imagines #heeseung drabbles

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scrapsovereign · 2 months ago

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“I Have Standards”: A Choose Your Own Adventure Smut Fic

Description: NSFW. Astarion rejects you after defeating the Goblin Camp, so you seek out a certain wizard to make him realize what he's missing out on...

Pairings: Astarion x F!Tav, Gale x F!Tav, Astarion x Gale x F!Tav

Trigger warnings/tags: Very NSFW/18+, breeding, predator/prey, knife play, vampire sex, noncon/dubcon elements, Possessive Astarion, Manipulative Astarion

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

(Choice: Let Astarion wreck you after hunting you as his prey)

(Go Back!)

After Astarion’s proposition of claiming you, you want him so badly you can barely see straight. You need to know he means what he says, that he’s willing to show you by taking what’s his. His hand has left your neck in anticipation of your answer, and with great reluctance, you take your hand off of him.

“I don’t believe you…yet. You’ve turned me down once, you’ll have to chase me if you want me,” you challenge him, looking him dead in his gorgeous, ruby eyes.

“Is that so? You want me to hunt you, to hold you down and prove it to you?” He clarifies, tilting his head in curiosity.

“If you can catch me, I’ll be yours- only yours. For long as you’ll have me, even if it’s only tonight,” you promise him, reaching up to brush your fingers against the flushed crest of his ears. You trace a fingertip up and around the pointy ends, admiring how beautiful he is as he bites his lip, your center aching as he moans softly for you.

Astarion licks his lips, staring at your wet heat as if he can see right through your clothes. “Very well. I’ll allow you a moment before I give pursuit. Starting…now.”

You turn on the balls of your feet and launch yourself out of your tent, clearing the canvas threshold, making a beeline for the path that leads into the forest.

The only word you can think of that describes how you feel is exhilarating. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but you’ve never felt so free. Dashing through the woods at night is something your elders told you never to do, and you wonder if it was because they wanted to keep this secret all to themselves. You dodge roots and rocks alike, navigating the landscape with as much ease as if you were back home.

The burn in your lungs and legs can’t keep up with the compulsion of your feet to keep moving forward. A lucky thing you’ve happened upon a clearing in the wood by a stream. It’s the perfect place for a lover’s tryst, and by the looks of it, someone’s already intended to use it as such. There’s a nest made with a large linen thatched rug, a basket full of food and beverage, with pillows and folded blankets.

Seems like a thoughtful setup. You should probably keep moving on before whoever’s planning to use it shows up.

That is, if you didn’t feel the bite of cold steel pressed against your throat.

“Does this seem familiar, darling?” Astarion murmurs into your ear, pressing his body against yours. You feel the intrusion of his rock-hard length concealed by his trousers pressing against the curve of your lower back, the puff of his cool breath against your neck.

“Not really, I don’t think we’ve been here before,” you state, knowing full well he means the knife at your throat.

He laughs at your obtuse remark, his other hand working at the back of your garments. “You’re delightfully amusing, my sweet.”

The blade’s edge is close enough to slice your skin open like butter if you so much as breathe too deeply. You stay still for him while he makes work of the lacings at your skirt, following the fabric’s movement with your eyes to the ground below. Your inebriated state does you no favors, making you forget you have a razor-sharp dagger at your neck. You hiss with pain as it slices a shallow line across your skin, just enough to draw blood.

Astarion stashes his weapon with a flourish, whipping you around to face him. He is no longer the snarky, pompous, high Elven noble he pretends to be.

The shirtless man before you has embraced his full vampiric nature as a monster, a creature of the night. His typically sultry crimson gaze has an odd glow to it as he watches the blood ooze down over your clavicle, between your breasts. He drags his tongue in an unnecessarily lewd fashion over his front teeth with a smack, revealing canines that have grown to twice their normal size. You’ve never seen him so wild and unhinged outside of combat.

You should be terrified.

Except that you’re not. You like him like this- the tug low in your belly and the wetness that is ruining your undergarments being the most obvious signs.

A thrill goes through you as Astarion advances on you, stalking you as he drives you backwards. Your foot catches on the corner of the blanket that is laid out and you lose your balance. You gaze upwards in awe at the predator who has caught you in his clutches. His arms hold you in a lover’s embrace before he lays you down gently on the spread out fabric.

Astarion takes his place on top of you to admire how good you look underneath him, illuminated in shades of blue and silver underneath the moonlight. His vampiric strength steals your breath as he grasps both sides of your stays, ripping them along with your chemise clean down the middle. You stare up at him, your heart hammering in the cage of your bared chest, stunned and aroused he's torn the clothing right off you.

His mouth falls open, elongated fangs visible as he takes in your flushed, almost-naked body. You can’t help but meet his eyes, your thighs still quivering with anticipation, your breasts splayed to the side and jiggling with each shaky breath.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he groans, utterly besotted, as he leans down to finally take possession of your lips with his.

He’s not nice about it, nor would you want him to be. It’s sloppy, open-mouthed, and ravenous. You kiss each other like you’re both starving for the air that passes between your shared bodies. His fangs catch on the vermillion border of your lips, groaning sinfully as he sucks and laps up the crimson that dribbles down your chin, moving down to the horizontal laceration at your neck.

“Now darling, what did you say to describe what I could do if I caught you?” he wonders aloud, noisily slurping up the blood that drips down as he palms your breasts. “Ah, yes. That I could use your body for my pleasure? For the evening, or as long as I’ll have you?”

“Word for word,” you confirm, gasping when he rolls the bud of your nipple between his blood-stained fingers.

He hums with a condescending smile, gathering the front of your panties in his fist.

“And what if I want more?” He questions you tersely, licking his lips.

A passing cloud obscures the moon above you, shrouding your forms in darkness. His beauty, which shone like an ethereal beacon in the moonlight, undergoes a transformation into a terrifying, hungry creature of shadow.

“I’ll give it to you,” you whisper with a trembling voice, “Name it and it’s yours.”

He rips the flimsy fabric of your undergarments off your body, eyeing the slick that got on his hands with fascination. He licks his palm to sample your essence, groaning like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

“Divine. Simply…divine,” he notes, laying atop you, hooking his leg underneath yours. “And naïve, you’ve agreed to my terms before I’ve stated them. What if I want your heart, as well as your body and your blood? Would you give your love only to me?”

Your heart pounds in your ears. You’d been a fool for him since the day he held you to the ground with a dagger to your neck, unrequited love at first sight. The more you learned about him, the harder you fell. Sure, you thought Gale was hot, and it made your botched seduction of the wizard easier. But Astarion?

“You’ve been the only one from the start. I made a mistake going to Gale to make you jealous,” you admit, your dry voice wobbling with the truth.

Astarion chuckles darkly at your confession. “My foolish, sweet thing. A mistake you won’t repeat after I’ve had my wicked way with you.”

He frees himself from his pants, rubbing his erection against your folds to tease you and gather your copious arousal. “Nevertheless, I hope you’re ready for me… darling.”

You gasp as he thrusts inside you forcefully, meeting no resistance as his cock plunges all the way to the smooth cap of your cervix. Your back arches and you tip your head up to the stars as he enters you, delighted at how well he slots into your warm and wet channel.

“Sweet hells, you feel good Tav…you fit me like a glove,” he groans, shivering as he pulls back and thrusts into you again. “Like your cunt was made for me alone.”

He forces your arms above your head, pinning them down with a clenched fist after hearing you whimper at his words. “Do you like that, pet? Knowing the gods made you to ruin me?”

Cheesy lines like this make you laugh or roll your eyes normally, but right now you’re spellbound and cock-drunk and you love it. “Yes, Astarion,” you gasp, “I’m yours, only yours. Take me…please.”

Astarion growls at your surrender, snapping his hips roughly against your pelvis. You cry out loud with every wave of pleasure it brings, each thrust pushing against a nerve bundle deep in your channel that sends you up towards your peak.

He knows you’re close by the way your walls tighten around him. “Coming undone for me so soon?” He mocks you, licking a stripe up your neck, over the cut from his blade as you moan and shudder underneath him. He adjusts the angle at which he pounds into you as he lifts your leg up over his shoulder, the new position stimulating the pink pearl of your erect, exposed clit.

“Ahh! Can’t help it…you feel so good…I’m gonna, Astarion-I’m gonna,” you pant as he brings you to the edge of bliss, only after a few minutes of having his cock inside of you. Your eyes flutter to the back of your head as a wave of pleasure overwhelms you and crests.

Astarion knows. “Look at me, I want to see you when you unravel for me,” he commands in a harsh tone. Your eyes fly open and snap to his, unable to deny your magnetic pull to him. “Who do you belong to, Tav? Say it!”

“You, Astarion!” Your vision goes white with your climax, causing you to briefly lose sight of him as you keen. You feel as if a lightning bolt had hit you with the way your orgasm rips through your body, your hips convulsing as your muscles contract around him.

He’s not too far behind you. You can feel him harden and twitch, hear his ragged moans, see the change in his ruby eyes as pleasure takes over. Your womb aches to accept him, your sex fluttering with the aftershocks of your orgasm, encouraging him to go deeper.

“Fill me, I’m yours…use me, claim me, breed me.”

Right after you say “breed”, Astarion makes a noise you’re certain you’ve never heard before. It’s a groaning exhale that turns to a whimper as he pounds into you once, twice, then stilling as he thrusts home. You welcome the teeth that sink deep into your shoulder, the pain translating to pure pleasure. His cock pulses and twitches, buried as deep within your channel as your bodies will allow, painting your walls with ropes of his hot spend.

Astarion filling your pussy with his cum sends you over the edge again. “Astarion.. I’m gonna…I’m…oh Gods,” you shudder and sigh, your second orgasm not as intense as the first. He seems proud of himself that you’ve had another one so soon, still buried in the proof spasming and throbbing around him.

He brings you down from your shared high, winding down to a languid pace before he stops. You push up on your elbows, trying to catch your breath and kiss him all at once.

Astarion shoves you back down to the ground before your lips touch. “And where do you think you’re going? We’re far from done here.”

You stare back at him while you process his words, your mind slowed by the wine you’ve consumed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, darling. You’re the one who asked me to breed you, and I don’t intend to disappoint.”

The length that had gone soft inside of you inflates with your blood. “I’m going to stuff you full of my cum, make that sweet little cunt of yours milk my cock for every…” Astarion kisses you tenderly on the lips.

“Last,” he sinks his teeth into the buttery smooth flesh of your breast, sucking a bruise into your skin.

“Drop.” He flips you over, positioning you with your ass in the air, your face down on the ground.

The new angle feels incredible. You’re not sure how he’s stayed inside you, and you don’t care. You wish that the evening could stretch on for eternity, your bodies joined as one. His cock jumps and you take that as your cue to move back and forth, drooling at how well it massages your walls.

Astarion’s hands clutch at the flesh of your backside, guiding the motion of your hips. “Yes, that’s it, that’s a good girl,” he groans.

You clench and flutter around him when praises you. He thrusts into you while you work his length, moaning for him with abandon when his scrotum slaps at your erect clit.

“Mmm Tav,” he moans obscenely, his fingernails digging into your skin. “If only you knew how much…I wanted to take you just like this. Naughty little minx, walking past me in those tight leather britches of yours…Gods, how I wanted to rip them away… fuck you senseless.”

“Just like this?” You pant out, so overwhelming by your impending climax, you can barely speak.

“Like this,” he explains with his hand by wrapping your long hair around it, pressing down on the small of your back.

The change in angle is all your bodies need to let go. Your simultaneous orgasms draw out the addictive bliss of your coupling, unsure of where it starts or ends. Astarion’s cock jerks and pulses as he empties his seed into you again with a grunt, collapsing over the top of you to catch a breath he doesn’t need.

“You’ll give me one more,” he pants, pressing a kiss to the nape of your sweaty neck. He pulls out of your spasming cunt and rests his entire body weight on your back. You whimper at the loss of him, your arms and legs quivering from the aftershocks, on the verge of collapsing at any moment.

“I…I don’t know if I can,” you gasp out as you try to catch your breath. You’re shocked you had more than one orgasm during partnered sex. Then again, you’ve never been so thoroughly wrecked like this by anyone before.

“Really, now? Make that two,” he clips, rolling you on to your back. You comply, half out of exhaustion and half out of your desire to embody the obedient plaything you promised to be for him.

Astarion eyes the pearly white liquid that seeps out of your abused hole, tsking in disapproval. He grabs a folded blanket in one hand and your ankles with another, shoving the blanket underneath your lower back as he lifts you up by your feet.

“That’s better. We don’t want to waste a single drop, now do we?” he drawls out his rhetorical question, gathering the cum that has spilled from you on his fingers and stuffing it back into you. Your hips buck upward with the intrusion, clenching around his digits as he pushes his seed back inside your entrance with a squelch.

Being fingered was never your favorite because your partners were too fast or too rough, but the way Astarion strokes your channel is just right. You moan wantonly for him as he fucks you with his elegant digits, brushing against a spot yours can never quite reach. You can’t believe it, but you feel your center winding tight again, clenching around him, feeling the cum spill from your core faster than he can plunge it back inside you.

“That’s it, yes, cum for me darling,” he commands, fastening his mouth to your clit, hastening your climax with his teeth and tongue. It feels good, but you want to reach your peak stuffed with his cock, to feel his essence spill inside you.

“I want…I want you inside of me…want all of your cum in me…want you to get me pregnant,” you struggle to speak, your throat dry from all the noises of pleasure you’ve made for him.

You’re certain your request broke him when he stares back at you, his mouth agape. His fingers are stilled on the outside of your soaking wet pussy. You worry for a moment that you went too far until he throws your legs over his shoulders, his steel-hard cock spearing your entrance.

“I’m going to spill inside you…every single day…until your body accepts the gift I’ve given it,” he snarls, an eerie fluorescent light shining in his eyes. You imagine him making good on his promise, endless nights together in the wilderness blended into a haze of shared ecstasy.

Astarion forces your legs to meet your chest, drawing out a noise you didn’t know you could make. “Flood your cunt with my seed every night, until you swell with my claim on you…showing the world who you belong to,” he grits out, displaying sharp, vicious canines.

You think about his possessive hands caressing a small bump on your belly, pressing an adoring kiss to where the life you both created would continue to grow in your womb.

It makes you fall apart with a shout, his name on your lips.

“Please fill me! I want this…want you, I love you,” you beg him, the four letter word spilling from your lips by accident in your reverie.

Astarion’s cock jerks inside you as he registers your confession, a chill rippling across his moonlit, shimmering, sweat-drenched skin. His entire body tenses and quivers, his hands clutching at the linen blanket below.

“Bite me,” you whisper to him, your vocal cords dry and hoarse. “Take my blood, love...put a baby in me,” you plead as you roll your head to the side, an invitation to re-open the wound from last night’s feeding.

Astarion’s teeth latch on to your neck without hesitation. With the first pull of your blood, his hips stutter and spasm, cumming inside you with a muffled sob. You’re right behind him, the exquisite pleasure and pain rocketing you up to heights unknown.

You must have blacked out, because the next thing you know you’re laying on your side with him still twitching inside of you, held so tightly in his arms you can barely breathe. You can feel the vibrations of his velvety soft baritone rumbling something to you, but you aren’t able to hear him over the ringing in your ears.

Astarion buries his head on your shoulder, unable to finish his sentence. You press a kiss to the sweaty silver curls at his temples and his ears fall flat as he looks at you, his expression as vulnerable as you’ve ever seen him.

“Did you mean it, Tav? Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

Your stomach lurches up to your throat, your heart skips a beat. Out of all the crazy shit you’ve said to each other tonight, of course this would be the one he wanted to talk about. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, steeling yourself for another rejection.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you. I fought it, because I didn’t want to believe it, but I love yo-“

Astarion’s sensual lips steal your words, kissing you with a tenderness that makes your heart feel like it’s soaring from the relief you feel.

“For the last two hundred years, I’ve never had a single thing to call my own. That is, until now,” he leans in to kiss you again and you pull away in panic.

“A lover? Or…a…uhm,” you stutter, flustered by the things you said to him in the heat of passion. He squeezes you with arms that glimmer in the moonlight, kissing the top of your scalp.

“A family? No, well- maybe someday? I don’t know for certain, but not while Cazador’s alive,” he shudders. “Gods, can you imagine? At any rate, I didn’t expect you to bring out such a beast in me. I rather liked it, you know,” he murmurs into your hair, carding his fingers through your satin locks.

Astarion stills as if he’d remembered something, grasping your chin to look up at him. “Speaking of things I’m not ready for. I want you to be mine, and yet I cannot honestly say tonight was anything more than a bit of carnal fun,” he admits, his eyes flickering back and forth as he gazes into yours. “Is that alright, Tav? To allow only me to take what I want from your body? Can you live with the uncertainty that your feelings may never be returned?”

Your chest swells with the possibility of sharing his bed again, tears flooding your eyes. “We can take it day by day.”

“Good, just like I thought,” Astarion murmurs to you with a sinister edge to his sultry voice, alarming you.

He chuckles and kisses your forehead, all of your worries washed away when he resumes his comforting touch. You sigh with contentment, drifting off to sleep against your lover’s chest, unwitting and unaware of the secret almost revealed to you.

#bg3 smut #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #possessive astarion #creature astarion #breeding kink astarion #Uhhhh ohhh Tav's IN TROUBLE #You ever have sex so good with your vampire crush you just pass out in the middle of it?#choose your own adventure

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zapreportsblog · 1 year ago

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↱ whispers of nature ↰

➘ summary : the new girl is the center of everyone’s attention including our darling serial killer billy loomis

➘ billy loomis x reader, scream x reader

The halls of Woodsboro High School buzzed with the familiar energy of students shuffling between classes. Among the crowd, Billy Loomis navigated the chaos with practiced ease. His tall figure and striking looks drew attention wherever he went, but his eyes were drawn to a newcomer who seemed to stand out in the sea of faces.

