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biteyoubiteme · 29 days ago

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lemon cake

lemon drop!soobin x angel cake!reader

‧₊˚ ⋅ synopsis In a world where everything is sugary and sweet, it is always fun to throw in a little twist. Quiet and tired Lemon Drop finds himself struggling to keep up with the day to day of single-parent life. Knocking on Angel Cake's door, begging for more than just help, might take care of two of his problems. ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ warnings 🔞!!! fairytale au, lemon drop!soobin, angel cake fem!reader, slight spit kink, spit and cum as flavored aphrodisiacs, not really but chubby reader implied bc angel cakes body is soft and described as cake (skin indents and takes a few seconds to bounce back), mentions of masturbation (f! and m!), hand job, oral (m!rec), virginity loss, breeding kink, corruption kink, biting, cumplay/eating/snowballing, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

⊹₊ ݁ . wc: 8.9k . ݁₊ ⊹

၄၃ ⸝⸝⸝ now playing: new emotion- the aces an: ive never been so happy to post a fic before! this was so very fun to work on with my moots. im honored to have worked alongside some absolutely incredible writers- actually wild that you let me in on this when you guys are just so amazing im a little dazed lol. and it was so fun to read everyones fics early and go back and forth on little ideas we found would benefit each others works. this was one of the best things to do and im so thankful for mae and her mind,,go read everyone elses fics pls pls pls they are so so good. anyways love my friends <333 [m.list] [strawberry shortcake m.list]

Angel Cake loved a routine. Most things could be broken down into a neat list of checkpoints, a simple to-do list set up like the recipe for a good day. She would get to the store early, prep the tables, and make sure all the clothes were neat enough for when she opened the door. Sometimes a new shipment would come in and she would take her time checking off every box as she added the new items to her inventory. She loved folding all the shirts up, stacking them, lining them all so neatly, and keeping them color-organized.

It wasn't until an hour later that the store officially opened for the day, the sweet buttery scent from the town's shops wafting in through the doors. Angel Cake would sit behind the register looking through catalogs to pick out new things to order, helping customers when they filtered in and lulled around the shop admiring her cute displays. Almost an hour after opening is when her favorite customer arrived. “Strawberry!”

She loved to shop, everything she wore was hand-selected by Angel, perfectly picked out from the catalog with her in mind. Even the pale blue shirt worn by Kai was bought within these four walls. The sweet blueberry boy gave a shy wave, apple dumpling, strawberry’s little sister, running right past the two of them to her favorite section in the store.

“I brought you your share from the bake sale,” the cream-colored box carefully held in hand. It was one of the small things Angel looked forward to, the soft cake and cream, the first bite of sweetness. “They took a little longer than expected to make but they turned out so good,”

Kai flushed a deep shade of blue, the color only highlighted by the blue strands of his hair. Even Strawberry was blushing, her eyes tacking onto apple dumpling to avoid looking at angel cakes questioning glance. “Berry why don't you help Dumpling pick out a new school dress, I see angels gotten some new ones in,”

It was all it took for Kai to follow after the giggling child, leaving Angel and Strawberry alone. “You won't believe the weekend I've had,”

“Was it beomgyu? I hear he went to the market for the first time in a month and acted so bitter over Cherry’s jam,”

“No no nothing like that, I just- berry and I-” If strawberry could get any more color to shade her cheeks she would, her flush traveling to her ears, “We kind of…”

“You kind of what?” Angel Cake had known for years that Blueberry had a crush on Strawberry. They spent most of their time together, strawberry baking and blueberry strumming his guitar. It wasn't news to Angel that either of them had fallen into a relationship without much effort.

“We kissed and then it wasn't kissing it was- well-” she was struggling to find the right words, the images of the night before flashing in her eyes as she stumbled through the words. “It was so much more than kissing, the both of us were just insatiable and he just- he tasted so good,”

“Tasted? Like when you kissed?” Angel tilted her head as if that would tip the right information into the right spot for her to understand. Tasting someone did not necessarily sound all too fun, she could picture the underwhelming flavor of blueberries and didn't find it appealing at all. Angel was never really a fan of how plain they could be, although she would never confess that to Strawberry who couldn't stop herself from remembering the flavor as if it was spilling right back onto her tongue.

“Not exactly-” but it was all Strawberry could say before the two of you turned to the sound of apple dumping giving a shout.

“Meringue!” the little blonde, dimpled-cheeked child, giggling as she ran to meet her friend, exclaiming just as loud, “Dumpling!”

Everyone in all of Strawberry Land knew exactly how close the two little girls were. Spending hours joined at the hip, playing games, singing songs, and laughing enough to fill the sweetest of souls with the happiness shared between the two of them. Most times lemon meringue would find herself sprawled out on the living room floor, coloring with apple dumpling while angel cake and strawberry tested recipes in the kitchen. The two little girls being the best test testers, never afraid to say when they didn't like something.

Most times meringue was over because Blueberry was the perfect babysitter, teaching the girls how to play the guitar, and finding fun ways to keep them entertained. He kept them busy while Lemon Drop, meringue’s dad, was off at the local college teaching. Lemon drop soobin was always a bit bitter, the slight tinge to his personality always brought forward with his obvious sleepiness. His under eyes slightly bruised from the late hours he spent bent over books, grading papers, and chasing after his little sweet tart. Rumpled shirt half untucked from his pants, butter blonde hair mussed, and glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Angel Cake could feel her stomach flutter at the sight, he looked unbelievably warm, the kind of person you wanted to slip into and cuddle up. His lazy blinking eyes tracked around the sweet cream shop, deeply breathing in the sugary air.

Soobin wanted a nap, the warmth of the shop hugging him the second he breached the doorway. It was the favorite shop on the strip, the scent pulling him in amongst the rest of the fruity temptations. Buttery warmth hinted with vanilla cream beckoned him in that direction every time. It was easy to get lost in thought and follow his footsteps right to your door without realizing it when he followed his instincts. With an excuse to step inside, he could settle his craving without shyly backing away from the doorway, tinted pink from the recurring embarrassment of finding the shop irresistible. It was okay when Meringue was with him, but when he was alone, gazing through the sugar glass window to see angel cake folding or hanging clothes, it was a little more awkward.

He wasn't particularly known as the fondest resident in strawberryland. He was known to fight back, the sting of his arguments leaving people with a bitter impression of him. It was something that was expected of the debate professor, teaching the people how to stand up for themselves and find the proper form to an argument.

Angel found him to always cut back the sweetness of the people who took his class, leveling out their need to please in a way that she knew people who didn't take his class found caustic. Working in such a closed shop she heard more than anyone else did in the street market, the stalls so open the voices carried over to one another. No secrets could be kept when the air picked up every sound, enough so that anyone could get burned when gossip traveled. It made her shop the gossip harbor, the walls soaking in the secrets enough so that it set the illusion that nothing would make it to the unknowing subject of conversation.

Just last week she heard the run-around rumor mill turning out stories of frosty puff and gingerbread taehyun. The occasional talk of lemon drop, he's just so sour, listing ways to prove someone wrong. Can't we all just get along and not fight? He must be teaching that poor sweetheart of his such nasty things.

It had made Angel roll her eyes. Who cared if he was giving the rest of Strawberry Land a backbone, it was needed in such a basket of softies. But Angel knew she was in the same boat, still a product of her environment, soobin had moved back after finding himself in a big city amongst the rich and decadent. Nothing like the homegrown bunch he had been born from.

Strawberry pinched angel's arm, her soft flesh dimpling at the draw to attention. It always took a second for Angel's skin to bounce back from a tight hold, easily squashed like the cake from which she was named. “It wasn’t just kissing it was- I don't even know how to describe it, we tasted each other in places I never thought to before,”

“Like where?” it felt absurd to think of putting angel's mouth anywhere besides the mouth of a lover, maybe the back of their hand. Strawberry fiddled with the loose ribbon she used to tie a bow on the shortcake box, tugging the strand until it neatly fell away. Even for her name, Angel had never seen strawberry so pink, from ear to ear as she swallowed. “Down there,” her eyes flickered down to Angel's zipper, popping up just as quickly to see if Angel understood what she was saying.

“Berry!” Angel whisper-shouted, shocked, and intrigued all at once. Angel wasn't too dense, she understood to some extent how it worked but never thought about their being a flavor, or even that your mouth was used for more than just kissing.

“Angel, I don't even know how to describe how good it tasted- better than this,” she held up the short plump cake, the sweet cream swirled on top and donned with a little strawberry heart. “And it's hard to taste any better than this, I mean it's more addictive than sugar,”

It seemed hard to believe, especially when Angel sunk her teeth into the light dessert. The warmth of the sponge still lingers in between the ripples of fresh fruit. The frosting was her favorite part, dotting her upper lip in the clear mark of overindulgence, the creamy whips making her softly moan.

The sound echoed in the shop, just loud enough to be heard under the giggles of the girls, talking out planned outfits to wear to school tomorrow, but it didn't catch Kai’s attention, only catching the ear of lonely Lemon Drop Soobin. He watched the way Angel wiped at her mouth, sucking her thumb clean before rolling her eyes, “Hard to believe,”

“Well, you won't know until you try,” Strawberry muttered, closing the box of sweets and tying the bow back up.

“Ew no, I hate to say it but blueberry is kind of a flavorless fruit-” Angel Cake started looking over to where soobin and Kai stood. Angel stuttered in her speech, cheeks flushed and shoulders straightening under Soobin’s piercing gaze. Strawberry not even noticing the hiccup, “No! Not with Kai, anyone else but him, I mean it, Angel, it was something else,”

Soobin quirked a brow, Angel's cheeks deepening in color. It didn't help that he was looking at her with her train of thought derailing in the direction of a lovely open pool of crisp lemonade. She could just smell the citrusy freshness that followed after him, the scent that made her perfectly aware of how different they were, and forced her to face the recollection that she wanted him in a horribly needy way.

She wondered exactly what he would taste like, obviously lemony, but would he be more sweet or sour? Fresh or bitter? He was the opposite of sweet little blueberry who was now clapping at the choice of dresses the girls had picked out. Lemon drop was a streak of verbena-washed clarity in a town full of half-baked sweet tarts. She wanted him to wash over her and teach her things she never would have known without him, open her pallet to more than just the sweets found in a shop just like Strawberry said. Because as much as she talked down on the people around her, she was just as close to them, still grappling with the niceties of sprouting out in a field of pushovers. But she had time to bake, enough so that she knew she wanted more than just a dollop of sweetness to finish her off. She needed the honesty of someone who would be just as bitter as she was sweet, someone who had left and come back, someone who knew exactly what she wanted and had achieved it themself. Only now all she could think about was what exactly you had to do for a taste of anything at zipper level.

“You know, I heard he's looking for a sitter, especially because Kai is helping me so much at the stand. It's great to have Dumpling around but sometimes following her and meringue is a bit much,” Strawberry added, looking right past soobin to where Blueberry was fussing over apple dumplings shoelaces.

“Really?” soobin had broken eye contact to tend to little lemon meringue, carrying the outfits she's picked out in one arm and pushing back his hair with a ruddy knuckled hand. She watched the two of them like she was memorizing her favorite recipe, taking the time to run over every line, connecting the little bullet point dimples the two of them shared. Even when Strawberry took her bunch with her out the door, leaving the two of them alone at her counter, she couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her features.

“Don't you just love it, angel? It's so bright and pretty and does a perfect twirl when I spin,” meringue is nearly a spitting image of lemon drop, the only difference is her hair doesn't have the classic butter blond but a sun-washed version, the roots starting as a toasted tan color before fading out. But even then it's impossible to say they weren't related. Holding onto the edge of the checkout counter, hand still fluttering over the dress she's picked. Soobin reaches into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, grinning with the edge of his mouth as he watches her look up at Angel with her big brown eyes, dimple so deep in his cheeks she's sure she can swim in it. “It's perfect,” Soobin mutters.

For someone who has been pushed into the bitter pile by the rest of the town, Angel finds it hard to believe someone like the man before her could be anything but comforting. It was in his name, lemon drop, so nostalgic, in and of itself an acquired taste.

“I know you think that but I was asking angel,” meringue scrunched up her nose in that little kid's way, the light dusting of faded freckles tucked into the creases like a bunched blanket.

“I love it, would it even be a good dress without a perfect twirl? It's why I make sure all of the dresses in here look good when you spin,” Angel folds the items neatly sliding them into the gift bag. “Here you go,”

Soobin passes out the exact change, hand brushing angels as he lets the money go, surprised by the warmth radiating off the soft contact. Just as comforting as the alluring scent in the streets he shouldn’t have expected any less. Meringue is elated to be handed her bag giggling to herself as she thanks Angel and her dad. “Next time I see you I hope I can see your perfect twirl and soob- lem-” Angel stumbles over the right name, never really having spoken to him personally besides a few light greetings in passing.

“Soobin is fine,” his grin was a mix of amusement and arrogance that whipped Angel around in a mix of unrelenting jealousy. The ease with which he found himself walking through life was something angel only wished to grasp, and here he was, with confidence written into a single smile.

“Okay, soobin, if you ever need help after five I'm always free to watch her when you need work done. Strawberry was just telling me you could use a hand, "Angel says it so innocently, eyes blinking up to him in a way that he can't think about too closely. It takes everything in him not to look down at the very hand she speaks of, even if it's metaphorically. Because he could use a hand, specifically hers wrapped around him revealing the stress he was feeling in ways that he knew only she would be able to take care of. But it was too much to ask in a place like this, too much to think about when he was in public, and certainly too much when his child was waiting by the door for him to take her to her playdate.

“Thank you I could- um- really use the help,” he didn't know what to do with his hands, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose only for them to slip right back down, hand running through his already messy hair. It was the most angel had ever seen him discomposed, more like a stuttering school boy instead of a college professor who made school boys cower.

“Okay just let me know, you know where you can find me,”

It was only a few days later when soobin came by to ask for Angel's assistance, meringue hot on his heels as he shuffled into the shop right before closing. “I know it's last minute but Kai was supposed to take her to Strawberry’s house but turns out he cant and-”

“It's okay,” Angel chuckled, “I know the two of them have been so finicky with plans recently it's no problem at all. I just need to make sure the doors are locked up and then we can go,” and so they waited while you twisted the key, checking the knob twice, and shuddering from the slight chill in the air. In only a few days, Angel knew the gingerbread cobblestones would be coated in the thin glaze of the first frost, dollops of shoveled snow pushed up against her shop looking like misplaced piles of spilled frosting.

Lemon meringue ran ahead, her ballet flat-covered feet skipping between each stone like a made-up hopscotch map only she could see. Instinctively, Angel walked a step closer to soobin, bumping his arm with every other step they took toward his house at the end of the lane. Angel knew this was one of the reasons why he was accepted more than his other bitter labeled fellows, he lived in town, and went to town meetings even if he didn't add to the majority opinions. If he lived down on the outskirts, house kissing the woods or worse buried deep inside them, he wouldn't have a chance of being accepted in the way that he has been. It gave Meringue the best opportunity to find friends and build a relationship with the community before they ostracized her for being anything but sweet because of the name she carried.

Pushing open the door to their modest place, Angel was surprised by the solace laced into the brown woods and honey-colored accents thrown around the house. Stacks of leather tomes litter tidy shelves, and little dolls, and figurines placed by meringue are known only because of how high each item reaches. It smelled of freshly picked lemons and the cozy baked smell of warmed sugar. It was just late enough for the sun to be setting in through the gauzy curtains, casting the room in a warm golden glow. Angel wasn't to bask in the light, curl up like a kitten on the plush couch, tucked in with the knitted blanket tossed over the back like an invitation.

Meringue shot forward, hand wrapped around Angel's wrist tugging her past the living room and to the overly saturated room that could only belong to a child as happy as her. “Look, angel! I can show you all my princess dresses, we can do a fashion show!” She pushed open a trunk decorated like a little carriage fit to wheel a queen in, the lid holding back all the tulle and silk, only to now spill out like an overstuffed donut.

Soobin chuckled by the doorway, knowing exactly how his daughter was. She would keep Angel entertained enough for the both of them, needing no help to find something to do. It was the only thought in his head until he caught sight of Angel's wrist, his little meringue’s handprint still indented on her soft skin. He watched in amazement the way it slowly rose back into shape like a cake filling the tin in the oven. The thoughts running in his head were nothing to be proud of, images of his hands on the plush of angel tummy driving him mad. He had to turn away, leaving them alone in the room to focus on the stack of papers he had on the edge of his desk to dull the image of his handprint on the crease of her hip, dented into her thigh.