(Y/N), the new girl at school, had quickly become the subject of whispers and intrigued glances. Unlike most of the students, her style wasn't dictated by trends or peer pressure. Instead, she embraced a unique blend of fairy core fashion, adorned in flowing skirts and floral headbands that seemed to belong to a different era.

Billy, despite being in a seemingly happy relationship with Sidney, found himself stealing glances at (Y/N) when he thought no one was looking. Her carefree attitude and genuine smile were a stark contrast to the facade many wore. And then there were her walks in the nearby woods, often without shoes, as if she sought to be one with the earth itself.

As the days went by, (Y/N)'s presence became a quiet fascination for Billy. He watched as she sat under trees during lunch, lost in a book or simply gazing at the world around her. Her affinity for nature was palpable, and it was a world he had never paid much attention to.

One afternoon, (Y/N) found herself in the library, seeking refuge from the bustle of the school. She browsed the shelves, her fingers trailing over the spines of old books. A soft smile graced her lips as she read titles about herbalism, folklore, and the mysteries of the natural world.

Unbeknownst to her, Billy had followed her into the library, curiosity tugging at his thoughts. He observed her from a distance, his eyes tracing the way she seemed so at ease among the books.

Sidney's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to see his girlfriend approaching. She wrapped her arm around his, her gaze following his line of sight. "Checking out the new girl, huh?"

Billy's cheeks flushed, and he tried to play it off with a casual shrug. "Just curious, you know."

Sidney chuckled, her tone playful. "Well, you're not alone. Everyone seems to be intrigued by (Y/N). She's a breath of fresh air in this place."

Billy's gaze flickered back to (Y/N) who was now engrossed in a book about plant symbolism. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her than met the eye, and a strange yearning tugged at his thoughts.

As the days turned into weeks, (Y/N)'s presence continued to weave its way into Billy's thoughts. He found himself drawn to the woods nearby, curious about the world she seemed to find solace in. The natural beauty around him took on a new meaning, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more waiting to be discovered.

In the midst of his introspection, (Y/N) remained a quiet enigma, a reminder that beneath the surface of his seemingly perfect life, there was a yearning for something deeper, something that (Y/N) seemed to embody with every step she took in her fairy core world.

One day after school, as the golden hues of sunset cast a warm glow over the town, Billy found himself at the edge of the woods. He had taken an impulsive decision to follow in (Y/N)'s footsteps and explore the place that seemed to hold a piece of her spirit.

The trees stretched overhead, their leaves whispering secrets in the breeze. He walked deeper into the forest, his steps guided by an inexplicable curiosity. It wasn't long before he spotted (Y/N) sitting against a moss-covered tree, her bare feet digging into the earth.

She looked up as he approached, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a welcoming smile. "Hey, you're Billy, right? From school.”

Billy nodded, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. "Yeah, that's me. You're (Y/N), right?"

She nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "That's me. Enjoying the beauty of nature?"

Billy felt a warmth spread through him as he took in the tranquility of the scene. "Yeah, I guess I just wanted to see what it was all about."

(Y/N) patted the ground next to her, inviting him to join her. "Well, you're welcome to sit. Nature has its own way of healing and connecting."

As he settled onto the ground, a sense of calm washed over him. The worries and expectations of his daily life seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the rustling leaves and the soft sounds of the forest.

"I've seen you around school," (Y/N) began, her tone casual yet genuine. "You seem to have a lot on your plate."

Billy chuckled, surprised by her observation. "Yeah, it can get pretty hectic."

She turned to him with a thoughtful expression. "Sometimes it's good to escape, even if it's just for a little while. Nature has a way of grounding us, reminding us of the things that truly matter."

As the conversation flowed between them, Billy found himself opening up in ways he hadn't expected. He talked about the pressures he felt, the expectations he faced, and the yearning for something more genuine in his life. (Y/N) listened attentively, her empathy a soothing balm to his troubled thoughts.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange. (Y/N) rose to her feet, brushing off the dirt from her skirt. "It's getting late. I should head back."

Billy stood as well, a newfound lightness in his step. "Thanks for letting me join you. It's been... refreshing."

(Y/N) smiled, her gaze holding a depth that resonated with him. "Anytime you need an escape from the chaos, you know where to find me."

As they walked back to the edge of the woods, Billy realized that (Y/N) had awakened something within him—a curiosity for the world beyond the surface, a desire to find his own sense of grounding amidst the chaos.

As the woods echoed with the sounds of their footsteps, he couldn't help but feel that (Y/N)'s presence had brought a touch of magic into his life, a connection to nature's whispers that would forever change his perspective.

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sokosmic · 1 year ago

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Astro Observations for

Leo Rising...

(Will add notes as I have time and think of more)

House placements based on Whole Signs

🌤️ Heart-shaped faces/heads. Hair! Wide smiles. Fair skinned or come from a lineage of fair skinned people. Confident persona with big gestures. Leads with heart...wears heart on sleeves.

🌤️ They aren't self-centered or the attention seekers they may get painted. With a (Libra 3H) they're mindset and mode of communication is centered around building relationships. They desire fairness and harmony when connecting with others and often go out of their way to please people when making those connections.

🌤️ This often appears contradictory to the way they behave when actually in a relationship. With an (Aquarius 7H), they may behave aloof and distant. But that isn't necessarily the case. Aquarius here may cause the native to desire freedom from the constraints of a traditional relationship. These individuals may prefer relationships and partnerships that are unconventional and go against the norm...requiring changes that bring excitement.

🌤️ In their (Cancer 12H) there is a strong desire to nurture their spirituality and their connection to the collective. While it may not be evident based on their house of relationships (Aquarius 7H), this really does go hand-in-hand because Aquarians are humanitarians. (Cancer 12H) also indicates psychic abilities.

🌤️ Although it may come across cold, these folks work hard and give a lot. They are no strangers to hunkering down and getting sh¡t done (Capricorn 6H). There may also be knee, ankle, or general bone issues that arise from this placement.

🌤️ On the same note...having a (Virgo 2H) lends to a very meticulous way of acquiring their needs. These folks tend to be pretty business savvy and have a very admirable work ethic and way of obtaining money. These are the people at work who just seem to know how to organize and categorize things for efficiency.

🌤️ There may have been some sort of trauma experienced in the early home life (Scorpio 4H). Secrets and things hidden or swept under the rug is very likely in the family. May come from a lineage of women with psychic abilities or occult practices. Lots of intense and transformational experiences derive from this placement.

🌤️ Depending on placements in the natal chart, we typically see this show up in their (Leo 1H) as a fierce loyalty toward becoming their best selves. There is a natural expression of confidence, courage, and creativity that they exude. Just like the Sun, people can't help but to see them.

🌤️ We also see this come thru in their (Taurus 10H), where here there is a natural ability and expression of beauty and making things aesthetically pleasing. This is usually specific to their career and public image. Here we may find them work methodically in fields such as interior design, jewelry making/design, or a form of physical labor related to beauty or creating beautiful things, such as wood working, pottery, or glass making.

🌤️ Unless there are planets in the natal that restrict it, these beautiful people are incredibly social (Gemini 11H), and often find themselves with lots of friends and associates. They tend to be leaders among groups they are involved. These are also people who create groups or organizations that are geared toward sharing information...think Facebook and other social media platforms.

🌤️ And they enjoy it! Running those groups or being an admin or moderator is something they do as a hobby. This is rooted in that (Gemini 11H) where they really enjoy sharing all the knowledge they gather through their social connections, personal research and travels (Sagittarius 5H). And people love them because they are able to convey messages with their wit and charm. These folks are funny and flirty by nature.

🌤️ Having a (Pisces 8H) grants these individuals with great intuitive gifts. It is also makes these natives quite empathetic towards the dark, shadow aspects of others. They often possess a natural tendency towards healing themselves and others with spiritual practices that aren't widely accepted or recognized.

🌤️ But what society thinks is the least of these individuals' concern. Their overview of the world is filtered through the eyes of Self for these people (Aries 9H). Their philosophies are geared toward independent thinking, carving one's own path, fighting for what is fair and just, and championing for the underdogs (Aries 9H + Libra 3H).

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merbear25 · 9 months ago

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Needing someone to hold

On lonely nights, finding comfort in another's warm embrace can soothe a damaged soul. It was on this night that he saught relief in your arms.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, cuddling

Corazon

Stars were scattered across the sky, the waxing moon was the brightest amongst them: your path was lit by them through the forest. Shadows were casted by the tall trees, their branches extending far beyond the forest's floor. Crunches from your steps sounded as you progressed across the frost covered leaves. Winter had come early, and the first snow fall was just starting to dust the landscape.

The smoke from his cigarette blended with your hazed breath as you both trekked in search of shelter. Your legs ached, but you knew better than to complain, especially when Rosinante was harboring so much pain. After telling you about his hopes and fears relating to his brother, you knew you could never tell anyone—the family would be none the wiser. His secret would die with you if it ever came down to it.

A village became visable in the distance. Some of the houses appeared to be abandoned, leaving them at your dispossal. You took it upon yourself to gather what dry wood you could to build a fire. Once you returned, your eyes fell on a hunched over Rosinante, whose face was in his hands and rubbing at his undoubtedly weary eyes.

After finishing the fire, you debated whether to go to him or not. You weren't sure how to ease his mind and alleviate his stress, but you couldn't stand seeing him crumbling before you. When you took a seat by his side, he didn't react—just continued rubbing his face.

Unsure what to say, you thought a friendly touch might be enough; you placed your palm on his back, rubbing the center of it in small circles.

He lifted his head showing a tear stained face, "Sorry, for not helping earlier. Thank you for starting the fire."

"It wasn't anything," you tried not to show conern at seeing his distress. You moved your hand to his, giving it a reassuring squeez. "You should rest. I'll stay up and keep watch for a bit."

When you got up, your hand hadn't been let go of; he was looking up at you as if pleading for you not to go. "Could you stay with me? Just for a little while longer."

"Of course, I can."

Crawling into bed, he pulled you in close to his chest. Wrapping your arms around him came naturally—nuzzling in the crook of his neck was just as easy.

His arms tightened around you, and he balled the loose fabric on your torso in his hands—fearing you'd be snatched from him at any moment.

"I'm not going anywhere." You nestled closer to him, sharing his feeling that you weren't able to get close enough.

Stroking your hair and allowing himself to relax, serenity replaced the anguish that'd been tormenting him. Your breaths deepened while a sense of security blanketed itself over you, allowing you to doze off in each others' embrace.

#corazon #rosinante corazon #donquixote rosinante #rosinante x reader #corazon x reader #corazon x you #rosinante donquixote #rosinante x you #one piece #one piece imagine #x reader #x gn reader #one piece rosinante #rosinante one piece #donquixote corazon #one piece x reader #one piece x you

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preciouslandmermaid · 10 months ago

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🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary: It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

#spider man x reader #spider-man x reader #reader insert #insomniac spider man #insomniac peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #enemies to lovers #insomniac spider man x reader #insomniac peter parker x reader #no use of YN #marvel reader insert

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joelswritingmistress · 10 months ago

Text

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 30

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Dr. Miller sat beside me on an oversized rock by the lake. We laced up our skates and I glanced out at the frozen lake outstretched before us. Way out in the center I could see others moving about, though the daylight was rapidly fading.

I glanced over at him and a breath puffed into the air as I spoke. “You're sure we're okay?”

He nodded, motioning to other skaters and held out a gloved hand. I took it and let him take a one-step lead onto the ice. After a few seconds of getting my bearings, I began to glide more naturally.

Dr. Miller whipped ahead of me a few strides and then turned and began to skate backwards so we faced one another.

“And he can skate,” I gushed with a wide smile.

“I was a pond hockey hero as a teenager,” he joked, making me laugh.

“Let me guess, you're a Rangers fan.”

He shook his head. “Bruins, believe it or not. My father was from Boston.”

“Are you close with your dad?”

Dr. Miller slowed down a bit. “Yeah. He’s someone I’ve looked up to my whole life.”

I smiled and was about to say something but Dr. Miller twirled me in a circle and I was surprised how perfectly I spun around, only to come face to face with him again.

“Whoa.” I let out a laugh and he chuckled. “I don't know how I just did that.”

“Let the ice do the work.”

I stared out all around us for a moment. The giant frozen lake was surrounded on all sides by oversized pine trees still holding their green color, and just as many bare oak trees and maples and whatever else lingered in the thick forests. Houses were strategically plotted around the body of water, leaving plenty of room for privacy between each one.

Beyond the tops of the trees, the darker black and blue colors pushed down on the pinkish-orange glow of the setting sun. It left a shimmer along the length of the ice.

“Come on.” Dr. Miller reached for my hand and we skated around aimlessly. I glanced around at the other properties. Some had lights on and others were barren. I wondered if the people who lived here were seasonal or lived here year round. Maybe they spent the summers here and used the house as a rental for couples like us throughout the winter.

“This is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had,” I told him. Ice skating outdoors in such a beautiful place made me feel like a kid again. “This is so much fun.”

Dr. Miller smiled and I slowed us both down to give him a kiss.

“Thank you,” I said again.

“You're welcome.” He rested a gloved hand on my cheek.

I looked down toward my skates and then back up. “Everything was fine in my life before, but I've never been this happy. I really just.. I love this. All of it.” I blurted out what I was feeling in that perfectly magical moment. “I love you, Joel.”

His expression changed and he pulled me back into him, hugging me tightly. With his lips to my ear he said quietly, as if he was telling me a secret, “I love you, too.”

Dr. Miller pulled back to face me. I smiled, his face was more serious but he managed a half-smirk. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders by confessing that to him; and him saying it back made me want to melt into a puddle on the ice.

He pulled me back into a hug and lifted my hat to kiss my forehead. I closed my eyes and sighed again into his chest. I didn't want to let him go.

Dr. Miller looked down at me. He pecked my lips. “I'm glad you had the courage to say it first. Because I was afraid you might run away if I did.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Between asking you to move in with me, and then depositing the money into your account. I thought saying something like that might completely overwhelm you.” He brushed some hair away from my face.

“Well, I'm glad I could take the lead on this one thing then,” I said to him. “I'm on board with all of it.”

“I’m glad you didn't leave that night,” Dr. Miller confessed. “Because I don't think I could sleep without you.”

“I didn't even make it halfway down to the gate,” I told him with a laugh.

“I know.” He leaned in and kissed me again.. and again. “I love you.”

I breathed out a big, smokey breath. I needed to say it again. “I love you, too.”

Dr. Miller took my hand and we skated back toward our little cabin where the lights in the windows led us back. Our shoes waited for us on the bank where we’d left them by the oversized rock. A light snow began to fall as we walked inside.

I took a deep breath and the warmth of the indoors welcomed me. The contrast was heavenly.

Dr. Miller hung his jacket and scarf, and then made his way into the kitchen where we’d left the bags of food. He reached into one of them and retrieved a bottle of wine. Inside one of the cabinets he found two glasses.

I walked toward him, kicking off my shoes by the door first, and helped him locate a corkscrew.

“What do you say we take this outside?” He asked.

I glanced out the front windows where the snowfall was illuminated by the porch light. “Out there?”

Dr. Miller grinned. “I bet the hot tub temperature is about a hundred degrees.” He popped the cork out of the top of the wine bottle and poured us each a glass. “What do you say?”

I smirked and took one of the wine glasses from the counter, taking a sip. I placed it back down and let the lighter than air mood I was in guide me. I removed my jacket first and tossed it onto the back of a wooden rocking chair in the corner of the living room before peeling off the hooded sweatshirt I had on.

Dr. Miller snickered as I stood in my tank top and jeans before slowly lifting the sleeveless shirt up and over my head, tossing it away.

I never would have done this prior to being with him. Over the course of the relationship thus far I found myself becoming more and more comfortable in these types of situations.

I backed away toward the door, causing him to trail me there with the pair of wine glasses and ditched my pants on the way. My bra went next and I reached for Dr. Miller’s scarf on a hook by the door.

Donning just my skimpy underwear and the scarf, I turned, letting it fall over each of my breasts. He chuckled again and sucked his teeth as he approached where I stood by the door. Dr. Miller placed the glasses down on a small, wooden table.

“You're making a solid argument to stay inside,” he said, pulling me to him for a heated kiss.

“Mmm.. I was trying to make a case to go out.”

“I think you're underestimating my lack of willpower when it comes to you.” Dr. Miller shoved his hand down the front of my lacy, red panties and sighed in my ear as he pulled me against him.

My eyes closed when he nibbled on my neck and penetrated me with his middle two fingers. It was instant gratification; instant pleasure. I moaned quietly and gripped him hard.

“Mmm..” I took a breath, “Now you're making a good argument to stay inside.”

Dr. Miller removed his fingers but kept his hand against me beneath my underwear as he kissed me again. When he pulled back a few seconds later I reached for his hand, trying to pull him back to me.

He stepped back a few feet and just drank me in from head to toe. “That is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life.” Dr. Miller visibly gritted his teeth and sighed out loud. “You in my scarf and those see-through panties.” He huffed a lusty breath, “Fuck.”

I ran my hands down both sides of the blue and white scarf and then turned and reached for the doorknob.

“I thought we were staying inside,” Dr. Miller said.

“From what I could tell from being out on the lake, there are no other houses nearby.” I smirked, “And it's not every day you get to have crazy sex outdoors in a hot tub.. in the middle of the woods.. in a snowstorm.”

“On Valentine's Day,” he added.

I opened the door and shuddered from the cold, “Are you coming?”

Dr. Miller snickered again. “I'm most definitely coming.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

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milkywayhou · 7 months ago

Text

You've Got Email (König x OC: Medical Student!Snow) PART III

Summary: When the Colonel from some Private Military Corporation group accidentally send KorTac's secret file via email to a random civilian girl and now they develop some weird relationship.

Snow now overthinking about how fucked up her situation can be

TWs: Slow burn (not really), Implies stalking behavior. I just wrote this for fun.

Words Count: 1.9k (The email contain 1.3+ words while the rest was Snow's 4Chan post)

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/13/23 at 01:38 am

Subject: A late night conspiracy ramble…

Hey!

Once again it’s a late night and these weary med student brain cells are firing off all kinds of…interesting theories and connections, to say the least.

For example, okay hear me out, but what if Big Pharma is actually run by ancient shape-shifting lizard people from the center of the hollow earth who feed on human adrenal gland fluid harvested during rituals conducted at Bohemian Grove, and they started the pharmaceutical industry just to get us all addicted to medication so we’re docile little cash cows?!

I know, I know, it’s utterly ridiculous…buuuuut it would explain a few things haha! Anyways, somehow my winding thought process led me back to pondering your own doubtless intriguing backstory, oh mysterious Colonel.

You’ve given mysterious snippets here and there, but never a straight history lesson, you sly dog. Care to unravel some of those shadows for this thirsty student? Like how’d you get into this line of work anyway?

Maybe share something to take my mind off lizard people conspiracies before this insomnia kills me. You’ve got me curious now!

Conspiracizing but also bedridden,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/13/23 at 02:01 am

Subject: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

You’ve a vivid imagination, to be sure. As for my own history…it’s nothing so fanciful, I’m afraid.

I grew up isolated, with only books as company. Social skills proved…challenging. The bullying was constant. All I wanted was to disappear into the quiet of nature, far from the incessant noise inside my head.

By 17 I was desperate to escape, and the military offered just that. I dreamed of being a sniper – controlling chaos from afar through calm precision. But my frame and restlessness didn’t suit remaining still for long. They saw potential elsewhere. They assigned as an insertion specialist instead. It was difficult, but taught discipline. In time I learned to turn noise into focus, chaos into strategy.

Now I protect others as I wished to be protected then. It brings…solace, of a kind. Purpose, where once was only turmoil.

Get some rest, Snow. Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/13/23 at 02:14 am

Subject: RE: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

I see.

Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how difficult those experiences must have been, but I’m grateful you found your calling in spite of them. It takes real strength of character to turn trauma into purpose like that.

Also, I should say the bullying says far more about their weakness of spirit than anything about you. Their loss, as it brought you to where you’re meant to be – helping people in your own way. I can’t help but smile thinking of a tiny bookworm König dreaming of sniping lizards in the woods! Well, you may not be in the trees anymore but it seems your aim is truer than ever.

Thinking on childhoods, mine wasn’t all sunshine either as an awkward kid. Let’s just say blending in was…challenging, to put it lightly. Between moving a lot after my parents split and living with various relatives, school was an escape into study. Seemed the safest route to gain some footing and make the family proud, at least. Kept me busy avoiding the realities outside books for a while too, I suppose. Somehow I suspect lonely bookworm me and you may have gotten along splendidly if our paths crossed back then!

Anyways, not sure where I’m going with this aside from reflecting our younger selves may have found solace in one another, strange as that sounds now in these roles. At least we’ve come into our own in the end, in our own ways. Small favors and all that.

Just a light note before sleep – rest well, König!

Your friend,

Snow

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 08:27 pm

Subject: Essay Woes and Cadaver Flashbacks

Ugh,

My apologies for this incoherent word vomit you’re about to endure. I’m approximately 5-7 days into an all-nighter essay crunch and my last two brain cells are DANCING.

This final assignment is killing me dead but at least after it’s over I can finally be done with med school! *insert jubilant celebration emoji* Of course that’s if I don’t starve to death first living off instant ramen. I’m positively wasting away without a decent meal. At this rate they’ll be teaching anatomy lectures using my lifeless body.

Whoever invents a magic food delivery service that beams freshly cooked meals directly to overworked students is getting a freaking Nobel Prize. A girl can dream, right? At this point I’d kill a man for a good pizza. *hideshypotheticalmurderweaponbehindback*

Anyways, in my spiral of delirium my thoughts keep wandering back to that fateful day months ago when I randomly received your classified KorTac email out of nowhere. Still bewildered how you even had my address to begin with…were you watching me, Colonel? *pretends to be frightened but is secretlyflattered*

Getting that file was kinda scary at first, not gonna lie. Reminded me of the first time we received our cadavers – that creepy feeling of being watched even after leaving the lab. Is that what it’s like being you, always paranoid someone has intel on you? :)

Anyways, enough gibbering – just wanted to share my pain and also wonder again how our wacky email friendship began! Stay safe out there in whatever shady places your work takes you. And send help – I mean, good luck with all the classified stuff!

Tired and Hangry,

Snow

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 08:40 pm

Subject: WHAT DID YOU DO

KÖNIG I SWEAR TO GOD

I LITERALLY JUST GOT A DELIVERY AT MY DOOR. IT WAS PIZZA AND IT WAS ALREADY PAID FOR

DUDE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T HACK INTO MY LOCATION OR SOME SHIT. HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE??

I’M FREAKING OUT A LITTLE NOT GONNA LIE. I KNOW YOU HAVE ACCESS TO SHADY TECH BUT PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T TRACK ME DOWN

I was joking in my last email! Sort of! Please say this was all just a coincidence. I don’t need some extra secret stalker on top of everything else ;____;

Explain yourself soldier man!!! My paranoia can only be quelled with answers.

Sending mildly panicked regards,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/28/23 at 09:12 pm

Subject: RE: WHAT DID YOU DO

Snow,

I assure you, any capabilities related to surveillance are reserved strictly for operations.

As for your delivery, consider it a small kindness from one overworked soul to another. Now eat, regain strength, and get back to that essay. You’ve proven quite resourceful in pulling secrets from shadows. But some mysteries deserve to remain.

Worry not and carry on with your studies.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 09:25 pm

Subject: Spill. Everything. Now.

I appreciate the pizza bailout, don’t get me wrong. But my paranoia has now reached DEFCON 1 levels and it WILL NOT stand down until I get some answers. So spill. Just how much do you actually know about me? Do you have my address on file somewhere? Photos? Socials? Pet peeves? Middle name??

I understand need-to-know for operations, but this is need-to-know for my own peace of mind. Please assuage these frazzled med student nerves and assure me you’re not some mysterious stalker Colonel (unless that’s just part of your charm). I’ll even send new Luna's pics in return! Consider it a debriefing – you give, you get. Otherwise the wheels will keep spinning in my head…

Sincerely (and only mildly obsessively),

Snow

----------

>>Anonymous

05/29/23(Mon)22:37:10 No:132926391

Colonel Stalker Dude is freaking me out

Image: [Confused pepe scratching head.jpg 230kb, 400x400]

>Be me, a totally tired out and broke student

>Remember getting those shady files months ago

>Thought Colonel dude was cool and weird pen pal

>Even started to like him after long talks

>But NOW he knows my address???

>WTF how long has he been watching me

>On one hand it’s creepy AF but kinda flattering a high rank dude cares

>Other hand I don't want a secret stalker or to get disappeared

>Free food is nice but feeling stalked is not cash money

>Used to have bit of crush but now I'm skeeved TBH

>What do? Can't go to cops cuz questions. No close friends/fam

>Too broke to move or change info

>Maybe he’s just lonely but also maybe he climbs in my window ;____;

>What if he takes my organs in the night like some human harvester?!

>Only protection is my cat Luna and she's useless in a fight ;_;

>Try to be positive and asking him how much he know

>Currently waiting for his replied while I was writing this post

>Anons pls help, should I keep talking to possible stalker man?

Don’t want my organs harvested but also don’t wanna waste a free food connection

Very conflicted and slightly paranoid this girl is in DIRE need of advice

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)22:45:19 No:132926405: >>132926391(OP)#

Sounds like a thriller romance novel lol! He probs just cares in his own intense way. Keep talking but be safe, maybe feel him out more? Could be nnothing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:16:08 No:132926439: >>132926405#

IKR it does sound like a book! But what if it’s a prequel to a snuff film?! I’ll try to subtly find out wtf he knows without pissing him off…

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:37:12 No:132926502: >>132926391(OP)#

LOL girl chill no one climbin in ur windows. He prolly just admires ur spirit. Keep lines of comms open, set boundaries if needed but relax!

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:45:01 No:13292623: >>132926502#

You’re right, I do overthink! I’ll calm my farm. Thank u stranger, maybe he’s just a bored soldier man and not a psycho (´。＿。｀)

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:25:31 No:13292684: >>132926391(OP)#

Change ur info anyway, maybe he won’t go to ur new stuff. And get some locks/alarms jfc. Play it safe.

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:42:44 No:13292692: >>13292684#

Can’t change anything, I used my student email! And too broke for moves or upgrades, these loans gotta last :’( but self defense is a must, thanks!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:28:19 No:132922735: >>132926391(OP)#

Send Luna pics. Also tell col u feel weird, set ground rules like no stalking. Maybe he just wants friendship. Be safe!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:46:31 No:132922757: >>132922735#

[sleepy_Luna.jpg 1,3mb 1000x1000] You’re so right, communication is key. I’ll lay it all out clearly and see how it goes. Thx fren <3

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:59:36 No:132922805: >>132926391(OP)#

Maybe he liiiiikes you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) whatever happens keep us posted! We’re invested now lol

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:08:55 No:132922822: >>132922805#

omggg don't say that!! Now I'll be paranoid AND flustered X_X But I definitely will update y'all, this is quite the melodrama unfolding

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:15:36 No:132922811: >>132926391(OP)#

Girlll tell that stalker if he wants a piece he gonna have to pay your tuition first! Then maybe you’ll reconsider the organ harvesting. Gotta respect your worth sis 💅

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:23:12 No:132922834: >>132922811#

Omg you genius!!! If he’s really interested he can sponsor my broke ass med student life lol. Alleviate my debt and he gets unlimited Luna pics, win-win!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:01:46 No:132922839: >>132926391(OP)#

Lmao girl you been reading too many thrillers! Military guys have ways of finding people, changing email won’t do shit. Just ask him wtf is up like a normal person

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:39:44 No:132922926: >>132922839#

Ugh you make a good point, confronting is smarter than hiding. But what if he locks me in a dungeon for being nosy?! I have no one to turn to if I disappear ;-;

------

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/30/24 at 03:45am

Subject: RE: Spill. Everything. Now.

Snow,

Let’s just say I know more than you think. But rest assured, your privacy and safety remain my priority here.

As for debriefs, some questions are best left unanswered, even between…friends. Maintaining mystique has its place too, no?

Focus on your studies. I’ll focus on ensuring no more interruptions are needed.

Now get some rest. You’ve an early lab tomorrow if I’m not mistaken.

Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/30/23 at 03:47am

Subject: DUDE.

HOW.

----

This one was short because I've been busy with other stuff hahah. It sure took some twisted turn hmmM? or maybe poor Snow just over reacted ;)

Also love, comment and reblogged are really appreciate! 💖

#könig cod #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x oc #könig #cod oc #cod x oc #konig call of duty #cod fic #cod mw2

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jo-harrington · 3 months ago

Text

Charitas. (An As Above, So Below Story)

Gratia. Charitas. Solamen. Grace. Charity. Peace. The oath of the Knights of the Holy Order.

Summary: You and Eddie--separated by time and endless suffering--don't realize how many strings keep you connected on the web of fate. What players are there trying to cut those strings? And when will you both find out that they are unbreakable?

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!OC (The Knight - Written in 2nd Person POV - You/Your - No Use of Names of Physical Descriptors)

Warnings/Themes: Soulmates, Kas!Eddie, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Minor Character Deaths, Manipulation, Transformation, Corruption, Supernatural Encounters, Religious Elements, Discussion/Criticism of Religion, Biblical and Other Literary and Pop Culture References

Note: Sorry this one has taken forever. The next part is already written, just gotta clean it up. Shouting out @powderblueblood and @rosewaterandivy for being my fellow media vacuums and not only enabling me to do this/what's next but also Powder specifically for her love of the Archie-verse because CAoS is one of my favorites and why would I not let the Knight get a chance to face Faustus Blackwood one on one while also maybe alluding to The VVitch and criticizing religion even more?

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

“But the rage passes and leaves no trace behind.” ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus

November 12, 1986

You'd developed a dislike for small towns.

Hawkins might still be home in some ways, but it was more because of the people who had lived there--the memories--than the town itself. But it, too, fell into the category of small towns that you'd grown to hate:

Small, unassuming places that held some kind of dark, terrible, dangerous secret. Atrocities in the making.

You'd walked into Hawkins fully oblivious to the monsters that lurked there, though.

Here and now, with Greendale, you were almost too aware.

Jinette had entirely too much to say about it and that unsettled you.

Strange energies and missing children and sudden turns of fortune for seemingly innocent townspeople. Rituals performed in the woods and a possible portal straight to hell.

"I'll knock on the door," you joked as you read through a report he'd provided about the Greendale Mines. "Maybe I'll get some kind of time off for good behavior if I hand Satan my soul in person, instead of waiting to die for him to take it."

Jinette ignored you; jokes were lost on the clergy.

Instead of a lecture though, he simply gave you a warning: to be on the lookout for witches.

"Thought the Order vowed not to discriminate against religions," you'd scoffed at him. He ignored you again and just sent you on your way.

The Order against discrimination? Sure. The Catholic Church? Definitely not. And Jinette? The most judgmental bastard of all.

Still, his warning was front and center as you felt an unnatural, chilling frequency of magic in the air upon your arrival in Greendale.

"Let's get this over with," you slammed the door shut and shouldered your backpack so you could start investigating.

Greendale was nice enough--it had that hazy, natural beauty of the late fall that was synonymous with upstate New York--and if you weren't in such a sour mood, you probably would've enjoyed it. This stage of your work was always somewhat fun. Talking to people and learning local histories, seeing different buildings as you walked around, eating a little lunch at some hole-in-the-wall off-the-beaten-path type of place.

But you were surrounded by ghosts. Both literal and figurative.

Someone died on that street corner, heart stopped cold as though someone had stuck a pin in it.

There was a bakery that had apricot kołaczkis; not Italian but still one of Nonna's favorites.

The dentists office used to belong to a serial killer who'd never been caught; the spirits of his victims rapped on the little window at street-level, begging to be let out even decades later.

Cerberus Books was a beacon for classic horror with neon lights and mannequins dressed as monsters in the windows...and Eddie would have loved it.

You fought the urge to flinch as you felt the phantom feeling of his hand in yours, his voice in your ear urging you to go inside and look around.

You closed your eyes and took several calming breaths to clear your mind. Little by little those ghosts were banished and you'd regained your cool, your focus.

If the Order wanted you to be a weapon, you would be one. You'd break whatever darkness lurked in Greendale and then onto the next job, and the next one, and the next one. Until you could go home. Your real home.

Then you wouldn't need to rely on ghosts anymore.

Or fear them.

Your world was knocked off its axis as someone exited Cerberus Books and crashed into you. Even moreso as a surge of unearthly, dark power clashed with your heavenly one, and you fought the urge to tap into that power to repel the intruding force away from you.

The man that crashed into you grabbed your shoulders to steady you before you fell, and you breathed in the smoke-and-brimstone tinged air that surrounded him. It was suffocating and further tapped into that instinct towards defensiveness.

But as you regained your bearing, all you could see was how unassuming he looked.

Truly, his visage belied that imposing aura--a kind older man in a suit and fedora, with neatly-trimmed facial hair, and a gentle smile--but you could sense that he was a witch, just as he sensed you were...

What were you?

He held you there for a moment and you watched as his brow quirked. He read you, just as you read him. A mutual discovery. Tenuous, so as not to alarm one another, but curious.

Although naturally adverse, you could sense no danger to each other.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized softly. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"N-No, no," you insisted. "I was caught up in my head, it's my fault."

"You're...new to Greendale." he stated.

"Just driving through," you answered, an excuse that was well-used in the past few years. This time you had a feeling you meant it. "Maybe sticking around for a few days."

"The diner has a great cherry pie."

"Cherry's my boyfriend's favorite."

"Is he traveling with you?"

Yes.

It was on the tip of your tongue. Because yes, actually he was just here with you. The memory of him, the ghost of him. You wished he was, and maybe that was enough to make him real.

Maybe that was enough so this witch felt him.

"No," you said instead. "It's just me."

His gaze softened as you continued to study each other. You held out your hand to him.

"Anyway, I should get going," you told him and you held out your hand to shake. "Thank you for the recommendation, and sorry again Mr..."

"Spellman," he replied, hands letting go of your shoulders so he could shake yours, but his words were like a shot to your heart. "Edward Spellman."

November 6, 1983

Henry was an observer, a thinker, a visionary.

He took care of them, offered mercy when he wasn't required to. He simply demanded obedience in return for all that he provided for his children in the Upside Down.

But for some reason beyond understanding, chaos had broken out.

And he was livid.

Eddie stood tall and received the images that his master filtered through his mind; strange growths, riotous creatures, and the partial reformation of the beast that Henry himself gave life to: the Mindflayer.

All with a will of their own.

"You must fix this," Henry demanded of his right hand, his general. "You must restore order."

The efforts of the physical communication winded him, as he was still fragile and healing from the attack by Eleven's friends, so he continued to relay unspoken demands through the collective consciousness. He strained to spread his authority as far through the dimension as he could.

Destroy the malcontents or you shall be destroyed.