It was hard to get work done as is, his mind always fluttering through the tasks at hand, the next paper to grade, the time to pick up meringue, when he would be able to fit in the time to sleep. Now all he can think about is sweet cream dotting the smooth expanse of buttery cake. He hardly got through the few papers waiting for him, red pen in hand, staining the tips of his fingers as it sat motionless waiting for him to write. Hours passed, the soft laughter and chatting heard through the cracked door, every so often a glimpse of yellow and pink crossed in front of his field of vision, both angel and meringue going from the living room and back.

It made soobin happy to not worry that Meringue was having a good time, sometimes she fell shy especially when not near Apple Dumpling. She even had to warm up to Strawberry, only becoming her bubbly self when she and dumpling were alone, hiding behind her closest advisers in the face of someone new. But Meringue had always wanted to talk to Angel Cake even before they had known her to be best friends with Strawberry. His sweet lemony girl's eyes go wide and glittery seeing the expanse of clothes held in Angel's shop, do you think she gets to try on anything she wants? Look at how cute she dressed Daddy! I wish I had her job.

Every little comment only showed how deeply Meringue wanted to play dress up, more so play with Angel. He's sure even if he had asked for Angel to watch meringue in the shop she would have just as much fun as she was having going around the house now. He loved how comfortable Meringue found herself around Angel, and how Angel accepted his girl with open arms.

Time slipped past soobin without realizing the laughter had faded into hazy silence, more than half his stack of papers cleared through and marked to be returned to waiting students. He ran his fingers under his eyes, glasses set askew from the rubbing, sighing into the empty study. Soobin didn't notice Angel until he smelled her, that wonderfully delicate sweet smell of vanilla sweetness making him hold back his groan. He had thought it had only been the smell of the shop. The cake-like walls were made to pull in customers like the cinnamon scent of a bakery wafting through the streets, beckoning all who breathed in the air. Maybe Angel smelled so delicious because of working all day, the scent rubbing off and sticking to her hair, her clothes, her skin.

“She's fast asleep, knocked out almost as soon as she laid down to read her bedtime book,” Angel leaned against the edge of soobins desk, hip digging into the wood, fingers sprawled over the skewed pages of work. To Soobin, she was a dazzling masterpiece of messy hair and flushed skin, dress short enough for him to see the way the desk was pinching her thigh.

“Thank you,” the words twisted into a whisper from how dry his mouth had gotten just from looking at a single strip of skin. Licking his lips he tried to swallow, finding something to say besides the hollow echo of words he had managed.

“Oh it's nothing really, she's a doll,” Angel's eyes danced over the pages at her hand, “you lived in the city right?” even just the mention had soobins mind going back to the dull colorless house he found himself in when studying for his degree. It made him sick to think about raising meringue in a place like that, she was why he had moved back home, not caring how off-put the rest of the town was about him now.

“Yes, I did,” he sat back in his chair, one elbow still resting on the desk and the other laid out on the armrest. He was half turned to angel, lower because of sitting and now having her tower over him. And her damn thigh was there right next to him, knuckles twitching to brush over the smooth expanse of skin.

“Did you like it?” Angel had tipped her voice down to a whisper, the dim light needing the change when she had decorated the question in enough hope and worry. It wasn't as if Soobin’s answer would change much, she knew she dreamed of a city out there bright enough to blind the thought of home but it was hard to leave when it was all she ever knew, she didn't even know if she truly wanted to leave.

“I liked it enough,” soobin bit at his bottom lip, worrying over the question. It was as honest an answer as he could give. “But it wasn't home, not for me, not for meringue. There is nothing quite like the comfort of home,”

“Like this place you have here,” Angel lifted her chin, looking around the packed study with even more books and bobs. “That couch of yours looks too cozy not to nap on,”

“You should see my bed,” it was a quick response, one that didn't pass the filter connected to the bit of his mouth that kept him from saying anything embarrassing. “I- I didn’t mean it like that-”

But Angel didn't get the innuendo embedded into the words, she just nodded, “I should, I bet it's just as warm as the rest of this place, you have it at just the right temperature,”

The lack of sleep was making him loose, his finger drifting out to press right into the outside of Angel's thigh, pushing against the soft plush of her skin just enough to feel the heat from her, “you sure it's not you? You seem to keep warm enough,”

“Oh no, take it from a cake to know exactly when they walk into the right level of warmth. This is perfectly cozy,”

“You do feel…lively,” soobin drags his finger up Angel's thigh, reaching right to the hem of her dress, stopping right before it could go any further. The line he had drawn was like the roadmap to the realization that he should not be touching her like this. But it was incredibly hard to remember his mind when he felt this hazy; drunk off the lack of sleep and the sweet smell of sugary cake.

Angel felt the pad of his finger slip right up her spine, sink into her nervous system, and cloud her mind. Even if he had pulled away, flexing his hand as if that would sink the feeling of her warm skin into his palm, she could swear the touch was tattooed right there forever now.

She couldn’t forget it, not on the walk home, not when she showered the day away, not even when she climbed into bed. The moonlight slipped in through her lacy curtains, the soft gleam pulling her mind right back to the study. Her finger pressed right where she remembered him, circling the spot like she was tracing the shape of the yellowing moon on her thigh.

Even the moon made her think of him, a little lemon drop in the sky, her bed warm enough to picture what it would be like to snuggle up in his. Her fingers were too soft and not at all how she needed them to be to pick up her illusion. Pressing them harder into her thigh she felt an ache between her legs, centered right at the heart of her.

Angel had never felt such a pull to touch herself, not until the butter blonde boy was there just out of reach, so close to palming her thigh instead of just using the tip of his fingers. She wanted his hands all over her, they didn't even need to be warm, she just needed him. Needed his finger pressed on the tormentor's bud that called for him. But for now, she would have to make do, her hand pushed into her shorts feeling along the wet seam of herself never knowing that her body would crave someone so bad without even having tasted them like strawberry had said.

But the only thing on her mind was lemon drop, her hips rolling into her hand, the soft moans drawn out from a mouth so unfamiliar with this sound. Her body told her the way to move, and where to seek peak pleasure until she was a gasping mess, creaming around her dainty digits. Angel Cakes' new discovery was a calamity, highlighting a deep desire she didn't know she could hold within herself. A catastrophe; soobin had been the one to knock a tray of glasses to the floor, already so recklessly close to the edge until one push sent them shattering, angel couldn't clean the glass fast enough, left to never be the same again.

Soobin was no better, he was a cracked vase slowly leaking out in drips of sun-melted ice, he had to hold it together for work, for home; hastily wrapping fingers around the seeping seams only for his thoughts to pour out between his fingers. Because angel cake was spinning in his living room, twirling around with his daughter, giggling until they were a dizzy pile on the floor. His office door just cracked as he caught sight of angels' sweet lacy white panties, clinging to the curve of her ass. If he had knocked over the tray of her sanity, angel cake had taken a hammer to his fragile vase, smashed it until it was powered, and easily passed as dusting sugar on the treats in strawberry’s shop.

Soobin felt his addiction take its toll on him, every night the image of angel cake washed over his sleeping mind until he was reduced to nothing but a needy muddled mess of thruming joints. He couldn't go one day without his hand wrapped around his cock, working his wrist until he was spilling dribbles of cum onto sheets that needed her in them. It was worse when his order from strawberry came in, Kai handing the box over right at the doorway, picking up Meringue for her sleepover with Dumpling. The smell of the shortcake filled the house as soon as he shut the door behind them.

He was embarrassed to have such an obsession with angel cake, sure that she would cringe away from his desperation for her. So desperate he was standing in the kitchen with one hand down his pants and the other digging into the soft sponge of one of the cakes just brought over. The cream and crumb squished out between his fingers as he came, moaning into the empty space until the sound reverberated around him, the smell of her dancing around his body. He wanted her, needed her.

Soobin didn’t even remember the trip to Angel's shop's door, his nose pulling him along the crumb-dotted cobblestone, leading him right to the front doors, so willing to be eaten by the magic-laced girl inside. He could see her through the frosted glass windows, the closed sign turned to signal the end of her shift but she was leaning over the stand of shirts, fixing them in the way she wanted, her end-of-day routine. He could smell her, that buttery sweetness addicting, making him delirious. He wanted to sink his hands into her warm flesh, hold her tight enough so that if anyone saw they would know it was his hands that had been on her, that she was his, and his alone.