A warning not just for Eddie, but for any of the creatures that resided under his rule to reconsider their rebellion before they met their demise.

Then came a jarring mental image of a wasteland of bodies, torn apart but still writhing and alive. The pain that would come in the wake of any betrayal would be immense, and he would keep all of them alive for as long as he saw fit to extend their suffering.

No Gods or devils could enact the devastation he could, if only they tested him.

"Does that mean you too?" you sowed doubt inside of him. "The destruction? What would happen if you didn't listen?"

Eddie stiffened as he felt the tug of your presence at the corner of his mind, hidden in that deep, dark pit. A spark amidst the void. He growled, both in acceptance of Henry's orders and to silence you.

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" He fought the urge to twitch under Henry's all-knowing gaze as you continued. "The Emperor. And Vader. Do you remember Return of the Jedi?"

His mind was a flurry of images again, these vague and distant though, twining with the ones that Henry had just relayed to him: spaceships and planets and furry little creatures, and Vader towering over Luke--

"Do you question me?" Henry snapped at him, gnarled body shaking with the effort. Eddie's eyes focused on his master once more. "Beast?"

He ducked his head and growled again. Grumbled. Repentant in his errors.

"Question him," you hissed, emboldened to no longer stay buried and hidden in the pit but slithering along his skin. Unseen, but acutely felt. "Do it. What's happening? Why are they rebelling? Ask him."

He let the growl turn into a roar, a battle cry and a warning to keep you silent. He then took to the air, determined to succeed in snuffing out this insurgent blight that had taken root in the Upside Down.

His master needed him, relied on him.

He wouldn't fail.

No matter how much you tempted him to.

November 14, 1986

To find witches, one often had to think like a witch.

Though the term witch when it came to those who practiced magic was just as broad as the term Abrahamic when it came to some of the so-called “major” religions of the world. One of your fellow Knights considered themselves a witch, more of a polytheist with an affinity for Hecate, but they derived their abilities from nature.

Technically you did too, your powers rooted as deep within the earth as they were tied to the Heavens.

Maybe it was all the same? Or maybe it was all bullshit.

The type of witch that you were looking for though, the type that Edward Spellman was, was something else. Dark rituals, blood curses, deals with demons, names signed in books, machinations with The Devil himself.

“Arthur Miller was popping a boner somewhere right now,” you muttered.

You supposed it felt a little unsettling, but less in a way that made you fearful, and more in the way that oil floated on water. Similar, both liquids, just...not meant to mix.

Which is why you kept yourself calm and open minded.

"I'm not here to kill them," you reminded yourself. "Find out why innocents are disappearing...stop them, maybe...but they'll carry on unharmed."

Truly, you could have just followed Edward Spellman as he went about his business in town, but you figured that that would have probably been as suspicious and rude as you could get.

That's why you enacted your own sort of a tracking spell.

Witches didn't always move in the world like mortals did; they transmuted, teleported, moved along the shadows cast by clouds and trees and blades of grass.

But if you reached out…asked the clouds and trees and grass to show you what they’d seen? Well, then it would be impossible for them to stay hidden.

So you walked.

Left your car at the motel and set foot into the lush forests surrounding Greendale, letting instinct guide you.

The further away from town you got, the more unruly your surroundings became, until you ended up following an old, overgrown set of railroad tracks deeper into the wilderness. Bats or birds--you couldn't quite tell--flew overhead; omens of some sort urging you to give up and go back to safety.

"How bad could it be?" you asked aloud, only to skid to a halt as something larger and shadowy crossed your path ahead.

Once again, you couldn't make out what it was, but the energy it left behind felt dangerous and smokey, an ephemeral stain of dark magic.

You took a calming breath and clenched your fists, ready for whatever you might find, and soldiered on.

Eventually, the treeline thinned, and power lines sprung up along the track, and then a structure. Large, looming, and made of stone and glass; it was overgrown with dead ivy and surrounded by tall, dry grasses.

Gehenna Station.

You scoffed at the name, at the implication, but the longer you observed the structure, the more you felt the underlying darkness that churned within. In fact, the longer you stared, the less sure you seemed to feel of the building's existence itself. Your eyes started to lose focus of the structure; your perception wavered, almost like it didn't want you to know that it was there.

Maybe it wasn't even there at all?

"Good afternoon Miss."

You whirled on your heel, ready to defend yourself, only to find a young boy standing there. His eyes were large, cheeks round and soft, and there was a small smile on his lips; kindness and innocence emanated from him, but also a deep sadness.

It didn't take long for you to realize that he was dead.

"You don't belong here," he stated matter-of-factly. "You should go."

"I'm here to help," you told him instead. There was no duplicity when it came to ghosts; they could see through you, no pun intended. "Kids are dying. Kids like you. Can you tell me what happened? I can try to stop it and find you some peace."

His brow furrowed, and he pouted.

Then he held his hand out to you, palm upwards for you to lay your own hand in his small grasp. You hesitated for a moment, but gave in.

He was solid and your hand didn't sink through his form like you expected. But as your palms touched, you saw.

A dank cell illuminated by the moonlight with sights that would drive one insane.

A desolate forest full of dead trees and a clawed beast that slunk unseen.

And a looming tree laden with thirteen rotten apples and a swinging noose.

The Harrowing. And it truly was as it's name described, as you watched one child after another succumb to the trials.

You blinked and the images were gone, but the sound of screaming still rang in your ears.

"It's always been this way, Miss," the boy said sadly as he pulled his hand away again. "You can't help us. No one can."

Something burned in your chest at his words, the finality of it, the acceptance of this fate. How many times had you heard that from your father or Jinette or the other Knights? This is the way it always would be. Cycles. Downward spirals.

You'd already decided that that would end with you.

This would too.

"The hell I can't."

You let go of the boy's hand, turned back towards Gehenna Station, and started walking.

Every step felt heavier and heavier, but you proceeded onwards until the doors of the building opened of their own volition and then slammed shut behind you once you were inside.

November 6, 1983

Eddie soared over the vast landscape of the Upside Down alone.

He had gotten used to flying with legions of bats at his sides, wings beating in tandem. It was a euphoric experience to be with them. Be one with them. To dip and roll, swarm, and even play.

He tried calling out to them through the bond—

Help me, the master demands your cooperation, your obedience.

—but there was no response. Not even a reluctant one.

It was irritating. He was leader after Henry, for all intents and purposes. Even their friend in some cases, their own flesh and blood.

Why wouldn't they come at his call?

He could feel them. Some waiting in the trees, cowering. Some were tempted to fly with him, soar with him, safe with him in the lead.

But there was something in the air that stopped them from answering the call.

A strange sense of foreboding, a shift in the presence of the dimension itself. A change in frequency, in the fragile balance of control that Henry had over everything.

Even the particles floating around him didn’t seem right.

“Are you sure he’s in control?” you whispered deep within him. “Are you sure Vecna is telling you the truth?”

Of course, you were still there clinging to the edges of the pit inside of him, snatching at his thoughts like the parasite you were.

He curled his lip and growled at you again, willing you to be silent. But you simply refused. Whispering worries and warnings.

It was curious how your tone had changed. You seemed weaker here. Unsure. In contrast to how you’d been earlier in his master’s presence. There was a tenuous quality to you now.

He had considered, more than once, that you were some machination of Henry’s. To weed out the disloyalty in him. A little remnant of his humanity to taunt him and tempt him. A test.

But even with unhindered access to Eddie’s mind, there were simply things Henry couldn’t be bothered with. Memory, emotion, humanity. Those were all things he sought to destroy when he created the perfect weapon.

All of the things that you tried to bring out of him.

“Be careful,” were the final words slithering from you before you went silent once again.

He scoffed despite the pang in the hollow space where his heart should be.

Careful.

That was another indicator that you couldn’t possibly be of Henry’s design.

Careful wasn’t in his nature anymore.

Had it ever been, though? Even when he was alive, even when he was truly Eddie Munson, had he ever been cautious or careful? If he had been, he wouldn’t have brought Chrissy Cunningham to his trailer that fateful night.

Then he wouldn’t have shed that fragile body and become something greater.

This was fate.

He could feel you scoff at the thought now, and he grinned ferally, hoping his great and dark destiny would keep you quiet.

His wings beat harder, propelled him faster, motivated by the thought of some peace and quiet from you. At the prospect of being his master’s great weapon and champion.

He preened so hard, he didn’t realize how human the action actually was.

Until he crossed some seemingly invisible threshold, some metaphorical membrane made up of static electricity, that made everything go quiet.

The constant buzz of the hive mind was suddenly gone, thousands of consciousnesses silent, and his body seized momentarily as he reacted to the tangible loss.

Everything felt harder to do--breathing, thinking, feeling--and he went into freefall.

Down he went. Falling and flailing, air whipping about him. If he thought flying had been a freeing feeling, falling was another kind of freedom; something deep down and dark inside of him welcomed it, the prospect of a hard and fast demise.

But as his eyes drooped closed, the phantom feeling of your hands grasped at him, encircled his torso and willed him to take flight once more. Your phantasmic voice sounded underwater to his uncooperative ears, to his non-existent soul, as you screamed for him.

“Eddie!” His name brought him back into focus as hands grasped his face. Your invisible touch was electric and abruptly brought the world back into focus. “Eddie, wake up!”

He gasped a breath as your spark kickstarted his reflexes, but it was simply too late. He crashed heavily into the ground, barreling through the earth, until he came to a halt.

His body, unbreakable, seemingly bent with the impact. His ears rang, he couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

There was a distinct absence of being.

An absence of everything.

But he swore, before he lost himself, he saw the impossible.

He saw your face.

November 14, 1986

The inside of Gehenna Station was exactly what you expected.

That is to say, it was nothing that you expected; you had expected the unexpected.

If you reached out with your consciousness, you felt...a vast infinity. Halls that led everywhere, rooms of an unimaginable quantity. No wonder the outside of the building felt as if it wasn't there, because it really wasn't. This pocket reality was folded inside of it.

And what this pocket reality was, was a school.

A suspiciously empty school.

There were empty classrooms and hallways, an auditorium with a slide projector showing a list of incantations on a screen at the front, a cafeteria with trays of abandoned lunches.

You explored and searched--looking for someone, anyone--until you found yourself back in the main atrium, before a statue of a man with a goat's head and lower body, winged, with two fingers pointed up and two pointing down, surrounded by statues of children.

Baphomet.

"Interesting," you muttered as you encircled it.

You'd think a place like this, a place of satanic witches, would have some kind of idolatry towards Satan himself. Traditional depictions of devils and demons, maybe even some kind of artistic imagery of the archangel Lucifer?

Not this.

Your thoughts raced.

Hadn't you just contemplated your fellow Knights and their differences of beliefs outside? Yes. And that was where the mystery of this school and these witches remained. Everything had meaning; imagery like this had meaning, words had meaning.

Gehenna had ties to Hell and eternal suffering, places of divine punishment, and yet this was a school. A place for children to learn and grow. And Baphomet? People often mistook it for something sinister but Baphomet symbolized balance, the equilibrium of opposites; as above, so below and all that. Equal light and darkness inside everyone and everything. Peace at finding a balance with it. Equality in all and for all.

How could a statue that depicted children, trusting and reverent, stand for an institution that killed kids?

You supposed that the contradictions found here were akin to those in your own beliefs; how the church was supposed to be merciful, but you only found wickedness--like Jinette...like yourself--tied to it. That's how you were in this mess in the first place; someone using God as a justification to kill and steal.

"Guess all religions are shit," you snorted.

That's why you needed to find out what was actually happening here and stop it.

Unfortunately, in your rumination, you'd let your guard down.

You felt it before you saw it, the slide of your sneaker on the uneven floor. When you looked down to investigate, the tiles--made to look like a thousand eyes--began to fall away right under you.

The last thing you did before the floor beneath you disappeared and you fell into some dark oblivion wasn't an attempt to save yourself or find something to hang onto.

Instead you snorted and thought:

Guess the whole thing about being delivered right to Satan wasn't such a joke after all.

"I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil." — Marilyn Monroe

#aasb #as above so below #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #Eddie Munson x oc #Eddie Munson fic #stranger things fic

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tatumrileyslover · 4 months ago

Text

Beneath Still Waters

A Stain On Summer [1]

Summer at Mason's Creek Summer Camp: where ghost stories come to life and campers vanish without a trace. As bloody clues surface and dark secrets emerge, a counselor finds herself at the center of a terrifying mystery. In these woods, trust is a luxury she can't afford - because the next victim could be her.

🏕 jungkook x reader x jimin

🏕 word count: 6.0k

🏕 warnings: not a lot of major warning for these first few chapters. Some blood mentioned. A little bit of jealousy. the horror element aren’t present in these first few chapters but be aware if it’s not a genre you like reading that the story contains murder and gore in later chapters <3

🏕 notes: I came up with this idea while replaying the quarry, which really inspired me to write this because I don’t think I’ve seen anyone write anything like this yet so please enjoy <3 also please comment to lmk if you guys actually liked this or not :P

previous / masterlist / next

The bright rays of sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of pine trees, casting long shadows across the well-worn path to the amphitheater. (Y/n) who struggled to wrangle a stray group children, her arms full of scripts and prop lists, paused for a moment to breathe in the crisp morning air. Four weeks into her stint as a counselor at Mason's Creek Summer Camp, and she still found herself in awe of the natural beauty surrounding her. Sure, it was still almost impossible to hear the birds chirping over the constant chattering of the children, but being out in nature had a calming effect like no other.

The amphitheater, a rustic wooden structure nestled in a small clearing, not too far from the camp itself, came into view as (Y/n) rounded the final bend. Weather-beaten benches arranged in a semicircle faced a makeshift stage, where a group of eager campers were already gathering. Their excited chatter filled the air, a stark contrast to the serene forest backdrop.

(Y/n) smiled, adjusting her load as she approached. "Alright, thespians," she called out, her voice carrying across the clearing. "Who's ready to bring some Shakespeare to life?"

A chorus of enthusiastic responses greeted her, and (Y/n) felt a familiar thrill of excitement. This was why she loved being the Arts and Performance counselor. The energy, the creativity, the sheer joy of watching these kids discover their talents – it never got old.

Some of the bright faces talked happily among themselves, prepping for the morning activities, while others scoffed down the remaining remnants of breakfast - which (Y/n) had missed out on. She had been holed up in the Camp Director's Office since the sun began to rise, stuck to the ancient printer that wheezed and groaned with each page it reluctantly produced. Getting all the scripts in order had taken longer than she'd anticipated, but she was determined to have everything ready for the day's drama workshop.

As she began distributing scripts, her eyes scanning the excited faces of her campers, (Y/n) caught sight of a familiar figure jogging towards them. Jimin, his silver hair catching the morning light, waved as he approached. A small group of young girls near the edge of the group erupted into giggles, nudging each other and stealing glances at him.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, slightly out of breath. "Hoseok needed help with a last-minute change to the afternoon activities."

(Y/n) felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Jimin, I almost thought you weren't going to come. I was starting to think I'd have to manage this bunch alone."

He grinned, slapping her shoulder playfully. "And leave you to fend for yourself? Not a chance. Is that what you think of me?"

"Can you help some of those girls with their lines? They're still struggling with Act Two." She slapped a script to his chest with a smile.

As Jimin moved to assist a group of eager campers, who giggled as he approached, (Y/n) couldn't help but smile. There was an ease to their partnership, a natural rhythm they'd fallen into over the weeks. She couldn't have been more relieved that they had promised to help each other out before camp had started, not wanting to think of how she would deal with the hyperactive children by herself. She watched as he patiently guided the kids through their lines, his enthusiasm infectious.

After setting the older campers to work on their scenes, (Y/n) made her way back to where Jimin was sitting. She plopped down next to him, their shoulders brushing.

"How's it going over here?" she asked, nodding towards the group of kids now animatedly acting out their parts.

Jimin chuckled. "I think we might have a few future Broadway stars on our hands. Did you see the dramatics earlier?"

(Y/n) laughed, the tension from her hectic morning melting away. "Oh, it was Oscar-worthy for sure."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the campers' enthusiastic, if slightly chaotic, performances. Without thinking, (Y/n) leaned her head on Jimin's shoulder, a gesture born from years of familiarity.

"Thanks again for coming to help," she said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you here."

Jimin's reply was warm. "Always, (Y/n)."

As they watched the impromptu performances unfold, trading quiet jokes and observations, (Y/n) felt grateful for this moment of peace amidst the usual camp chaos. She caught sight of Jimin's little fan club stealing glances their way and suppressed a smirk. However, their quiet companionship was soon interrupted as one of the younger campers approached, tugging on (Y/n)'s sleeve needing assistance with some props.

The sound of laughter drew (Y/n)'s attention back to the stage, where two campers were attempting an overly dramatic interpretation of a scene from "Romeo and Juliet." She stifled a chuckle, moving closer to offer guidance.

As the rehearsal progressed, the forest around them grew darker, the shadows deepening between the trees. (Y/n) found herself glancing at the tree line more frequently, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach. Maybe it was the ghost stories Taehyung had been telling at the campfire the night before, or maybe it was something else entirely, but she couldn't shake the sensation of being watched.

The forest seemed to press in closer, the spaces between the trees now pitch black. She shook her head, trying to dispel the creeping sense of unease. It was just her imagination, she told herself. Just the power of suggestion after too many campfire tales.

But as the rehearsal continued, (Y/n) couldn't quite convince herself that everything was as it should be. Something had changed at Camp Mason's Creek, a subtle shift in the atmosphere that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The Arts and Crafts cabin stood as a haven of creativity amidst the bustling camp grounds. As (Y/n) pushed open the heavy wooden door, she was greeted by the familiar earthy scent of wet clay that permeated the air. The midday sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the front of the room, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floorboards and illuminating specks of dust dancing in the air.