He pushed open the unlocked door, the ding of the bell signaling his entrance, that glance over her shoulder ruining him once and for all. “Hi! Did I forget I was supposed to come over tonight? I can pack up real quick or she can stay here-”

“No, blueberry took her- i- i-” he was struggling with the words, a stuttering fool standing in the middle of the shop like he'd come to beg. And he had, he would beg her till the end of his days to have one taste, to have her tear into him like she was peeling back the layers of his sanity. “I need you,”

“Oh?” she tilted her head to the side, the pure look of innocence smashing into him like a wave. He wanted to stain her, fill her up, and call her his.

Soobin struggled to swallow, every breath filling his lungs with her, she was right there on the tip of his tongue. “I need you,” his hand reached down to the bulge sitting against his thigh, hard, thick, and weeping for her.

If Angel Cake hadn't spoken to Strawberry about the zipper-level kisses she would have been confused beyond belief. But it had been all she could think of since then, what it would be like to lick up his body and know exactly what it was that made people so addicted. Because she was grappling with the fact that she was already falling down the rabbit hole of need, to finally taste him would be like crashing right into another world. “I don't know- I don't know how-” she was flushed all over from the confession because she didn't want him to leave, if he needed her she would mold herself to fit and fix any problem he had. Her lack of knowledge wouldn't hold her back, if he was a teacher she would be his best student.

“I'll show you, tell you everything you need to know,” he snapped the button on his pants, undoing the zipper releasing enough pressure to let out the most sinful noise angel had ever heard. She could feel her panties flooded with the cream that had been leaking from her for days now, always tied to the thought of him. If he felt even a fraction of how she did, Angel would make sure to take the best care of him.

“O-okay,” Angel Cake could feel her mouth water, her thighs pulling together, needing them closer to relieve the ache she felt. Soobin locked the door behind him, tugging Angel to a spot behind a rack of clothes. “Here get on your knees in front of me,”

Angel was fast to listen, sinking to the ground in front of him, hands placed neatly on the tops of her thighs, looking up at soobin with those wanting eyes. Just thinking about those plush lips warping around his cock was taking him out, and watching the tip of her tongue wet her mouth was excruciating. Soobin reached into his pants, pulling out his veiny shaft, the sheer size making Angel's eyes widen.

She didn't know what she was expecting but she was not expecting to feel empty at the sight. The top of him was shiny with a layer of leaking pre-cum. Soobin ran his thumb across his slit collecting the wetness to swirl around the tip, moaning at the way Angel's mouth fell open without realizing. “You can touch it,” he nodded, watching how Angel was gripping her skirt, crinkling the fabric trying to hold herself back.

Angel lifted a shaking hand, fingers brushing the side of him, amazed at the softness so much that she wrapped her hand around him and gave a tug. Soobins chest rumbled, his hand reaching out for the rack next to him, the hangers clattering from the force of his grip. “Sorry-”

“No, no you're doing good, just like that, slow and easy,” he nodded, biting back his moan when her wrist flicked again, “you can squeeze a little harder,” he whispered, his free hand finding itself around hers, showing her just the right amount of pressure he was looking for. Soobin's hand guided Angel's until he was using her hold as if it was his own, speeding up the pace.

Angel watches in amazement as soobins head rolls back, his brows pinched as he whimpers. She's never wanted to taste something or someone so bad, and now, with him right in front of her, she can't resist the temptation for what it is. Angel sits up just enough so that she can press a sweet kiss to his tip, a string of pre-cum still connecting her lips to him. Soobin lets out a shocked gasp, watching the way she licks her lips clean.

The taste is subtle, the sweet and sour mixed together only to draw Angel back in for more. She didn't even know what she was doing, compelled by the flavor to envelop him fully, the flat of her tongue licked up and around to collect more of the addictive fluid. Soobin’s knees go weak at the warmth of her mouth, hips jerking to try to chase the feeling, “Oh fuck just like that,” his hand still holding hers, working over the rest that wasn't pressed into her mouth.

Angel cake moaned around him, his bitter lemon taste mixing with the sweetness from his pre-cum. She wanted to swallow him whole, take more of him down. Soobin couldn't even think anymore, Angel's mouth trying to work further down, her hand stopping right at his base. Angel hollows her cheeks, sucking him down like its instinct, soobins groan taking over the silence and joining the soft wet noises. Soobins restraint breaks, overwhelmed by the way her mouth molds to his cock so perfectly, his mind working to imagine it's her waiting cunt. She takes him down so deep he can feel the back of her throat. It's enough for him to wrap his hands into her hair, fingers wrapping softly around her skull as he fucks into her mouth without warning. Angel moans, the vibrations going straight up his cock and making his balls clench. Her hands reach out for his thighs to keep herself steady, tears welling in her eyes, loving the newfound sensation.

Angel Cake doesn't know what to expect, lashes fluttering as he loses himself in the feel of her. It's a shock when his thrusts become erratic, his body trembling with a deep groan, sweet lemon cream spilling on her waiting tongue. Angel tries to swallow, unable because he keeps going, fucking his cum right into her still willing mouth, spurt after spurt following until he has to pull away. Angel gasps, sucking in gulps of air, mouth a mess of dripping lemon custard and saliva.

If she had thought the pre-cum had been addicting, she didn't know the effect the real deal would have on her. Blindly, she wiped the corner of her mouth, licking the cream she'd collected, humming as if she'd just taken a bite of the richest lemon bar. The sight and sound made soobin impossibly more obsessed with her, fingers going down her cheek, pulling her attention to his awestruck expression.

His head was clearing but it didn't stop the infection of her as it slipped well past his mind, into his bones, into his soul. He had heard about how easy it was to save a fruit tree if you cut away the rot fast enough; right at first sight. Angel cake had taken hold of every thorny branch on his tree and twisted herself in the sparse foliage, so deeply intertwined now that he wasn't sure there was ever a time when it would have been an easy snip to rid himself of this fever.

Angel Cake's face was a glistening mess of wetness when he squished her cheeks with one large hand, her pouting lips so kissable and pink. “Look at you,” a surrealistic sigh caught on the edge of his tone. He leaned down, needing a taste of the two of them, the perfect combination of bitter and sweet, angel's sugary spit mixed with his lemony custard making him powerless. And when he pulled away, letting go of angel's cheeks, he watched the way her lips stayed puffy, the illusion of dimples still there as her skin rose back, flushed a petal pink. “Did I do good?”

“You did perfect,” soobin brushes his nose along the bridge of hers, his eyes closing, breathing her in. He wanted to tear into her, squish his fingers into her, and memorize every little action that brought out a sound. But in his post orgasm clarity, he noticed exactly what he had done. He had tainted this perfect angel, filled her with more than just bad ideas but had fully gone in and let his uncontrollable emotions take over.

Even when Angel Cake had gotten home later that night, she couldn't stop licking her lips. She was lying in bed, wriggling in the sheets trying and failing to find a comfortable position let alone sleep. Her hand was stuck between her legs, on the verge of tears for nothing working to cave in a hunger that she was only now painfully aware of. She hated that she was alone, hated it more than she knew the feeling of his hands on her, knew that those long fingers would have been perfect to fix her problem as easily as she had fixed his.

The hunger triggered a compulsion within her similar to the one soobin experienced on his walk to Angel’s shop, her feet carrying her through the streets, half-dressed in her silky lace pajamas. The lemon drop moon cast its path down the cobblestone to Soobin’s front door. The cold unfelt against Angel's warm skin, and when soobin opened the door he could see the steam rising off of her heated body. The haze of it mixed with the backlight of the moon made her look like a true angel waiting right at his front step, outlined in the glow. She hasn't even come in shoes, her thick socks slouched around her ankles, her shorts pinched at her waist, and one tank top strap down her shoulder. He could see her pebbled nipples through the thin material, his lips pursing at the thought of wrapping around them. “Angel?”

He couldn't tell if this was one of his dreams, the kind that left him reaching out in a bed she never saw. “I think I need you now,” she couldn’t find it in herself to be embarrassed by the words, not when she had seen him in the same state, begging and just as needy. Soobin rushed to pull her inside, ready to get her wrapped up in something to keep her from freezing if that was possible for someone so warm. He hardly had the door closed when she was pulling him closer to her, wrapping her arms around his neck, tugging him into her space. She needed to have him in her mouth again and soobin knew he wasn't going to turn her away. His hands slid down her back, fingers digging into the soft skin, groaning into her sugar-sweet mouth, the sound catching in the back of her throat, and she swallowed it down greedily.