(Y/n) paused for a moment, taking in the scene before her. The large, open space was filled with tables of various sizes, each covered with plastic sheets to protect them from the inevitable mess. Shelves lined the walls, laden with an assortment of finished and half-finished projects – a testament to the campers' creativity over the weeks.

"Alright, everyone," (Y/n) called out, clapping her hands to get the attention of the excited campers filing in behind her. "Find a spot and we'll get started on our pottery project."

The room quickly filled with the sound of chatter and scraping chairs as the children settled into their places. (Y/n) moved between the tables, distributing lumps of clay and making sure everyone had the tools they needed.

"Remember," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the excited murmurs, "we're focusing on hand-building today. For those of you who want to try the wheel, we'll have time for that later in the week."

As the campers began to work, (Y/n) circulated the room, offering guidance and encouragement. She paused at one table where a young girl named Mia was frowning at her lump of clay.

"Everything okay, Mia?" (Y/n) asked, crouching down beside her.

Mia looked up, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I can't get it to look right," she said, gesturing at her misshapen attempt at a bowl.

(Y/n) smiled reassuringly. "That's okay. Remember, pottery isn't about perfection. It's about expressing yourself." She reached over, gently guiding Mia's hands. "Try pressing here, and smoothing it out like this."

As Mia's face lit up with renewed determination, (Y/n) felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Max, one of the older campers, holding up a blob of clay that vaguely resembled a face.

"Miss (Y/n), is this good enough for a self-portrait?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

(Y/n) bit back a laugh. "Well, Max, I think you've captured your essence perfectly. Maybe try adding some more hair, it looks like you're balding."

The room was soon filled with the sounds of laughter, concentration, and the occasional frustrated sigh. The whir of some of the pottery wheels added a rhythmic backdrop to the creative chaos. (Y/n) found herself lost in the joy of it all, moving from table to table, offering a word of advice here, a helping hand there.

She was in the middle of demonstrating how to attach a handle to a mug when a knock at the door caught her attention. Looking up, she saw Jungkook leaning against the doorframe, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Archery finished early," he said, stepping into the room. "Thought I'd come see if you needed any help."

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. "Help, or make a mess?"

Jungkook clutched his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent potter. A modern day Michelangelo with clay."

The younger campers perked up at his arrival, excited whispers rippling through the room. (Y/n) couldn't help but notice the way some of the older girls suddenly became very interested in their work, stealing glances at Jungkook when they thought no one was looking.

"Alright, Michelangelo," (Y/n) challenged, gesturing to an empty wheel. "Show us what you've got."

Jungkook rolled up his sleeves, confidence radiating from every pore as he sat down at the wheel. "Watch and learn, kids. This is how you make a vase."

What followed was possibly the most disastrous attempt at pottery (Y/n) had ever witnessed. Clay flew in all directions as Jungkook struggled to control the wheel, his "vase" looking more like a formless lump with each passing second.

"Oops," he said, grinning sheepishly as a glob of clay landed on his cheek. "I meant to do that. It's abstract art."

The campers giggled, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle. (Y/n) shook her head, unable to keep the amusement off her face as she moved behind him.

"Here, let me help," she said, reaching around to guide his hands. "You need to center the clay first."

The moment her hands touched his, (Y/n) felt a jolt of electricity run through her. She was suddenly very aware of how close they were, of the warmth of his back against her chest. Jungkook turned his head slightly, their faces inches apart, and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away.

"Like this?" he asked softly, his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

(Y/n) swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the clay. "Y-yeah, just... gentle pressure. Let the clay guide your hands."

As they worked together, (Y/n) became aware of the hushed whispers and giggles from the campers around them. She caught snippets of their conversations - "They're so cute!" "Do you think they like each other?" - but she was too distracted by Jungkook's presence to pay much attention.

Finally, they managed to shape something vaguely resembling a vase. (Y/n) stepped back, her cheeks flushed. "See? Not so hard."

Jungkook grinned up at her. "I had a great teacher. Maybe next time you can show me how to make a bowl?"

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile. "Maybe next time you should stick to archery."

As Jungkook stood up from the pottery wheel, (Y/n) noticed the smear of clay still on his cheek. Without thinking, she reached out, her hand cupping his face gently.

"Hold still," she said softly, using her thumb to wipe away the clay. "You've got a little..."

Their eyes met, and (Y/n) suddenly realized how intimate the gesture was. Jungkook's skin was warm under her touch, his gaze intense. For a moment, they both seemed to forget where they were.

"There," (Y/n) said, her voice barely above a whisper as she lowered her hand. "All clean."

Jungkook's lips curved into a slow smile. "Thanks," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.

The spell was broken by a giggle from nearby, reminding them both that they were surrounded by campers. (Y/n) stepped back, her cheeks flushing as she turned to address the class, acutely aware of Jungkook's gaze still on her.

The rest of the session passed in a blur, with Jungkook moving around the room, charming the campers and occasionally catching (Y/n)'s eye with a wink or a smile that made her heart skip a beat. He proved to be surprisingly good at helping the younger kids, patiently guiding their small hands and offering enthusiastic praise for even the most misshapen creations.

As the session wound down and the campers began cleaning up, (Y/n) found herself both relieved and disappointed that it was over. She watched as Jungkook helped some of the younger kids wash their hands, marveling at how good he was with them.

"Thanks for your help," she said as he approached her, wiping his hands on a towel. "Even if you did turn the place into a war zone."

Jungkook laughed, running a hand through his hair and leaving a streak of clay behind. "What can I say? I'm a man of many talents. Some of them are even useful."

Before (Y/n) could respond, they were interrupted by the sound of shouting outside. Looking out the window, they saw a group of campers arguing over a football.

Jungkook sighed. "Duty calls. Can't let them have all the fun without me. See you at dinner?"

(Y/n) nodded, watching as he jogged out to break up the fight. As she turned back to oversee the final cleanup, she couldn't shake the lingering warmth of his touch, or the way her heart raced when he smiled at her.

As the last of the campers filed out, clay-covered masterpieces being shoved in a windowsill to let dry out. (Y/n) began the task of cleaning up. She moved around the room, wiping down tables and organizing supplies, her mind replaying the afternoon's events. She thought about the way Jungkook's eyes had crinkled when he laughed, the gentle pressure of his hands under hers as she guided him on the wheel.

(Y/n) sighed, tossing a clay-covered rag into the sink. It was just a harmless flirtation, she told herself. Nothing more. But as she locked up the craft cabin and headed towards the dining hall, she couldn't quite convince herself that was true.

The smell of dinner wafted across the camp, mingling with the earthy scent of the forest and the lingering aroma of clay on her clothes. Eden took a deep breath, pushing thoughts of Jungkook to the back of her mind. There were still hours left in the day, more activities to oversee, more campers to look after.

But as she walked, she couldn't help but look forward to dinner, the smell of food made her stomach rumble as she realised she hadn't eaten anything since last night's dinner. Quickly, she locked up the cabin and made her way to the mess hall that ushered in hoard of ravenous children.

The mess hall buzzed with excitement, a cacophony of laughter, clattering utensils, and animated chatter filling the air. Long wooden tables stretched from end to end, their surfaces scarred with years of summer memories carved by eager campers. Overhead, strings of fairy lights twinkled softly, complementing the warm glow of the setting sun that streamed through the large windows.

The aroma of tonight's special dinner - barbecue ribs, corn on the cob, and s'more brownies for dessert - wafted from the kitchen, eliciting eager anticipation from campers and counselors alike. It was a feast to mark the halfway point of the summer, and the excitement was palpable.

(Y/n) sat at the counselors' table, Jimin on one side and an empty seat on the other. She couldn't help but notice Jungkook's absence, probably still being held up by the children fighting over the football. Her gaze drifted across the room, taking in the scene.

At the far end of the table, Yoongi sat slightly apart, picking at his food and occasionally glancing up at the chaos around him with a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. Jin and Namjoon had their heads together at a small table near the kitchen, deep in discussion about what (Y/n) assumed were camp logistics.

"So," Jimin said, his voice snapping her out of her trance, a hint of something in his voice, "I heard Jungkook paid you a visit during arts and crafts."

(Y/n) felt heat rise to her cheeks. "News travels fast around here, doesn't it?"

Taehyung leaned in, eyes sparkling with interest. "Oh? Do tell!"

"There's nothing to tell," (Y/n) insisted, perhaps a bit too quickly. "He just stopped by and made a mess with the pottery wheel."

"Uh-huh," Jimin said, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent (Y/n) couldn't quite place.

"So," Taehyung cut in, leaning across the table with a mischievous glint in his eye, "who's ready for some ghost stories tonight?"

Hoseok groaned dramatically, dropping his fork. "Come on, Tae. You know those stories give me nightmares."

"Aww, is our Hobi scared of the big bad ghosts?" Taehyung teased, reaching over to pinch Hoseok's cheek.

Hoseok swatted his hand away, pouting. "I'm not scared! I just... appreciate a good night's sleep, that's all."

Jimin chuckled, nudging (Y/n). "Maybe we should pair Hoseok with some of the older kids tonight, yeah? For protection."

(Y/n) smiled, about to respond when Jungkook finally arrived, sliding into the empty seat beside her. His hair was slightly damp, and he smelled faintly of grass and sweat.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, flashing a grin that made (Y/n)'s heart skip a beat. "Had to settle a dispute over the last soccer ball. Looks like I missed the ribs, though." He eyed (Y/n)'s plate hopefully.

"Don't even think about it, Jeon," (Y/n) warned, but she was already pushing her plate towards him.

As Jungkook settled in, his arm brushing against (Y/n)'s, she noticed Jimin tense beside her. The silver-haired counselor's knuckles whitened around his fork.

"Well," Jimin said, standing abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I should go clean up some of the swimming equipment. Make sure they're all ready for tomorrow."

(Y/n) frowned, watching him leave. "Is everything okay with Jimin?" she asked, turning to the others.

Taehyung waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, I think our Jiminie is just feeling a little... left out." He called after Jimin's retreating form, "Don't forget to bring your teddy bear to the campfire, Jimin-ah!"

Jimin's only response was a half-hearted wave without turning back.

As the meal progressed, the excitement among the campers grew. Younger kids bounced in their seats, their voices rising in pitch and volume. The older campers gave an air of cool nonchalance, but (Y/n) could see the anticipation in their eyes for the afternoon's festivities.

(Y/n)'s gaze drifted across the mess hall, taking in the scenes of summer joy. But in a far corner, she noticed two older campers with their heads close together, whispering intently. The girl – Rose, one of (Y/n)'s drama students – glanced furtively around before leaning in even closer to the boy, Jason.

Frowning slightly, (Y/n) stood up, intending to check on them. But before she could take a step, Jin's voice cut through the chatter.

"Attention, everyone!" he called out, standing at the front of the hall. The room gradually quieted, all eyes turning to the camp director. "As you all know, tonight marks the halfway point of our summer together at Mason's Creek Summer Camp."

A cheer went up from the campers, and Jin smiled, waiting for quiet to return. "Tonight's campfire is special. For the first time this summer, all of our campers, from the youngest to the oldest, will gather together around the fire. It's a chance for us to come together as one camp family, to share stories, songs, and maybe," he glanced at Taehyung with a wry smile, "a scare or two."

More cheers and a few nervous giggles rippled through the crowd.

"So," Jin continued, "in fifteen minutes, we'll all meet at the big fire pit. Counselors, make sure your groups are accounted for and bring extra blankets. It's going to be a chilly night!"

As Jin finished speaking, a flurry of activity erupted in the mess hall. Campers began clearing their plates, chattering excitedly about the night ahead. Counselors moved between tables, organizing their groups and answering a barrage of questions.

(Y/n) felt a hand on her arm and turned to find Jungkook looking at her, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Ready for all these scary stories?" he asked, his voice low and playful.

She felt a flutter in her stomach but managed to roll her eyes, as she pushed her finger against his chest. "Just try not to scream too loud when Taehyung starts his ghost stories, okay?"

Jungkook clutched his chest in mock offense. "Me? Scream? Never! I'll have you know I'm very brave."

"Uh-huh," (Y/n) teased, "Is that why you slept with your flashlight on after last week's zombie story?"

Their laughter mingled with the excited voices around them as they began to herd their group towards the door. As they left the warmth of the mess hall, the cool evening air nipped at their skin, carrying with it the promise of a night filled with mystery.

As the campers began to file out, (Y/n) noticed Rose and Jason lingering behind, still deep in conversation. She made a mental note to keep an eye on them during the campfire.

The path to the fire pit was alive with excitement. Younger campers skipped ahead, their voices carrying through the darkening woods, while the older ones walked with an air of cool nonchalance that didn't quite hide their anticipation.

The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as (Y/n) and Jungkook led their group of campers down the winding path to the campfire. The excited chatter of the kids filled the air, punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl or rustle in the underbrush.

As they approached the clearing, the smell of woodsmoke mingled with the earthy scent of the forest. The campfire came into view, a beacon of warmth and light in the gathering dusk. Campers were already spreading blankets on the ground and arranging themselves in a wide circle around the flames.

(Y/n) did a quick headcount of her group, frowning slightly when she realized Rose and Jason were missing. She was about to mention it to Jungkook when Taehyung's group burst into the clearing, their counselor wearing an elaborate headdress made of leaves and twigs.

"Make way for the forest spirits!" Taehyung announced dramatically, earning giggles from the younger campers and eye-rolls from the older ones.

"Tae, you look ridiculous," (Y/n) laughed, momentarily distracted from her concerns.

Taehyung struck a pose. "Ridiculous? I'll have you know this is the height of woodland fashion."

As they helped their campers settle, spreading blankets and passing out s'mores supplies, (Y/n) found herself swept up in the excitement. The sun sank lower, the sky deepening to a rich purple. Soon, the only light came from the roaring campfire, casting flickering shadows that danced at the edge of the woods.

(Y/n) couldn't shake a feeling of unease as she glanced at the dark line of trees surrounding them. In the daylight, the forest was a place of adventure and discovery. But now, with the flames throwing strange shadows and the darkness pressing in, it felt almost menacing. She shivered, pulling her jacket closer.

"Cold?" Jungkook's voice came from beside her, startling her out of her thoughts.

"No, just... the woods seem different at night, don't they?"

Jungkook nodded, his eyes scanning the treeline. "Yeah, it's like they're hiding secrets."

Before (Y/n) could respond, Taehyung cleared his throat loudly. "Gather 'round, campers and counselors alike! It's time for a tale of terror!"

The campers hushed, leaning in eagerly as Taehyung began his story. His voice dropped to a dramatic whisper as he spun a tale of a killer who stalked the woods, preying on unsuspecting campers.

As the story progressed, (Y/n) found her attention wandering. Her eyes drifted over the circle, taking in the reactions of the other counselors. Hoseok was visibly uncomfortable, jumping at every dramatic pause. Yoongi seemed unimpressed, occasionally rolling his eyes at the more outlandish parts of the tale.

Her gaze settled on Jungkook, and she found herself admiring the way the firelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes as he listened to the story. She quickly looked away when he glanced in her direction, feeling a warmth in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire.

It was then that (Y/n) noticed Jimin's absence. She frowned, wondering if he was still upset from dinner. Knowing Jimin, he had probably thrown himself into work, losing track of time. She made a mental note to check on him after the campfire.

As her eyes scanned the group again, she realized Jin was missing too. It seemed odd that the camp director would leave without saying anything, but she reasoned he might have quietly informed Namjoon and slipped away to avoid disrupting the story.

(Y/n)'s gaze drifted back to the woods, the vastness of the darkness beyond the fire's glow drawing her in. As she stared into the gloom, a movement caught her eye. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure among the trees.

Suddenly, Taehyung's voice rose to a shout as he reached the climax of his story. He threw something into the fire, causing it to roar up with a burst of sparks. (Y/n) jumped to her feet, her heart pounding.

Jungkook looked up at her, startled. "Whoa, (Y/n)! Don't tell me Tae's story actually scared you," he teased, but there was a note of concern in his voice.

(Y/n) barely heard him. Her eyes were fixed on the edge of the clearing where a figure had emerged from the woods. "Rose," she whispered, before breaking into a run.

Rose stumbled into the firelight, soaking wet and shivering. (Y/n) reached her just as the girl's legs seemed to give out, catching her and wrapping her in the blanket she'd grabbed from the ground.

"Rose! What happened? Where's Jason?" (Y/n) asked, her voice tight with worry.

Through chattering teeth, Rose explained how Jason had pushed her into the lake as a prank. She'd gotten lost trying to find her way back, wandering the trails in the dark. "J-Jason's still down there," she said, a mix of anger and worry in her voice. "I didn't want to see him after what he did, but... what if something happened to him?"

As (Y/n) comforted Rose, she overheard Namjoon instructing Taehyung and Yoongi to do a quick sweep around the lake. The other counselors began ushering the confused and worried campers back to their cabins.

In the midst of the chaos, Jimin appeared, looking slightly disheveled and... wet? Eden noticed but couldn't dwell on it, focused on getting Rose warm and dry.

"Come on," she said to Rose, guiding her towards the cabins. "Let's get you into some dry clothes."

In (Y/n)'s cabin, she turned up the small heater and helped Rose change into warm, dry clothes. As she helped the girl towel dry her hair, Rose spoke softly.

"I really liked him, you know? Jason. I thought... I thought maybe he liked me too. But then he just pushed me in and laughed." She looked up at (Y/n), her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Is that what love is supposed to be like?"