Angel didn't know what to do with her hands, her mind shutting off and following their natural way, slipping into his hair, the strands tangling between her fingers, his lemony sweet kisses taking over her mind as he slowly kissed her. But Angel was impatient, whining and rubbing her thighs together.

“What is it baby? Tell me,” he kissed down her jaw, intoxicated by the smell of her, so much stronger when she was so hot against him.

Angel reached down for one of his hands, guiding it like he had done for her, pushing his fingers until they slipped right against the silk of her shorts, “it's so achy,” she whimpered, “and all I can do is think about you,”

She was like a freshly wrapped gift left on the front step, the label perfectly signed with his name and his name alone. A sinful treat he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into. He dragged his fingers along the seam of her, the silk already spotted with wetness, “you want me to take care of you?” the husk of his voice was thick in her ear like syrup.

“Please- please,” her nods are erratic, hips rolling trying to keep him right against her tender clit. Her pathetic cry echoes in the living room when he pulls his hand away. But he doesn't keep his hands away for long, dragging her to his room, having her fall to his bed, right where he's wanted her. Her knees fall open, the heels of her feet digging into the mattress. She's a vision of her namesake, mewling when soobin hooks his fingers into her waistband and takes down her panties and shorts, sliding them down her legs and peeling her socks off, leaving her bottom half exposed.

Soobin is caught at the sight of her gleaming cunt, leaking arousal the color of royal icing, creamy and sweet, looking as if she had been stuffed full of him already. Nothing could keep him from getting a taste. He fell to his knees like this was a place to beg for forgiveness. But he wouldn't be sorry, not after he started his feast. Soobin licked a bold stripe up from her entrance to clit, groan ripped from him with only one drop of her. He wrapped his arms under her legs, holding her open and watching how his fingers dented her flesh, the plush of her spilling between fingers itching to stay there and mold her as his forever.

Angel let out a sharp gasp the second his mouth was attached to her aching center, thighs trying to snap shut around his head, held in place and forced open as she arched her back. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, her breathing only coming out when she slipped out moans. He was devouring her, licking her clean like he was enjoying the frosting before the cupcake, sucking deeply on her clit just to watch her tremble.

Soobin does not care about the mess he's making of her, face dripping with his Angel's cream, moans of delight vibrating against her puffy clit. He doesn’t even notice the way she's writhing beneath him, only that he's now faced with the most delicious meal he has ever had. Moaning into her, slurping up all that she has to offer trying to pull forth more of her sweet cream. And he didn't have to try hard, not when she needed him so bad already, the bubbling building in her lower belly so newfound and yet never before so intense. Angel cake feels like a balloon ready to pop, one deep long suck on her clit has her seeing stars, her orgasm washing over her as swiftly as a needle prick, causing her to come undone. The gush of her arousal keeps Soobin’s mouth right against her, his persistent licks only pulling him in more.

He was a desperate mess, working away at his pants, rutting into the mattress as if that would curb his insatiable hunger. He needed to be inside of her, filling her up with his lemon custard, fucking her senseless until she was begging to stay right here in his bed and never leave. He wanted that, to keep her as his, not just press his hand into her thigh and leave that lasting mark. No, he needed to claim her as his in the best, most lasting way. “Do you want me inside you Angel?” he pressed the flat of his palm into her pelvis, relishing in the way he felt himself sinking into her skin. “Right here, filling you up, making you mine-”

Angel had never felt so empty, not until he pointed it out, solving a problem she never thought she had. Her mewling response was a mix of pleas and whimpers. She didn't care what he did so long as she could have him near, and if he could fix the burn in her belly he could devour her just as well as tear her apart.

Soobin lifted Angel's legs enough so that the backs of her knees were slotted against his inner elbows, one hand reaching down to guide his dripping cock to her waiting entrance. Angel does not expect the pressure of being pushed into, her gasp caught on a half-open mouth of pure bliss. Every slow tantalizing inch stretches her out, her body instinctively clenching around him trying to suck him in. “Relax, baby,” he whispers, his hand sliding up her stomach, up under her tank top to reveal her breasts. He rubs at her skin, soothing her tense muscles until he's sunk all the way into the hilt, her body melting and molding around his.

Soobin waits, catching himself from letting go, letting their bodies adjust to each other. But Angel is impatient, rolling her hips, not even realizing she's trying to fuck back onto him, only that she needs some kind of friction. But soobin is slow to pull out and even slower to push back in, eyes connected to the spot they meet at. Her body was like clay beneath him, so easily shaped into the perfect temptation. Every drag in and out coated his cock in her cream, mesmerizing him, numbing his brain.

Angel could tell the difference in him, that split second that makes his eyes go hazy, hips snapping into hers making her body ripple from the force. “you were fucking made for me- do you feel how deep I am-“ he’s slamming into her, the lude sounds of their wetness mixing; echoing with their moans. All the veins in his hands straining from the hold on her soft sides.

He was pressed so deep into her she could feel him hitting a spot that made her hips sink, her hands reaching out to hold his hands, needing the comfort not knowing what was building inside her. so much more intense than when it’s her fingers or even just his mouth. “soobin im-im-“ she can’t even find the words looking for something that she didn’t know existed until just now.

“we can cum together- I’ll fill you up make sure to pump you full so you know exactly where I'm going to put our baby,” he moves his hand down to press his thumb to her clit, triggering her to jolt, the walls of her pulsing around him before she’s falling apart.

Angel's body is a tightening mess, her back arching, cheeks flushing as she comes undone for him. The pull of her body to his makes him shudder, his whole body falling against hers needing to be close, needing to smell the vanilla sweetness of her skin, sinking his teeth into her shoulder as he holds back his strangled moans. Slow languid thrusts push his lemon custard cum back into her, needing to make true to his promise to have her full of him and only him. Needing to mix together their cream for the perfect bake.

Neither of them knows what's happened to them, only that they are a tangle of limbs, wrapped up tight enough that Angel can still feel the pulse of his cock deep inside her, still pumping into her never having cum so much in his life before then.

Angel feels boneless when he pulls away, her whimper making him chuckle. “I just need to see your creamy pussy again,” the sight to behold better than before now that he knows the wetness is more his than hers. His fingers dragged through her sensitive cunt, collecting the mess to shove it back Into her, fucking her on his fingers for a second. He lifts his fingers in front of them showing Angel the sheer amount of cream coating the digits. “If I could bottle this flavor I would,” he licks them clean before leaning over to shove his tongue into her mouth, needing her to taste what he’s found as his new obsession.

Angel swallows down the cum, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, twisting legs and burrowing in closer. “you taste sweeter than I thought you would,”

“Did the thought of it keep you up?” he asks, nose brushing along the column of angel's throat. “because thinking of you while being alone in this bed is hell, I need both of my girls under my roof to feel complete,”

“both…” the sound of the word was heavy in her mouth. Not in an uncomfortable way but in a way a piece of chocolate sat on her tongue, melting and sweet, craving to place another one as soon as it was gone.

“Both.” The finality of the word is better than the buttery sheets he’s pressing her right back Into.

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @bts-txt-ateez @apeachty @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @no1likemybbgcharlie @chasingthatjjunie want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask! thank you so much @izzyy-stuff for helping edit this for me ily ily ily @thetxtdevil and @beomiracles for betareading this a bit, but special special thank you for mae who gave me a lot of these ideas in the first place, her perfect mind came up with the cake like reader with indenting skin and helped with the conversation with strawberry and angel <3

#soobin x reader #soobin smut #txt x reader #txt smut #choi soobin x reader #soobin hard hours #soobin hard thoughts #soobin txt #txt soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #huening kai

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solbaby7 · 8 months ago

Text

Feel Me

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual descriptions, tensionnnn, cocky!az , minors DNI

summary: Fae males don’t make love like the sweet boys you knew in the human lands. Fae’s fuck.

based of the request in [ part 1 ]

—

No one else was supposed to be home.

Rhys and Feyre had left long before the morning dew could mist over the lawn. Cassian and Nesta had slipped out hours ago with their leathers on and hair neatly braided after a steaming cup of coffee.

Buttered pancakes steam on a plate, bacon sizzles on the stove and your hips sway in tandem with whatever bouncy song your humming. Strawberry stumps grow in a pile to your left, knife slicing at ripe fruit contentedly until a sneaky wisp of darkness snatches a piece for its master. “You planning on sharing?”

“Depends on how nicely you ask.”

Azriel doesn’t bite, he only raises a brow with a smirk growing at the corner of full lips. “Was it polite words that initiated Elain’s legs straddling your waist the other night?” Shock shoves the ability to form a sentence out the window and you despise the way your eyes linger on the mess of dark hair atop his head—thoughts wandering to less than respectable places when picturing other ways to muss up soft strands. “Bacon’s burning.”

A frustrated scoff pulls from your throat, a blush fanning across your cheeks and gratefulness floods your chest when you actually have something to busy your hands with to avoid Azriel’s honeyed stare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” You hiss, avoiding spattering oil while forking meat from the pan. “But, I was just helping out a friend.”

“Helping?” His morning voice was sinful; a low rasp coupled with lazy lids and a t-shirt that fit entirely too well.

“I offered sound advice.” The house cleans while you plate, stealing berry stumps as a warm rag is ran over the countertops. Hot water is poured in a mug, a tea bag string twirled around the handle. Azriel’s already next to you, twisting open the honey jar and passing it over before you can reach for it. “I demonstrated to ensure a thorough understanding—nothing more.”

“And what exactly were you demonstrating?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Syrup drowned pancakes are shoved into your mouth, favoring the possibility of choking on fluffy goodness over engaging in this conversation for a second longer.

Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, blocking off your hasty exit with his body. Was he always this tall? Giant wings hover behind him and they rustle softly when you reach out a hand to gently push him away. It was a mistake on your part—initiating physical contact because now all you could focus on was the warmth that ebbed through the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard muscles hiding beneath it. “Make it my business.”

You don’t pull away, too entranced with the smell of him. The feel of his body against your fingertips. The barely there distance that toed the line of entirely too close. “I don’t understand why you’d even care.” You mutter, snatching your hand away when you catch yourself subconsciously rubbing at the dark fabric. “I was—“ Words stammer, breath catching over the intensity of his stare and you have to will your voice to steady itself. “I was teaching her how to properly be intimate with a male.”

“I didn’t realize there was a proper way.”

“You know what I mean,” You ramble, obviously flustered when swatting away the inky fog that attempts to swipe crispy bacon from your plate. “She asked for advice and I gave a few tips to make her feel more confident—more comfortable. I was being friendly.” The pancakes have started to go cold around the edges but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Azriel keeps stalking closer, arms boxing you into the counter with ease.

“Hm,” His face is unreadable, void of any emotion but your certain his eyes go just a touch darker when you lean back, your shirt rising; broadcasting a sliver of your stomach and the pale blue panties peeking out of your sleep shorts. “And if I wanted some friendly advice—would you help me with that too?”

Breakfast is long forgotten, your eyes following the plate being pushed away by hands much bigger than your own. A shaky laugh emits, strands of your hair tickle at your cheeks and you’re painfully aware of your attire—or lack thereof judging by hardened peaks poking through delicate silk. “Az, you’re no blushing virgin. What could I possibly help you with?”

Cool shadows trace over bare legs, teasing up your calves and curling around your knees. “I can think of a few things.”

A predatory darkness coats every word, lids narrowing challengingly at you from above. There’s nowhere to run and truthfully you didn’t want to; falling into the trap of his insinuations until the smell of your arousal was becoming anything but subtle. But, then again, who fucking cared when this was exactly what you’d been craving for as long as you could remember. Filthy little fantasies about the Illyrian soldier had plagued your mind for decades. You were reduced to haughty looks and bitten lips while he sparred shirtless with Cassian, sweat gleaming against his chest and the sharp ring of swords colliding. Dirty desires that flared when you’d bump into Az late at night, his hair messy and eyes hazy—that lazy smile and those pet names that he’d let slip when he was too tired to overthink them.

Could it have been possible that Elain had been right?

That you just needed to look to find what you were yearning for.

You pray you don’t appear as desperate as you feel when your eyes scan his own; sifting through the shades of warm caramel and burnt sephia as if they’d shift into mystical beings with endless answers to your list of questions. “Such as?”

“Maybe,” The syllables are drawn out with a sing-songy lilt that has your legs shifting. “—we can start with why you thought she’d be using your tricks and charms on me?” You blame the breeze sifting through the curtains on the shiver that rakes up your spine.

The counter is cold when you lift yourself onto it, palms flat and back curving against the window pane. You shrug, breaking the eye contact and turning your head to face the flying creatures fluttering their feathery wings in the bird bath. “I hadn’t considered it’d be anyone else. You and Elain spend lots of time together and she’s obviously beautiful in that delicate, sweetheart in need of saving sort of way.”

“Careful, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Well, not anymore. But, he didn’t need to know that you’d ever wasted a second of sleep on him. “It was just an observation.”

“A poor one.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not going after your job.” Your arms cross over your chest, knees childishly nudging at the top of his thighs to push him away but he remains steady like a brick wall. Irritation pushes the fluttery twist of yearning out of the way the longer Azriel peers down at you with that look in his eye—that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his annoyingly kissable lips. “Any other questions you’d like to interrogate me with?”

The vitriol in your tone only furthers the grin on his face, eating up the fluctuating emotions he pulls from you like a full course meal. “Just one more.” A breeze shifts through the open window, cutting through the strands of your hair and the smell of your conditioner permeates the space between you. “How much longer must I wait for you to pursue me before I have to take you for myself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you’d like but not for your pardon.” It’s said so swiftly your brain barely registers the suggestive nature of it before he’s talking again. Sweeping you up in the whirlwind that was Azriel and all you could do was hold on tight for the ride. He obtains a boldness you could only dream of, hips jutting forward between your legs to keep you from slipping away; closing the distance until his wants and desires are anything but unclear when pressed so firmly against you. “How much longer?

You swallow, the movement tracked by a hunters stare as you scramble to pull together a coherent sentence. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you have any almost lovers that you’re still pining after?” Shadows glide over the countertop, sneaking behind you and urging you forward. Silky sleep shorts shuffle upwards with the motion and Azriel’s wastes no time in his exploration. Warm hands rake up the length of your legs leisurely, tracing over barely there scars and memorizing moles many overlooked. “Or do you only want me because you’ve never had me?”

Tension hold thick in the air, heavy mugginess that coats your skin with an uncomfortable warmth as you and Az sized each other up—waiting to see who’d break first.

The odds didn’t seem to be swaying in your favor.

“Never had you?” Azriel repeats as if you’ve told a joke, confidence roaring in his veins from the reactions your body offers him. Goosebumps follow the tantalizing trail of his fingers up your legs, thighs subconsciously shifting wider, granting access for more of his body to touch against your own. “Every time I close my eyes, I have you.” He has to know the effect this has on you. That must be why he insists on stealing your backbone and converting it into a makeshift leash until you’re completely pliant in his grasp. “Not exactly conventional. Nowhere near comparable the real thing, I’m sure.” A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes, his hard chest the perfect contrast against the softness of your own. “But, it’s certainly served to be good practice.”

“Azriel—“

“How much longer should I wait?”

The barely restrained need he emits makes your stomach clench. Forces your eyes to dart from his own to his mouth; lingering, lusting.

Fuck, not much longer at all. It felt like the clock was ticking and with each second that passed, your fate grew nearer and nearer.

Instinct speeds up the process, nudging you closer until the tip of your nose brushes against his own. It’s cautious—exploratory. Testing what was allowed and what wasn’t but Azriel’s patience only stretches so far and waiting for this—for you—is an impossible task.

His mouth covers yours in a claiming clash of eager lips and hands desperate to learn the shape of you.

You’re no better, nails raking through inky strands and scouring the strong slope of his shoulders like a woman starved. A relieved sigh tickles at his skin when he kisses over your cheeks, down your neck; until that spot just below your ear forces out low whines. “Az,” Your chest heaves, lungs struggling for a full breath. “Someone will see us.”

Azriel groans, lips searching for the spots that shut you up. The spots that had your spine curving and leg hooking over his waist. You lean back, anticipating the cool chill of the wall but all you meet is soft sheets and fluffy pillows as inky shadows disperse around the room. “Better?”

“Almost.” Eager fingers grip at the offending fabric hiding golden-brown skin beneath, attempting to yank it free. “Take this off.”

“You’re not this demanding in my dreams.”

“And in mine, your mouth isn’t really used for talking.”

Azriel’s efficient in adjusting to your suggestions, tearing apart soft silk as if it were nothing more than a piece of parchment in his quest of baring more of you to him. Hips buck up and nails dig into the hard-earned muscles of his back while his mouth sucked marks across your chest. Warm hands dip under the waistband of your shorts, back curving softly in anticipation as preening little moans cut through the darkness of Azriel’s bedchambers.