(Y/n)'s heart ached for the girl. "No, sweetie. That's not love. Someone who cares about you would never purposely put you in danger or make you feel bad."

After making sure Rose was okay, (Y/n) walked her back to her own cabin, her mind whirling with worry about Jason and confusion over the events of the night.

(Y/n)'s mind was still reeling from the events of the night as she made her way back to her cabin. The path, usually so familiar, felt alien in the darkness, every shadow seeming to hide potential dangers. As she approached, she saw a figure sitting on the porch steps, hunched over with elbows resting on knees. Her heart skipped a beat before she recognized Jungkook's silhouette.

"Jungkook?" she called softly, quickening her pace.

He looked up, relief washing over his features as he stood. "(Y/n), thank god. I was getting worried."

As she climbed the steps, (Y/n) could see the tension in his jaw, the worry etched in the lines of his face. "Any news?" she asked, though she could already guess the answer from his expression.

Jungkook shook his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Nothing. We can't find Jason anywhere. We've done a preliminary search of the lake shore and the nearby trails, but there's no sign of him."

(Y/n) felt her stomach drop. "What about the other counselors? Jin?"

"Jin's still missing too. Namjoon's trying to keep it quiet to avoid panicking the campers, but..." Jungkook trailed off, his eyes meeting (Y/n)'s. The unspoken worry hung heavy between them.

(Y/n) sank down onto the porch step, suddenly feeling exhausted. Jungkook sat beside her, their shoulders touching. The contact was comforting in the face of the night's uncertainties.

"What happens now?" (Y/n) asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook sighed. "Namjoon's organizing a more thorough search. We're going out in pairs to cover more ground. He thinks it's best we stay with our usual partner"

"Pairs?" (Y/n) echoed, a mix of relief and anxiety coursing through her. The thought of searching the dark woods alone was terrifying, but with a partner...

"Yeah," Jungkook nodded. "Safety in numbers, you know? Plus, it's easy to get turned around in the woods at night."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over them. In the distance, they could hear muffled voices - other counselors organizing search parties, no doubt.

"I can't believe this is happening," (Y/n) said, shaking her head. "Just a few hours ago, we were all laughing and telling ghost stories. And now..."

"Hey," Jungkook said softly, bumping his shoulder against hers. "We'll find him. Jason's a smart kid. He probably just got lost and is too embarrassed to call out for help, you know how he is."

(Y/n) wanted to believe him, but the nagging worry in the pit of her stomach wouldn't subside. "But what if it's something worse? What if-"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," Jungkook interrupted gently. "We don't know anything for sure yet."

(Y/n) nodded, trying to take comfort in his words. She looked at Jungkook, really looked at him, and saw the determination in his eyes despite the worry creasing his brow. It made her feel a little braver.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Jungkook's face. "Ready to head out?"

(Y/n) took a deep breath, steeling herself. "As ready as I'll ever be. Where are we searching?"

"Namjoon wants us to take the trail by the creek," Jungkook explained as they set off, flashlights in hand. "The one that leads down to the lake.The other are covering different areas."

They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the camp fading behind them. The beam of their flashlights cut through the darkness, creating eerie, shifting shadows among the trees. (Y/n) found herself drawing closer to Jungkook, the warmth of his presence a comfort against the chill of the night.

"It's so different out here," (Y/n) murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't shake the feeling that speaking too loudly might disturb something better left undisturbed.

Jungkook nodded, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. "Yeah, it's like the whole forest changes after dark. Everything familiar becomes... strange."

They continued down the path, the crunch of leaves and twigs under their feet seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet of the night. The distant gurgle of the creek grew louder as they approached, the water a ribbon of silver in the moonlight.

"You okay?" Jungkook asked softly, noticing (Y/n)'s unease.

(Y/n) hesitated before answering. "Just... a little scared, I guess. I keep thinking about Jason out here alone. And Jin... where could he have gone?"

Jungkook's arm slipped around her shoulders, a comforting weight. "Hey, it's okay to be scared. I am too. But we're together, and we've got this, alright? We'll find them."

His warmth and steady presence helped ease some of (Y/n)'s fear, but she couldn't shake the nagging worry in the pit of her stomach. "Do you think..." she started, then paused, unsure if she wanted to voice her fears.

"What?" Jungkook prompted gently.

"Do you think something bad might have happened to Jason?" she finally asked, the words hanging heavily in the air between them. "I mean, Rose was so upset, and for Jin to disappear too..."

Jungkook was quiet for a moment before responding. "I don't know," he admitted. "But let's not assume the worst just yet. Jason could just be lost and scared, like Rose was. And Jin... well, he's probably out looking too, he probably realised the two of them were gone and went to find them."

(Y/n) nodded, trying to take comfort in his words. "You're right. I'm probably just letting Taehyung's ghost stories get to me."

Jungkook chuckled softly. "Those stories would make anyone jumpy. Remember the first week when he told that one about the vengeful spirit in the lake? I swear, half the campers refused to go near the lake for a week."

The memory brought a smile to (Y/n)'s face, easing some of the tension. They continued their search, calling out Jason's name every few minutes, their voices echoing strangely in the still night air.

As they neared the lake, the trees thinned out, revealing a stretch of a sandyshore. The water was a black mirror, reflecting the starry sky above. In daylight, this was a place of laughter and splashing. Now, it seemed vast and unknowable.

"Should we head back?" Jungkook asked, his voice low. "We've covered a lot of ground."

(Y/n) was about to agree when something caught her eye. A flash of white against the dark rocks at the water's edge. "Wait," she said, pointing. "What's that?"

They moved closer, their flashlights focused on the spot. As they approached, (Y/n)'s breath caught in her throat. Snagged on a jagged rock, fluttering slightly in the night breeze, was a piece of fabric. Even in the dim light, she could see the dark stains marring its surface.

"Is that..." Jungkook started, his voice trailing off.

(Y/n) nodded, a chill running down her spine. "It's a torn shirt. And that's... that's blood."

They stood frozen, the implications of their discovery sinking in. The peaceful night sounds of the forest seemed to fade away, leaving only the pounding of (Y/n)'s heart in her ears.

Jungkook's arm tightened around her. "We need to tell Namjoon. Now."

Taglist: @jungkooknippleanddicksucker

#fanfiction #fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #jimin x you #jungkook x y/n #jimin x y/n #yoongi x reader #jin x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #x reader

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errorryx · 3 months ago

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unraveling — part three, season ten

read on ao3 | read part one | hermitcraft, 2.9k words

this is the third and final part of my fic for MCYTblr AUFest! once again, if you haven't read the first part, please check it out for more info about this AU. enjoy this infodump about plant-based fibers disguised as a minecraft fanfiction!

—

Ever since Pearl began expanding her original starter base, she’s been working on some kind of big secret project.

It probably has something to do with her choice of theme this season. Or maybe it's an even bigger, more spectacular redstone machine than the already very impressive Dyeduction. Whatever it is, Pearl’s determined to keep it a secret, which means Gem is even more determined to figure it out.

She watches Pearl from a distance, using her spyglass. Pearl’s base is developing into a labyrinth of different structures, with so many entrances and passageways wedged into tight corners, each building blending together into a larger whole. It’s getting big enough that Gem can get lost in it. She gets turned around even from afar, watching Pearl enter a building and emerge somewhere completely different a few minutes later.

This morning, Pearl seems to be harvesting some of the many different plants around her base. She clips back the fast-growing vines that crawl up the sides of her buildings, wades through dense fields of flowers to uproot entire plants, and even collects bark from the bushes and trees. Gem can’t imagine what she’s doing with it all, and she’s even more confused to see Pearl deposit her harvest into a large pool and leave it there.

After a while, Pearl spreads her elytra and rockets off in the direction of the shopping district. Gem takes the opportunity to poke around her base and investigate directly. She stops at the pool first, which has a small channel out to the river, not quite wide enough for a boat to pass through.

When Gem steps into the pool, the water only comes up to her knees. The bottom is full of different stems and leaves, weighed down by rocks to keep it from floating up to the top. Nearby is a small hut filled with shelves and shelves of the same plants in various stages of drying.

Gem has been toying with the idea of a proper scientific investigation for a while now, and clearly Pearl is the perfect subject. She takes a recording device out of her pocket and begins to describe her surroundings.

“This is Dr. GeminiTay in the field, reporting on my observations at PearlescentMoon’s base. Recently, I've observed several anomalies in Pearl’s behavior, and I came to the conclusion that I must analyze her natural habitat for hints as to what may be causing this…deviation.” Gem nods, proud of herself. She sounds so professional! “It appears that Pearl has been soaking plants in water, then letting them dry. The purpose of this behavior is as of yet unknown.”

Nearby the pool and the shed full of drying plants is a building that Gem knows has been here for a while, but she doesn’t think she’s ever been inside. The top floor is full of more plants in the next stage of the process, whatever process that is. One one side is a pile of fully dried plant material, and on the other side is a heaping pile of fibers and several chests stuffed to the brim with very tiny wood shavings.

Gem relays this information as best she can into the recording device, then takes a staircase down to the basement, which is much larger than the room above. The center of the room is taken up by several large spinning wheels, each hooked up to a redstone device that Gem doesn’t even bother to try and make sense of. Presumably they help automate the process, though they all seem to be shut off right now. Gem is tempted to flick one of the levers to see what happens, but she’s not Grian. She has more self-control than that.

Though, it would be really funny if she broke something.

Gem peeks outside to make sure Pearl isn’t back yet, before running back to switch the lever on, giggling to herself. The wheel starts spinning, but since there’s no fibers or threads on the spool, nothing else interesting happens. She’s disappointed, but also relieved that she didn’t break anything. She flicks the lever back off and moves on.

Pearl has hung several picture frames around the room, but instead of artwork, the frames contain embroidery projects. The largest of them reads live laugh love in familiar cursive lettering, surrounded by a border of leafy vines. Most of the others are textless, with designs of different plants and flowers.

A large table on the left side of the room is covered in dozens of small scraps of handmade fabric. Some are of higher quality than others. None of them look like the sort of crochet pattern that Gem’s used to seeing on Pearl’s body. Pearl must be trying to branch out with her projects, and these are some of her first attempts. There’s another embroidery project hanging right above the table, the only other one with any text, which reads, Start small.

Beside the table is an ordinary loom, and next to it, a larger, more intricate version constructed out of several different types of wood. Normal looms are only used for banners, but Pearl’s handmade loom seems to be built for broader purposes. On the other side of the loom, in the back corner of the room, is an iron door without any visible way to open it.

At this point, Gem can safely assume that she's found the room where Pearl keeps her mystery project. Clearly it's some kind of fiber art—or several different kinds at once, from the look of it. But all the things she's seen so far are just pieces of the puzzle, and she still can’t figure out what Pearl’s making.

Her only remaining option is to see what’s behind the locked door.

Now, Gem could easily go home and construct her own lever to open the door, or just break through the wall herself, but that’s no fun. She’d much rather figure out how to use this secret door the right way. Knowing Pearl, it’s not a special kind of lock that only she has the key to, but some kind of thematically relevant puzzle that anyone can figure out if they try.

So Gem tries. For a good long time, she looks around the room for hints. She stops in front of the table of scraps, looking at the embroidered message. Start small. It doesn’t quite fit with Pearl’s sense of interior decoration. The live laugh love one is clearly a joke, a reference to last season, but there’s nothing about Start small that holds any sort of meaning to Gem.

Unless it’s meant as a clue.

In a moment of inspiration, Gem stands on her tiptoes, reaching over the table to take the frame down from the wall. She looks over to the door, but it hasn’t moved. When she flips the frame around, she can see the messy backside of the stitching, plus a hand-written note from Pearl, reading, smaller than that.

Definitely a clue, then. Gem switches on her recording device and begins to narrate.

“The wild Pearl is known for her cleverness,” she tells her imaginary peer-review science board. “One of the defining behaviors of a Pearl is to set up puzzles for her friends. It’s important to provide her with enrichment by participating, which is why I’m doing this, of course. Not because I’m nosy.”

She paces up and down the room, the reassuring rhythm of her footsteps against the floor helping to clear her mind. That is, until she steps down on a block that makes a strange metallic clanking sound.

Gem may not know much about redstone, but she knows a hidden hopper when she hears one. The spot where she’s standing is just a few blocks away from the door. All she has to do now is figure out what to throw into it.

“Pearls are practical creatures,” Gem says. “This Pearl would not choose something rare or difficult to access as the key to a door she uses all the time. It’ll probably be something inside this room.”

Start small. Smaller than that. The answer’s sitting right in front of her. Pearl doesn’t start a crochet project by jumping into it blindly and hoping for the best. She plans it out beforehand, making patterns and testing out stitches. All of the different test swatches on this table are her way of starting small, practicing for the big project she’s making.

Gem grabs one of the scraps of fabric, dropping it on the floor above the hopper. The door opens with a loud clank, and she enters the room, holding her breath in anticipation.

She’s not expecting Pearl to actually be inside. She knows for a fact that she saw Pearl fly off, though admittedly there was plenty of time for Pearl to sneak back into this room while Gem was wandering around her base. But the surprise of Pearl’s presence pales in comparison to the shock of what she’s making.

Pearl is hunched over a player-sized figure made up of many different kinds of fabric, lying on top of a large worktable. Only one of its arms are attached, the other sitting right beside the empty shoulder, and both legs end just below the knee, still unfinished. Most of the fabrics look coarser than the soft wool yarn that Gem is used to, but there’s no mistaking who it’s supposed to be.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” Gem blinks several times, unable to believe what she’s seeing. “Pearl, are you multiplying?”

Pearl laughs, sitting back and looking up at her. “Do you like it?”

Gem takes a few steps closer, taking it all in. The new Pearl’s plastic button eyes have been replaced with wooden ones, and her hair is a mixture of several different textures and shades of brown. She’s wearing a white postal jacket like the one Pearl’s wearing now, but this one is made out of a more refined version of some of the swatches in the previous room.

When Gem commissions new outfits to fit her themes, she doesn’t spend much time thinking about the work that goes into it behind the scenes. She just pays their exorbitant prices and assumes they must have worked very hard. Now, having seen all the steps in Pearl’s process, she’s baffled as to how her clothesmakers are able to deliver their finished products so quickly, or how Pearl herself has gotten so much done without anyone noticing.

“It’s beautiful, Pearl. It’s so detailed.” Gem can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t feel like an understatement. “Have you been working on this all season?”

“Only since I decided on my solarpunk theme,” Pearl says. “It shouldn’t take me much longer. I’ve processed most of the fibers that I need already, and that’s the slowest part.”

“I have so many questions,” Gem says. It’s a little disconcerting to see this new version of Pearl in an unfinished state, looking so much like Pearl does now, but lifeless and incomplete.

“I can explain it to you if you want!” Pearl looks excited at the prospect. “There’s a lot of steps, but if you break it down it’s actually pretty simple—”

“Have you been hanging out with Mumbo recently?” Gem asks. “None of what you’re doing is simple, Pearl. This is very complicated!”

“Already had a peek around my base, did you?” Pearl tuts in mock disappointment.

“It’s only fair! You don’t get to complain after what you did to my base with all those pickle messages.”

“Ah, well.” Pearl shrugs. “You may have a point.”

“What is it for, anyway?” Gem can’t help but notice that Pearl isn’t making these modifications to herself, but to an entirely different entity. “Why do you need another you?”

“Gem!” Pearl laughs at her. “You got all the way to this point and you still haven’t figured it out?”

“What do you—Oh. Wait.” Gem blinks. “Are you—you’re building yourself a replacement body?”

“There you go,” Pearl says. “We got there eventually.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Gem says. “How do you get yourself into a whole different body? Can you turn back after you’re done? If you can just go around switching bodies, what’s stopping you from being a—a pig, or a sheep or something?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Pearl says, waving her hand dismissively. “I just, y’know…” She pauses, frowning. “Well, I—hm, okay. I’m not sure, actually.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I don’t know how it works,” Pearl says. “It just sort of happens. Like how everyone gets new outfits to stick through respawn.”

“That’s normal, though. Everyone does it!”

“Yeah, but how?”

Gem opens her mouth, then closes it again. She doesn’t know. How does she not know?

She feels a little dizzy from how fast her thoughts are racing. Gem pulls up a chair and plops herself down, trying to get her thoughts in order.

In this world, and in every world since she spawned, there have been rules. They vary from place to place, and they can be changed, too—even bent or broken. Gem knows people who break the rules—some of the most infamous rulebreakers in the world reside on this very server with her—but she’s never counted Pearl among that number.

And, now that she thinks about it, that seems like an oversight on her part. Gem has known Pearl for longer than most of the other Hermits, and she can’t remember ever questioning how Pearl came to exist in this form, this version of herself that Gem’s always known.

Gem has never broken the rules, or at least, she’s never knowingly attempted to do so. She’s happy where she is, building and mining and fighting the normal way, seeking out challenges from within the confines of what’s supposed to be possible. She’s amazed by the accomplishments of her reality-bending friends, but that sort of thing has never interested her.

Now, standing on the edge of what seems to be a rule-breaking realization, Gem wonders if this is how they felt—Etho, or Cleo, or Doc, or Pearl, apparently—any of the Hermits that ever asked the right questions, or put the pieces together, or stumbled upon a loophole in the rulebook.

She clings to the fabric of her lab coat in wonder. What kind of force tethers this silly costume she’s wearing to her own body? Why does it stay with her even after death? How does any of this make sense?

Is everything just a—

“See, you can't question these things,” Pearl says, bursting through her train of thought. “Or it all falls apart.”

“Falls apart?” Gem asks, alarmed. “What does that mean? That sounds bad. Is it bad? Have I broken the world?”

“No! No, of course not, don’t worry.” Pearl rests a soft hand on Gem’s shoulder. “Well, maybe a little bit, but it’s fine. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Gem puts her head in her hands, taking a deep breath. It helps, a little. “This is—a lot, Pearl.”

“Here, let me show you something.” Pearl holds up a swatch of fabric, which Gem is reasonably confident in identifying as crochet, though she doesn’t know the specific stitch. “It’s like this. The fabric holds itself together just fine if you leave it alone, but when you pull on the edges…” She does just that, and the first row collapses on itself, then the next, then the next. “Things start to go a bit wonky. But…” She pulls out a crochet hook and starts stitching, rebuilding the row she’d just unraveled. “You can make them right again, if you learn how. It can go back to normal. Or, well, normal enough.”

“But what about people who don’t want it to be normal?” Gem asks. “How do they deal with it?”

“You’ll have to ask them about it,” Pearl says. “That’s not how I do things. I prefer to patch the holes I find rather than explore what’s inside them.”

Gem leans her head against Pearl’s shoulder. “This really hurts my brain.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Gem. I didn’t mean to push you into this.”

“It’s okay,” Gem says. “The fact that I made it through two and a half seasons of Hermitcraft before getting here is probably pretty impressive, right?”

“It’s not for everybody,” Pearl says. “Like Grian, for example.”

“Grian?”

“He noped out of it even harder than I did, you know. Did it so well that I’m not sure he even remembers anymore. I don’t want to bring it up with him, because if he did forget, I think he meant for it to be that way.”

“Huh. I had no idea.” Gem lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if I want to go his route or not. Or your route, or some other route. I feel like I know way less about the world than I did this morning.”

“You should probably talk to someone other than me about it,” Pearl suggests. “It’s different for everyone. But whatever you do, it should be your own way, not someone else’s.”

“My own way.” Gem smiles. “I like the sound of that, whatever it is.”

“Don’t stress yourself out over it,” Pearl warns her. “I know the way you are. Take your time, Gem. You have basically forever to figure it out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try.” Gem wraps her arms around Pearl. “Thank you, Pearl.”

“For what?”

“For explaining stuff,” Gem says. “For being my friend. For being so cuddly, too. You are so soft.”

“Aw, you’re welcome.” Pearl hugs her back. “Would you be mad if I got less soft, though?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gem says. “I love every version of you.”

Pearl laughs softly. “I love every version of you too.”

—

if you read this all the way through and enjoyed, please consider reblogging!

<Previous part

#aufest 2024 #hermitcraft #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #shiny duo #my stuff #my writing

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iblameashley · 1 year ago

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Drinks with Krueger at [Redacted]

Civilian | Male | Gay

1,454 words

Follow up to: Krueger's Secret

Content: Fluff

Sebastian Krueger | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

With power restored to a portion of the town, You and Krueger fallow through with your arrangement to gets drinks and continue your conversation from the relief center.

The power had finally been restored to the hurricane-stricken area, bringing with it a sense of normalcy that had been sorely missed by the community. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue across the sky, you and Krueger found yourselves at the doorstep of a quaint, dimly lit pub. It was a place known for its welcoming atmosphere and a reputation for attracting locals and travellers alike.

As you pushed open the creaking door, the smell of alcohol and polished wood greeted you, and the soft murmur of conversation filled the air. It was a relief from the unending chaos of the relief center. Despite the progress made in restoring normalcy in the post-cleanup city, there was still plenty of work to do and plenty of people still in need.

Krueger followed closely behind, his gaze scanning the room before settling on an empty corner booth. You both slid into the worn faux-leather seats, offering a sense of privacy in the midst of the patrons.

A friendly waiter approached, a grizzled man with a gray beard that matched his apron. He nodded in acknowledgement as he placed two menus on the table. "What'll it be, gentlemen?"

You glanced at the menu, then turned to Krueger. "The local beer here is pretty good. How about we start with that?"

Krueger nodded in agreement. "Sounds good. Two beer."

The bartender nodded again and headed off to fetch your drinks, leaving you and Krueger alone.

Krueger leaned back comfortably, his eyes fixed on you as if he were trying to uncover the mystery behind your observant nature. "So...” he began, a playful glint in his brown eyes, "what else can you tell me about yourself?"

Your drinks arrived rather quickly. The waiter giving you a smile and a nod before heading to his next table.

You chuckled, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you pondered his question. "Well, I could tell you that I have a knack for finding the best spots in town," you replied, glancing around the cozy pub. "Or that I enjoy the simple pleasures — good company, good conversation, and, of course, good beer."

Krueger's smile widened as he raised his glass. "Cheers to that," he said, the sound of the clinking glasses emphasizing the playful air between you.

The conversation flowed slowly at first, but quickly fell into a comfortable pace, punctuated by laughter and shared stories. Krueger spoke about his passion for adventure and challenge.

Krueger leaned in, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "You see this scar?" he asked, gesturing to a rather visible mark of hardened flesh on his forearm.

You nodded, curiosity piqued. "It caught my attention earlier. How'd you get it?"

He chuckled softly. "Well, let's just say it's a reminder of a particularly daring mission. We were deep in the heart of the wilderness, miles away from civilization. Our objective was classified, of course."

Krueger's eyes gleamed with a hint of adventure as he continued. "During a tense moment, we encountered some unexpected obstacles and I had to make a split-second decision to ensure our team's safety."

He paused, letting the suspense hang in the air. "Long story short, I kept the team safe and secured our target. But in the process, I earned this scar... and learned what it felt like to have some rusty metal tear through my arm.” He chuckled, rubbing the scar with his hand. “Sexy, no?” I smirked.

You couldn't help but smirk back, wondering if this was his way of flirting with you. “Sexy indeed.” You remarked, before take a long drink of beer.

As the evening progressed, the pub's warm glow seemed to wrap around the two of you, isolating you from the rest of the crowds. You couldn't help but notice the way Krueger's low, gruff laughter echoed in the dimly lit space, his guarded demeanour giving way to a bit of openness.

Krueger leaned in closer, his voice lower as he asked, "So...” what's the most daring thing you've ever done?"

You leaned in as well, your gaze locked with his, and a mischievous grin played on your lips. "Well, that's a secret I might reveal over *another *drink," you teased.

Krueger's eyes danced with excitement as he signalled the waiter for another round. "Another round it is, then." He asserted.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The next round of drinks arrived and you kept true to your word. You chuckled at the thought. "Well, the most daring thing I've ever done? I once tried to impress someone by climbing a tree to the tallest branch. Ended up stuck, and had to be rescued by the fire department. Not my finest moment, to be honest!" You laugh loudly. “But hey, I still got to be held by a rather attractive fireman.” I you shrug.

Krueger grinned with amusement in his eyes. "That's quite the adventurous rescue mission, I must say.” He said with a bit of a teasing tone. “You may not have been on a classified mission, but you've definitely got your own *unique *brand of daring."

Krueger's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "So, what else have you done for a thrill, aside from climbing tree's and getting rescued by attractive men?"

You chuckled, taking another sip of your drink. "Well, nothing quite as daring as your adventures, I'm sure. But I've always been a fan of trying new things. Skydiving was on my bucket list for the longest time. That particular wish came true three birthdays ago when my friends paid for some lessons."

Krueger leaned in, his curiosity evident. "Skydiving? Now that's something I've never tried. Boots almost always firmly on the ground for me. What was it like?"

A grin crossed your face as you recalled the memory. "Terrifying at first, I won't lie. I passed out on the way down the first time. But once you jump a few times and feel that rush of wind, it's like you're flying. It's so surreal. It's a mix of fear and exhilaration that's hard to describe."

Krueger nodded, seemingly captivated by your description. "It sounds incredible. I've yet to be ordered to jump from a plane. Rather like it that way.”

Krueger's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "So, have you ever considered learning a new language?" He asked you, changing the subject abruptly.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I've dabbled here and there, but nothing too serious. Why do you ask?"

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. "Well, you see, knowing another language can be quite... enticing." He flashed a sly grin.

You couldn't help but chuckle, feigning innocence. "Enticing, you say?"

Krueger nodded, a hint of a challenge in his gaze. "Oh, absolutely. Imagine sharing secrets in a language only the two of us understand."

A puckish thought crossed your mind, and you decided to play along. "Well then, Krueger, perhaps you can give me a German lesson one day."

Krueger's eyes lit up, and he responded in German, his voice smooth as velvet. "I would be delighted to teach you, mein Liebling."

You leaned back in your seat and gave him a wry look. “Are you flirting with me?” You prodded.

“I guess you'll have to take me out for a drink of two if you want to find that out.” Krueger fired back with a devilish tone. He raised his brows playfully.

“Okay, okay...” You replied, holding your hands up in surrender. “We can save that for our next... outing?” You had really wanted to call it a date, but hesitated, not wanting to ruin the moment.

The conversation moved on, Krueger asking more questions about you than he would answer about himself, the idea of another outing with him seeded firmly in the back of your brain.

As the night wore on, you realized that the rendezvous had turned into something unexpected but pleasant. You exchanged contact information, promising to meet again, now that you owed him drinks to get that information from him.

Krueger reluctantly checked his watch. "I hate to cut this short, but duty calls early tomorrow. It's been a pleasure, though."

You suppressed a laugh, 'short' was about three-and-a-half hours of drinking and conversation. You nodded, a sense of contentment settling over you. "Likewise. It's not every day I meet someone with such captivating stories to tell.” You said with an attempt at a flirty tone.

Krueger waited with you until the taxi arrived, his eyes lingering on you until the last second as the car pulled away. You could feel a swell of warmth in your chest, it had been so long since you'd enjoyed someones company as much as his, even if he was vague on the details.

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seedsofagony · 10 days ago

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Secret (KnY ♡ Hotaru)

Cherrytober Day 29: Dirty Little Secret // Love Bites

Series: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Characters: Haganezuka Hotaru

Word Count: 1,404

Summary: Swordsmith Village au, noncanonical character death, x reader (f/gn), light horror themes, ghosts, angst, grief, monsterfucking/spectrophilia, unprotected sex, no pregnancy

Notes: A couple of things. First, I feel like "monsterfucking" and "spectrophilia" are pretty strong terms for what goes on in this one shot, but I also feel like I need to include them for anyone who may be upset by that sort of thing. Second, since everything is green and growing when the Swordsmith Village arc takes place, I took the liberty of assuming that six months later would be winter ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Disclaimer: Underage, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked. For everyone 18+, FUB free or filter my unique tag for this event: #sweets🍒24

Hotaru died six months ago.

But you know he never left.

It's a secret you keep to yourself because who would believe if you told them? The sad ravings of someone who'd lost their love.

In the dark, abandoned streets of the old village, nature has already started to take over. Dry leaves whisper in the alleyways and weeds, now withered, hunch in the dirt like beggars. Glowing eyes peer at you from the shadows, nighttime creatures that replaced the people not long after they'd left.

You raise the collar of your hanten against the cold, surrounded by the billowing white clouds of your breath. Even in the dark, you know exactly where you're going. You've walked these streets so many times, and you could find the workshop with your eyes closed. You're not even afraid anymore—not since the first time you came back. Back then, you were just desperate to find anything that reminded you of him, anything he'd touched. But now, you know what to expect.

The workshop emerges from the gloom, a hulking shape beneath the twisting bare branches of the trees. It's exactly the kind of scene you've been warned about since you were a child—there are things that lurk in lonely places—but it's only the cold and the night, only four walls and a chimney.

You lean on the doorframe and blow into your hands. The moon hangs high overhead, full but for a sliver. It won't be long now. An owl calls somewhere in the leafless woods. A twig snaps beneath a misplaced paw. Leaning your head against the wall, you can still detect the faint, charred smell of the forge.

Then you see it—mist rising on the road, the path where you'd only just tred. It wavers and begins to coalesce, slowly taking the form of a man. Hotaru. He walks toward you with purpose, a pale shape closing in with long strides. You watch as he breezes past you into the workshop, as indifferent as the winter wind. Pushing yourself off the wall, you follow him inside.

The workshop is mostly how he left it—or how it was left on that night half a year ago. The hardpacked dirt floor is littered with splintered furniture, the forge broken and cold. There's no trace of his broken mask. You picked up those pieces the morning after, holding them forever dear.

Kneeling in the center of the room, you close your eyes, listening to Hotaru bustle, unseen, around you. You can hear the roaring of the fire, the splash and hiss of hot metal quenched in water, the scrape scrape of a blade being honed. You can't help but smile when the angry muttering begins—to anyone else, it would be absolutely terrifying, but to you, it's just him. Just Hotaru. The same in death as he was in life.

An icy chill brushes over your cheek. You open your eyes, Hotaru's face, unmasked, inches from yours. He's never appeared like this before—startled but unafraid, your heart still beats a little faster.

"I miss you," you say, your voice loud in the empty room.

You don't expect an answer. In all this time, he's never once answered you, no matter how much you called to him, cried, cursed him. And yet, there's something in that ghostly visage that seems to solidify. His eyes become a little clearer, a dreamer awakening. But it's only for a moment, not lasting.

Pressing your hand to your heart, you try again. "Hotaru…?" You reach for his arm, but your fingers brush through him as if through smoke.

Anger wells in your chest. "It's not fair," you mutter through gritted teeth. "It's not fair!" Hot tears spill down your face. "Why can I see you, but you can't see me? I love you…"

That icy chill strokes your cheek again. Eyes blurred with tears, you scrub your face with the cuffs of your sleeves. When are you going to stop trying? When are you going to stop stealing away to this godforsaken place? When are you going to stop talking to shadows?

"... cry…"

You inhale sharply, jerk back.

"... –'t cry…"

Hotaru cups your cheek in his cool hand, "...don't…"

"Hotaru?"

You stare as his body comes in and out of focus—the suggestion of a man, the man brought to life. Finally, he solidifies, not as he was on that night, bloody and broken, but from some other, happier time.

"Why?" your voice catches in your throat. "Why now?"

He furrows his brow, pursing his lips in a pained smile. He holds out his arms to you, beckoning, welcoming. Your Hotaru.

Your hands slowly ball into fists, nails digging into your palms. "Why here?" you ask, hoarse. "Why here and never to me?"

You don't wait for an answer—you're done waiting. You pound your fists on his chest, but Hotaru only cups your elbows, accepting the abuse. You know—in your heart, you know—he can't tell you. It doesn't matter. You sob and let your fists come to rest against him, clutching his collar.

Hotaru folds you into an embrace. There is no rumble in your ear, no breath, when he speaks. "...n't… much time…"

You pause. You never considered that, now that he was here, he would leave again. That this might truly be the last time. Gripping his collar, you yank him toward you, crashing into his lips.

Compelled by the same force, Hotaru kisses you, hungry, desperate. Your hands tangle in each other's hair, his fingertips icy against your scalp. You fall back onto the floor, Hotaru following after, chasing your lips.

His body has real weight as he crouches over you, and you can feel the curve of an erection pressed between your legs. Pulling him closer, you deepen the kiss and grind your hips against him. It's been so long, and maybe it will never be again. It doesn't even occur to you that what you're doing should be impossible or that it might be wrong. All you want is your lover again.

Hotaru groans. He fumbles with the hem of your clothes as you tear at his—the most mundane of hindrances amidst the most supernatural of moments. Then, with nothing left between you, he kneels at the altar between your legs and enters. You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing his jaw, his chin, his lips—whatever you can catch—as he thrusts, urgent, into you.

There were other times like this. In the spring, beneath a cherry in full bloom. In the summer, when the cicadas were loud, but your cries were louder. In the warmth of the onsen when the autumn air was first becoming crisp. You fell down together and made love—slow in the morning's first light, hurried at the end of a long day.

Now, as it sometimes did then, it doesn't take long. It never does when you're starving. You writhe as your body spasms around him, as he throbs inside you. You clutch each other, buffeted, till the last waves of pleasure ebb away.

Hotaru lowers his face to yours and kisses you softly. "I've missed you, too," he says, his voice full, substantial. "But I have to go."

You shake your head, helpless. "Will I see you again?"

But he doesn't answer—just another lingering question. You watch as his face grows pale, then transparent. The weight of his body begins to evaporate until there's only a chill lying over you. He smiles, sad, and then, there's nothing at all.

You lie there in disarray, wondering what just happened, waiting to see if it will happen again. But nothing stirs in the room—no phantom sounds, no shape, no Hotaru.

Pulling yourself to your feet, you draw your hanten tight around you and smooth your hair from your face. For some reason, your hands are shaking. You stumble to the door and peer into the darkness. The moon shines high overhead and the mist on the road vanishes in the breeze. The night carries on as if you'd only been dreaming.

Maybe you had been.

You set off down that road like a sleepwalker awakened, unsteady, unsure. The cold air stings your eyes and rouges your cheeks, but clears your mind. You can never tell anyone what you saw tonight or what you did. But you will go back, you will always go back, no matter how many times it takes to see your lover again.