When he finally touches where you need him most, teeth sink harshly into the fat of your bottom lip; the feeling of his fingers dragging slow circles over the thin cotton of your underwear becoming the perfect torture. It feels too good to ponder on about the arousal soaking through your delicates or the desperate pleas for more that tumbles from your lips like sinful prayers.

Any remaining clothing falls carelessly to the floor, the hard length of him resting at the crux of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t I feel sure?” Your brows are a little pinched when you stare up at him, a hand wedging between your bodies to guide the swollen head of his cock to your entrance.

“You feel like mine,” Az confesses hoarsely. Inch by deliciously devastating inch is pushed to the brim, hazel eyes transfixed on the snug wrap of your pussy and the warmth that follows. “Like you were fucking made to take my cock.”

He was better than you’d ever pictured, stealing your very breath away with each dragged out stroke. “Az,” His gaze is heavy, sliding up to meet your own with dark promise casting shadows against god-like features. “Please, just move.”

“Here I was trying to get you properly adjusted,” A biting grip begins at your waist, fingers digging precious prints into your hips as Azriel positions you as he pleases. Bare thighs are braced in the crease of his arms, a cocky smirk ghosting his face. “But you just wanna be fucked.” Eyes roll behind fluttering lids when the pace picks up, the position forcing you to take every inch until all you can offer is choked moans and garbled praises.

Claiming marks are placed wherever Azriel’s mouth can reach, muffled groans and deep grunts of pleasure vibrating against your skin as he carves out a space specifically made for him. You don’t last long, lips searching for his own as you clench around the length of him; toes curling and manicured nails biting at the base of his wings.

“There you go,” He croons, gently tucking stray hairs away from your face—a complete juxtaposition from the relentless way his cock fucks into you. “Taking me so well.”

Bleary eyed and boneless you are in his grasp; allowing him to act on every secret fantasy and salacious desire he'd harbored longer than he could remember until you feel the vicious twitch inside you, his hips stuttering and seed spilling.

The room reeks of sex, sheets sodden and clothes too ruined to walk out of there wearing them without looking like you belonged in a pleasure hall.

Not that it would matter—Azriel won't let you go now; hooked like an addict to their drug of choice. "You were wrong, you know." Your brow raises in silent question. "Now that I've had you, I can't see myself ever wanting anything else."

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haechanhues · 21 days ago

Text

pairing : frenemy! haechan x fem! reader

genre : frenemies to lovers. fluff. angst. smut.

warnings : swearing (i'm going to stop using this as a warning). fights. jealousy. possessive behaviour. dumb shit. sexual themes throughout (MINORS DNI). you read it and you're bothered, well...i did warn you.

summary : your best friend's best friend offers his services as you keep complaining about your lack of… sexual gratification.

status : ongoing

taglist : @harunade @yukisroom97 @haesluvr @choizzn @lovetyong @kukkurookkoo @t-102 @jeonghansshitester @haechansssun @miniature-tragedy @nctdreamchaser @tenjyucat @chan-yeoldelling @ant-onie @toroufriteh @queenrachelpink @tywritesstuff @meowtella @gomdoleemyson @karmasbestie @berries-n-blues @sundamariis @minkyuncutie @kodasity @bbambidorii

(bold - tags aren’t working)

* written

main masterlist

for the hyuck fans (and everyone in between)

moodboard | profiles

chapter one : user le markeu can’t read the room

chapter two : not with my friends

chapter three : what nicknames do you like?

chapter four : she returns

chapter five : all your friends are guys and it shows

chapter six : being too nice puts him in the friendzone

chapter seven : omg it's my hot friend

chapter eight : this user accepts apologies in gossip

chapter nine : boy and friend

chapter ten : gang

chapter eleven : female validation

chapter twelve : joy's a mess

chapter thirteen : don’t need the sky *

chapter fourteen : token child of divorce

chapter fifteen : i've got sheets in your drool

chapter sixteen : boston bun

chapter seventeen : first kiss*

chapter eighteen : purely objective

chapter nineteen : a friend?

chapter twenty :

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moon-child-goddess · 2 months ago

Text

Oblivious

Mattheo Riddle X Hufflepuff reader

Summery: Mattheo is in love with someone, and the reader navigates their way through it. Also Mattheo cant keep his hands to himself.

Warnings: Out of character maybe, Cursing, Friends to lovers, Language, some angst, This is long, fluff

Word count is just under 6k oops.

“There’s the little badger.” Mattheo greeted as I sat in my usual spot right next to him.

I scrunched my nose up at the nickname he had given to me in our second year, a moniker that had yet to die. He bestowed it upon me after I refused to divulge my name in the first month of knowing him. So he cycled through various nick names before settling on my house’s animal.

“Hi Matty.” I spoke in a sing-song voice.

His lips quirked up as he rolled his eyes. He always acted like he hated the name, but I knew he secretly loved it. Instead of responding, he reached up and straightened out my tie that I had haphazardly thrown on. I was late this morning, which was no surprise. Being late was the hallmark of my personality.

“We should get you a green one, since you are an honorary Slytherin at this point.” He said in a sarcastic tone, but his brown eyes sparkled with warmth.

“I could just take yours.” I whispered winking at him.

Mattheo froze for a moment, then let out a cough. His long fingers tugged my collar back down. Blaise made a stupid joke to Draco, Complete with an exaggerated kissy face. A small blush rose to my cheeks.

“Thanks. You are the best” I said, interrupting the awkward tension.

He responded with a genuine smile, one that lingered for nearly twenty seconds before reverting to his usual scowl. Mattheo nudged a plate of food towards me. It was loaded with my favorite things, including a bowl of fruit topped with a generous pile of whipped cream—just the way I liked it. My smile widened until it hurt.

I wasted no time in digging into the fruit. The sweetness of the whipped cream mingled with the tartness of the berries reminding me why it was the best. As soon as I took my first bite Mattheo wrapped an arm over my shoulders turning back to his conversation with his friends.

“What do you want to do this weekend?” Blaise asked, looking at everyone.

“I am going to Hogsmeade with Ron and Harry. They just asked me in the hall.” Mattheo glowered as I spoke, his arm falling down to my lower back.

“Ditching us for the golden trio. That’s low Y/N.” Theo spoke through a mouthful of food.

“I have other friends, you know.”

Everyone exchanged dubious glances, I spent about 95 percent of my time with the Slytherin boys, but I did have other friends. They just seemed to forget it. Draco scoffed. I took another bite of my food hiding my smile. My friends were jealous though they would never admit it.

“What if we meet-“ My words trailed off as Mattheo used his finger to wipe away some cream on the corner of my mouth. His touch lingered a moment longer than necessary, awakening butterflies in my stomach.

“Hey Mattheo.” A female voice said from behind us. We both turned to face her, moving as one.

It was a pretty Ravenclaw girl a year below us. She and Mattheo talked occasionally in classes and the hallway; she had even tutored him for a few months last year. The girl started to fiddle with her blue sweater, shuffling on her feet.

“I was wondering if you wanted to hang out on Saturday?”

Everyone at our table fell silent. Did she just ask him out on a date? I froze. We had all suspected she liked him, but we never knew how Mattheo felt about her. He was a man of few words when it came to feelings.

Mattheo looked right at me, his mouth opening and closing, words failing him. I giggled nervously—did he like her after all? Was he nervous?

“He is free. Let’s all meet in the Courtyard at 9? We can all head out together.” She nodded.

As she walked away, Mattheo squeezed my hand, mumbling something under his breath. I couldn’t make out a single word he was saying.

I think I just got him a date, and it wasn’t me. I pushed him in to another girls’ arms. Merlin, I was dumb.

It was the end of the day, and it had passed by in a blur. I was making my way to the library so Mattheo and I could work on an essay for herbology together. The events of this morning were still raw in my mind, playing over and over. My heart hurt, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Is he ever going to tell her how he feels?” Theo’s voice echoed down the hall loud and clear.

“I mean it’s obvious. Mattheo is fooling no one.” Blaise added.

I gasped as I rounded the corner, my footsteps faltering. It felt like there was another crack added to my heart today. Why, though? I always knew there was going to eventually be a girl that wasn’t just a casual hook up.

“Mattheo is in love with someone?” I whispered, disbelief washing through me like a cold wave.

“No, he just really likes this girl. She is-” Blaise smacked Theo, cutting off whatever else he was going to say.