#cherrytober2024 #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #haganezuka hotaru #kny haganezuka #kny hotaru #haganezuka hotaru x reader #kny smut #spoiler free #sweets stories #sweets🍒24

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videostarblogs · 13 days ago

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11. mori kei

mori kei, meaning forest sty;e, is a Japanese fashion subculture inspired by the calm, natural beauty of the forest and countryside. known for its earthy tones, layering, and vintage inspired aesthetics, mori kei captures a peaceful, whimsical lifestyle centered on a connection with nature. here's a break down on mori kei!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

origins and development

influence of nature: mori kei was born from a desire to embody a tranquil, forest like atmosphere. it emphasized living slowly, appreciating nature, and creating an aesthetic that feels like stepping into a fairytale

mori girl: mori keis popularity grew in the late 2000s through a Japanese social media community called mixing, where users shared photos of their mori inspired looks, the style was popularized by designers and mori kei icon choco yamada, who outlined the mori girl rules on mixing, helping solidify its distinct, dreamy aesthetic.

philosophy: mori kei is not only a style but a lifestyle rooted in minimalism, nostalgia, and simplicity. it often encompasses interests like photography, nature walks, drinking tea, and home made crafts!!1

key motifs

earth tones and natural colors: mori keis color palette includes soft, earthy hues like beige, cream, brown, olive, and moss green. muted pastels and off-whites are also used to create a delicate and harmonious feel, imitating the forest.

loose, layered silhouettes: the clothing in mori kei is loose fitting and layered to create a cozy, lived in look. layers of dresses, cardigans, oversized sweaters, shawls, and skirts are worn over each other to give an impression of softness and comfort.

vintage and handmade accessories: mori kei incorporates vintage inspired clothing, often resembles garments from simpler times. dresses with lace, floral prints, Peter pan collars, and earthy textures like wool, linen, and cotton are popular. items are sometimes handmade or thrifted to add a personal, nostalgic feel.

natural accessories: accessories in mori kei are inspired by nature--- think floral pins, straw hats, scarves, and woven bags. jewelry is kept simple and often handmade, featuring materials like wood, dried flowers, and stones

natural makeup and hair: makeup is usually kept minimal and natural, focusing on soft, rosy cheeks, and nude lips to give a gentle, healthy glow. hair is typically styled in loose waves, braids, or buns, and natural or warm hair colors like brown and dark blonde are common to match the earthy vibes or the outfit.

music

mori kei is often associated with peaceful and fold inspired music that eachoes the serene, introspective spirit of the forest. genres like acoustic, folk, and indie are popular, as are artists like iron & wine, fleet foxes, and Japanese indie artists such as ichiko aoba. instrumental and ambient music, including soft piano or nature sounds, are also fitting for mori kei enthusiasts who enjoy quiet moments of reflection. here are 10 artists I recommend

cocoon

iron & wine

fleet foxes

sufjan stevens

kina grannis

lisa mitchell

angus & Julia stone

first aid kit

soley

aoi teshima

movies

studio ghibli: films like my neighbor totoro, nausicaa of the valley of the wind. an princess mononoke, reflect the mori kei values of nature and simplicity. these films emphasize a harmonious connection with nature, which resonates with the mori kei aesthetics

period and fairy tale films: movies like the secret garden, and little women, feature vintage, countryside settings and styles that aligns with the look and feel of mori kei. the film Anne of green gables also embodies the quiet, pastoral lifestyle that mori kei represents. here are more movies I suggest

my neighbor totoro (1988)

only yesterday (1991)

the secret world of arrietty (2010)

wolf children (2012)

when marine was there (2014)

the tale of the princess kaguya (2013)

the fox and the child (2007)

the whisper of the heart (1995)

song of the sea (2014)

the village (2004)

books and other media

classic and nature inspired literature: books that emphasize the beauty of nature, simplicity =, and introspection are popular within mori kei. titles like Anne of green gables, the secret garden, and works by Jane Austen offer vintage inspired worlds that match mori kei aesthetic.

photography and nature journals: mori kei enthusiasts often enjoy photography that nature natures quiet moments -- forest trails, close ups of flora, and cozy indoor settings with vintage decor nature journals re also popular, where one con press flowers, write poetry, and record observations about nature.

social media: platforms like Instagram, Tumblr, and Pinterest have vibrant mori kei communities, where enthusiasts share their looks, document forest outings, and connect over shared interests in slow living and natural aesthetics

inspo

overall, mori kei is a fashion style and lifestyle that embodies peace, simplicity, and a connection to nature. with its soft, earthy palette, loose layering, and vintage inspired clothing, mori kei celebrates the beauty of the natural world and a quiet, introspective way of life. it offers an escape from the fast pace of modern life, creating a cozy, fairytale like world filled with warmth, comfort, and a deep respect for nature.

feels free to like, reblog and follow for more fashion deep dives like this!!!!! click my questions box in my bio to suggest styles you'd want me to breakdown!!! thank you for reading!

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chiefbeifongcanrailme · 8 months ago

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The Sphere's Embrace

I have officially finished posting to @linbeifongsweek

Here’s my submission for day 8 of Lin Beifong’s Week. You can also find it on AO3.

Pairing: Lin Beifong x Bumi

Rating: M

Art made by JadeLotus💚

The Sphere's Embrace was a cunning and formidable trap, designed to ensnare unsuspecting trespassers within its metallic grasp. At first glance, it appeared to be a massive spherical structure, looming ominously within the chamber it guarded. Its surface gleamed with a metallic sheen, betraying no hint of the danger that lay within.

It all started because because everybody loved to go out of their way to make Lin's life harder than it already was. But really, this was far from circumstantial. There was a logical series of events that had thrust Lin into this position.

After defeating the Red Lotus, it was a rather grievous few months when Korra departed for the South Pole for her recovery. Because spirits were down, and instead of joy in the face of victory, Republic City was facing melancholy in the wake of a shattered Avatar, and all of Air Temple Island was living within the gloomy waves of despair. Because the new airbending master, Jinora came to the rescue by taking inspiration from the glory of the Yangchen festival and organized a little ritual for Korra's speedy recovery followed by a festival of merriment for all the attendees.

Because her moronic sister said "two Beifongs are better than one" and brought her own incredibly ridiculous-looking portable prison in case any wandering Red Lotus members decided to crash their party.

The Sphere's Embrace consisted of a colossal spherical shell, constructed from reinforced platinum and intricate mechanical components concealed within its surface. Suspended above the ground, it rested upon a sturdy base, its polished exterior offering no indication of the mechanisms hidden beneath. At the center of the Sphere's Embrace lay a cozy bed, tempting weary travelers with the promise of rest. However, this seemingly inviting surface harbored a deadly secret. Embedded within the floor of the threshold, were pressure-sensitive sensors, finely tuned to detect the slightest weight.

It was because of that final security sweep Lin did towards the end of the ritual. Because Lin just had to check out that stupid giant ball-sac of a prison that was supposedly impervious to any and all bending. Su wouldn't admit it, but Lin was certain this had Kuvira's blueprints all over. But finally, It was because she saw a pair of naked butt cheeks galivanting inside the prison.

Lin had hopped in without a thought- ready to fight the prisoner that had already taken his rightful place.

Upon detecting the presence of an intruder, the Sphere's Embrace sprung into action with lethal precision. Bi-parting doors, seamlessly integrated into the spherical shell, would snap shut with thunderous force, sealing the victim within its metallic confines. The doors would lock with a resounding clang, rendering escape impossible from within. Those trapped within must await the mercy of their captors or the intervention of an external force to secure their freedom.

"Lin!" the naked man, she now recognized to be Bumi, shrieked in unison with the snapping doors.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

Lin was panting as she frantically ran across the room looking for vulnerabilities in construction. Naturally, she failed in bending the platinum walls. The prison was well thought out, a real testament to Kuvira's cunning. The bed in the center was made entirely of wood and unbendable materials. The counter top had a straw bowl with some bananas to keep the prisoners alive, a fruit with not enough water content to use to cut the platinum walls with pressure. Certainly, even lightning couldn't break a metal this dense and durable- maybe slightly damage it- but Suyin made sure it was flawless.

"What are you doing in here?" she managed to berate.

Thankfully, he had the decency to cover his genitals with his hands. "I just wanted to have a look at—"

"And where are your clothes?"

"They're outside- are- are we trapped in here?" he asked, cowering.

"What do you think, Wan Shi Tong?"

"Sheesh there's no need to be—”

"We're fucking trapped in Suyin's bending-proof platinum nut sac!"

"Relax, Lin. Someone's going to notice we're missing and—”

"No?!" she cried, a pitch higher, "they're going to assume we left- like the rest of the crowd."

"Tenzin's going to notice I'm not—”

"Is he?" she screamed. "Or is he going to assume you bailed to go party in the city like always?"

"Okay you have a point there," he admitted. "But—”

"Oh, fuck me, Bumi—”

"Gladly! I'm ready. You're the one still wearing clothes," he said all too seriously.

"Stop trying to—” Lin shook her head and swallowed on her dry throat, dumbfounded. "What did you say?"

"It would be a honor to fuck you," he said, bowing in reverence. Lin couldn't decide if her heart was racing because her blood was boiling or she was actually considering his offer. Bumi had totally transformed since his retirement- he looked good, but more importantly, he looked good naked. His body was toned like never before- leaner but just as burly as he used to be in his prime.

She realized she hadn't responded and she didn't want him getting ideas. "Shut up, Bumi."

"Fine, your loss," he shrugged.

Bumi sat atop at the foot of the bed while Lin continued to look around. He observed the way she scuttled about, her eyes were blown wide with frenzy governing her every movement. It had been a while since he had spent any one-on-one time with Lin, and the last time he did, he had almost asked her out to dinner. You see, he wasn't lying about it being an honor to fuck her. He meant it. And that nonchalant candor was the best way conceal those jitters he felt around her.

"How are you not freaking out?" she asked.

"I mean, we're trapped." he said. "There's no way out. And there's no point in freaking out."

Lin didn't stop to roll her eyes like Bumi imagined. Instead she was shaking. And suddenly, he remembered. Lin had always been a little claustrophobic.

"Hey, why don't you have a seat for a moment."

She gave him an incredulous look.

So he stood up, hand still against his crotch so as to not flash Lin as he made his way over to her. "Relax, Linny. I'm going to get us out of here, okay?"

"Bumi—"

"Shhhhh," he said, rubbing her arm affectionately. "Why don't you lie down on the bed for a moment?"

"Bumi, I—"

"Just one moment. A tiny one, please?"

Lin sighed, but she relented. As she got to the bed, covered in red bedsheets and a matching duvet, she looked over at Bumi's naked form and then stared at the bed. He had his bare buttocks on these very sheets just a second ago. Somehow, that idea didn't bother as much. He was just Bumi, at the end of the day. Bumi who wore bottomless chaps to his brother's anointment. Bumi who ate and drank like a bottomless pit. Bumi who'd side with her whenever Suyin was being a menace. Bumi, who comforted her after Tenzin ended things with her. And that's when she realized- he was trying to comfort her, before her train of thought left the station with- Bumi whose buttocks she really wanted to grab with a firm—

"On the bed now, Linny."

She shook her head and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Can you now tell me why you're naked?"

"Oh," he replied. "I wanted to check this prison out, but if I stepped in- the way you did- it'd shut down. So, I was using airbending to float around and I didn't want my clothes to get in the way."

"Oh," she commented with surprise in her voice. "That's actually clever."

"What can I say, I am a clever man, Linny."

She rolled her eyes. "Can you not call me that?"

"I don't think I can," he replied.

When Lin felt a depression on the bed, she glanced to her side to see him smiling down at her. He stroked her hair gently and said, "We'll get you out of here, okay?"

"Bumi, I'm fine. I just don't want to be stuck in here."

"Lin, you're brave. And you can be brave every day of your life. But today, you don't have to. I can take care of you."

She sat up, resting on her palms. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Bumi snorted. "I'm always nice to you."

She couldn't argue there. It wasn't as if Bumi irritated her on purpose. Maybe she could afford to loosen up a little. Maybe she could be nicer to Bumi going forward. He was kind, funny in the way she hated, ridiculous, infuriating, and smart in the silliest ways, but spirits if he wasn't endearing.

"We should really find a way out," she said.

"Linny, how? Nobody would be able to hear us scream."

Narrowing her eyes at the nickname, instead of addressing it, she said, "So what now?"

"Try to look at the bright side!" he suggested, jovially. "You're getting uninterrupted Bumi time! And I'm naked and it's okay because I'm hot now. Don't think I didn't see your eyes on my ass."

Lin's cheeks turned pink with embarrassment, and Bumi took that as his cue to proposition her again.

"There's a bed too. And it's Suyin's. Why not mark our territory?"

"Bumi," she whispered.

His hand slowly traversed the length of her arm. Her eyes thirstily followed the delicate movement of his fingers until they reached her chin, at which point, he used one finger to tilt her head up towards him.

"Nobody will hear us scream."

"What if someone does come lurking around here?"

"Then, I'll hide you under the bed, get rescued naked and give you the perfect window to escape and then never speak about this again."

Lin couldn't help but smirk. "That does sound enticing."

"And I'm still not hearing a no,"

Lin grabbed his face and slammed her mouth against his. He hummed when her tongue entered his mouth as his hand roamed up and across her torso. With each hand he squeezed her breasts as she climbed atop him. Lin was ravenous and Bumi was all she craved- and he knew that too. And in no world would he want her any less than she wanted him in that moment. Bumi tightened his arms around her back and tossed her down onto the mattress. She landed with a fluffy thud just as Bumi's lips found her neck. Her hands ruffled through his wild hair.

Bumi couldn't remember for how long he had wanted this- his brain had turned to mush. He ran one hand down her breasts, straight through the slim gap between her belly and waistband and massaged her inner thigh perfectly- Lin had to moan to let him know.

"Louder," he growled.

She did not want to test that hypothesis- because what if someone did hear them? Suyin wasn't perfect. So she pulled his mouth on hers to shut them both up.

And that was how Lin Beifong had found herself quite literally thrust in that position.

She found out about an hour later when nobody came running to the trap, as she came, screaming into glory, that the trap was indeed sound proof. She came and then she came another time- her mind was in lost in the clouds of divine bliss.

Lin offered up her handkerchief to him to wipe himself up. There was no telling how long they'd been fucking or how late into the night it had now become where they had been laying in bed holding each other. Bumi had been peppering her cheek and shoulder with soft kisses as they fell in and out of sleep. And it wasn't until morning- or so they thought- when they wordlessly began again on a string of kisses.

Food and water had become all the needs of the sexless. With Lin in his arms, he had everything he needed to survive.

"I might be getting addicted to you," he whispered by her jaw as he got on top of her. Lin pushed a wild strand of his hair behind his ear before he dipped back down to kiss her.

"We all have our vices," Lin replied on his mouth.

"Still wanna get out of here?"

"You'd have to forcibly pry me out of this place."

Bumi chortled and doubled down on her. There was something to be said about the way this prison had become their own perfect bubble. It was the embrace of the Sphere's Embrace. Whatever their relationship was outside of this bubble had no hold over them while they ravaged the each other. There were no thoughts of ramifications, no worries of what this meant- it was a pure expression of flooding desire- indomitable, delirious desire.

Lin placed her hands against the platinum wall over the bed as Bumi rammed into her from behind. His hands were grasping her ass when she led one over her thigh and down in between her legs. He didn't need to be told what to do there, because by now, he knew her body better than he knew his own.

"I'm getting close," she moaned, as he picked up the pace. His hands were flawlessly menacing her clit, making her whole body scream and sweat with endorphins. Had she known before hand how well their bodies complemented each other, she would've jumped him well before he ever left for the United Forces.

"I can't tell you how long I've wanted this, Lin," he said, verbalizing her exact thoughts.

She felt his teeth on her back and then she couldn't resist it anymore.

"FUCK—" she screamed. "BUMI- I'M—" her voice wavered from a shrill moan into a throaty grunt from the high.

"Shit," Bumi cussed at the sight before him.

A sizzling sound broke through both their moans as Bumi crashed on top of her. Her hands had seemingly crumbled and broken through the sturdy walls of their personal bubble. There was now a massive hole in the wall, as the fresh breeze from the Island wafted inside. The nesting warmth of their ecosystem was gone. It was all cool winds.

Bumi was still recovering, shifting beside her to spoon her from behind as Lin caught her breath.

"We're free," he coughed.

Lin whimpered, still getting off the high, unable to register what Bumi was talking about. She was still sensitive, groaning when Bumi rubbed her arm to catch her attention.

"You broke the wall," he panted. "We're free to leave."

Catching on, Lin quickly sat up in bed to see that the wall behind the bed had indeed disintegrated.

"How did... " she stared at her hands in disbelief.

Bumi sat up too, knitting his eyebrows together. "Did you bend platinum?"

Lin huffed, not looking away from her hands. "Did I?"

"I think I did,"

She glanced back up at the wall and then slowly brought her hands to it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling at her element encased within what was known to be the purest form of metal. Bumi admired her naked form as she concentrated and within moments, to his shock, the wall tore open.

She gaped at him with shock and he returned the same look of incredulity. It was dark outside, which meant that it had been a full day since their entrapment. As far as Lin knew, the Beifongs of Zaofu were living at Air Temple Island during their visit, so a sneaky, quiet exit was prudent. Luckily, Bumi had left his glider and clothes right behind a tree close to the Sphere's Embrace.

Wordlessly, he got dressed as Lin followed his shadow behind the tree. In a moment, he had his arm around her waist, the other holding up the glider as they took flight.

Heads down, they were silent the whole way to the city. They hadn't exchanged a single word since they had stepped outside the Sphere's Embrace. It had been a challenging twenty-four hours- especially now that they both fell victim to the phenomenon of some kind of captivity attachment.

Once they reached the threshold of her house, it was Bumi who finally cleared throat to terminate the silence. They surely had the same thoughts resounding in their minds that neither wanted to be the first to verbalize.

As she unlocked the door, Bumi stepped forward. "Can I come inside?"

Lin gave him what he thought to be the sexiest smile he had ever seen.

He took that as a yes and followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

Ultimately, while the collapse of the Sphere's Embrace could be a painful and transformative experience into reality, it offered the chance for renewal and the possibility of creating new spheres of embrace that are even more fulfilling and enduring than before. As it turned out, Bumi had found his life-partner in the world's first platinum bender.

#chief beifong #lin beifong #linumi #bumi ii #linbeifongsweek

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