“Ow” Theo rubbed his arm and glared at Blaise. Ever the dramatic one.

Mattheo never told me about liking anyone. I thought we were closer than that. And Merlin, I agreed to a date for him. What if it was the wrong girl and I just made things complicated? He could have just been looking for a way out of it. Maybe that was why he was tense all day.

“It is not our place to say anything” Blaise bit out bitterly.

“Oh.”

“Why does it look like you two have offended my little badger?” Mattheo appeared; his eyebrow arched in curiosity as he looked at the two of them.

“Uhmm- They. We.” I couldn’t come up with a lie. My brain was trying to comprehend that Mattheo didn’t tell me he liked someone.

He gently grabbed my hands, his touch warm and reassuring, making me face him. His dark eyes bore into mine, searching for an answer.

“Darling? Are you ok?” his tone was soft and filled with concern.

“Yeah, yes. They were talking about sex.” I cringed internally. I wasn’t that innocent, but what else could I say that would end the conversation?

I was getting secondhand embarrassment from myself if that was even possible.

He let out a loud laugh, which startled me to my core. I wasn’t prepared for that reaction.

“I thought I was going to have to fight my best friends for you.” His tone held amusement, a playful glint in his eyes.

Blaise flipped him off, and Theo let out a protest. Mattheo’s hands moved from mine, pulling me into his embrace. His chest shook as he laughed some more. I buried my face into his chest, trying to hide my embarrassment. He smelled of cologne and rain.

“Let’s get to the library; we have an essay to write.” He took my bag from me, slinging it on his shoulder and held my hand as we walked to the library.

As we walked, I couldn’t help but replay the conversation I had overheard. Mattheo liked someone- no, loved someone. My mind was becoming a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Every glance, every touch we shared had felt loaded with unspoken words. Was I reading into it?

When we finally arrived at the library, the familiar scent of books and the quiet ambiance did little to calm my racing thoughts. Mattheo led us to a secluded table, away from the prying eyes of the other students. He set my bag down and pulled out a chair for me, a small gesture that made my heart flutter despite everything.

As we worked, I found myself stealing glances at him, wondering what secrets he was hiding behind that stupid charming smile of his.

We were in the middle of our work... Well, he was. I was reading the same page over and over, my eyes glazing over the words. I was still focused on trying to figure out who the girl he liked was. He hardly talked to anyone when he was with me, which was pretty much all day.

I let out a gasp dropping the book on the table with a thud. The librarian shushed me from her desk, eyes narrowed in disapproval. Mattheo’s hand instinctively reached out and rubbed circles on my back as if it was second nature to comfort me.

Was I in the way? The reason he couldn’t get the girl.

No, he would tell me. Mattheo was blunt like that… but he didn’t tell me he liked someone.

“I can tell you are overthinking little badger.” His thumb smoothed out the worry lines on my forehead. His touch was soft and comforting.

Gods, why did my heart hurt so much?

“Oh, you know I just realized my outline was wrong. I need to start over.” I lied to him, something I never did. And I have done It twice in one day.

Mattheo knew I was lying too. He shook his head, looking back at his paper, his warm hand squeezing my knee, sending me silent words of comfort and understanding. His touch lingered, grounding me, yet making my thoughts spiral even more. The connection between us felt so real, so tangible, but was it just in my head? The uncertainty gnawed at me, making it hard to focus.

As the minutes ticked by the silence between us filled the space. I could feel his gaze flicker to me, trying to decipher my emotions and thoughts. The library's quiet ambiance seemed to mock my inner turmoil, each second stretching painfully.

As the evening drew on, Mattheo set his quill down, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “Darling, you're not yourself tonight. What's really going on?”

I swallowed hard, avoiding getting any answers I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear. I forced a smile. “Just tired, I guess. It's been a long day.”

He didn’t seem convinced, his eyes searching mine. With a sigh, he gathered our things, his movements slow and deliberate. “Let’s call it a night. We can finish this another time.”

As we walked out of the library, the cool air hit us, a welcome relief. Mattheo’s hand found mine again, his fingers lacing through mine with an ease that made my heart ache. Could I bear to lose this connection if he moved on?

I awoke with a gasp sitting straight up in my bed. My breathing was shallow, and I was drenched in a cold sweat. Tears fell slowly, tracing icy paths down my cheeks. I haven’t had that nightmare in a while. Mattheo was fighting in the war, and I watched him die as I held on to him, begging him to stay with me. It always felt too real.

A wave of panic surged through me as I stood up grabbing my slippers. The torches casted an eerie glow on the paintings that were sleeping as I hurried down the silent corridor. I needed to get to the Slytherin common room. I needed to see him with my own eyes.

I knocked on Mattheos door very gently, my knuckles barely made a sound against the wood. This was stupid. I shouldn’t be waking him up. It was selfish, but I needed to see him breathing.

My vision was still blurry from the tears, heart pounding a mile a minute. The door cracked open very slowly.

“Darling?” he mumbled, sleep thick in his voice reaching out for me. “What’s wrong?”

I launched into his arms holding on to him tightly. His arms caught me snaking around my waist holding me close. Mattheo nuzzled his face in my neck. I pressed my ear to his chest listening to his steady heartbeat.

He was ok. It was a dream. I let out a soft sob. Mattheo shushed me, pulling us into his room. As a perfect he got his room to himself, so I didn’t have to worry about waking any roommates.

“What happened darling?” He asked again, running his finger through my hair untangling any knots they found.

“I- I had a nightmare.” Mattheo raised an eyebrow.

“Again?” I nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No” I mumbled into his chest. “Can I stay with you?”

He didn’t respond, just pulled us to his bed lifting the covers, guiding me in. Once he was settled in, he pulled me to him, tucking my head under his chin. I could feel his lips press a lingering kiss on to the top of my head. He rubbed soothing circles on my back. His warmth enveloped me, chasing away the remnants of the nightmare. I grew tired, and that was how I fell asleep. In his arms, ear pressed to his chest, the steady thump of his heart a lullaby. A reminder he is alive.

My eyes fluttered open as the memory of last night clung to my consciousness. I wiggled around trying to bring feeling back into my leg, a heavy arm still on my waist. Mattheo’s hold tightened, pulling me in closer. The warmth of his body against mine was a nice contrast to the cold dread I felt last night.

I was safe.

Mattheo groaned, a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

“Sorry for waking you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

He cracked an eye open, a sleepy smile playing on his lips. “It's okay.”

“Stay in bed with me a little longer.” His request was gentle, almost a warm plea against my skin.

“We must get ready for Hogsmeade. And you have a date,” I reminded him the word bitter on my tongue.

His eyes darkened briefly before he rolled them, pulling me impossibly closer. He whispered something incoherent, a blend of frustration and longing that I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Stay with me a little longer,” he repeated, one of his hands pushing my hair back exposing more of my face to him.

“Okay. Just for ten minutes,” I complied, my resolve crumbling under the weight of his touch. It wasn’t hard to give in to him. This seemed to make him happy. He said nothing more, moving his hands from my hair down to my hip squeezing gently.

We lay there in silence, the early morning light filtering through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his floor. My chin rested on his chest as I studied his features. The way his dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the faint stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips. I wanted to memorize every detail, hold onto this moment.

As the minutes passed, I felt calm. A calmness I only ever felt in his presence.

“Matty,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, scared to ruin the moment. “Thank you.”

He tilted his head down to look at me, his eyes soft and full of something I couldn’t quite name. “For what, darling?”

“For being here. For making me feel safe,” I replied, my heart pounding.

His lips brushed very gently against my forehead, a feather-light kiss that sent another wave of tingles down my spine. “Always, little badger. Always.”

We stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the world outside demanded our attention. But for those precious moments, nothing else mattered to me. Harry and Ron could wait.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione had packed our day with activities. It was a nice break from my overthinking. They made me laugh till my sides hurt. A nice break indeed.

Currently, I was standing outside Honeydukes waiting for Ron and Harry. There were so many people inside that you could barely walk through it. It was overwhelming. Between the cacophony of excited chatter and the scent of various sweets was too much for me. I pulled my coat over my lips, trying to warm myself up as the cold wind nipped at my face My nose began to run.

Warm hands wrapped around me from behind, and I let out a surprised squeak. A head rested on my shoulder.

“Hello little badger.” Was whispered in my ear.

Mattheo.

I smiled, turning to face him. I leaned back into his arms that circled around me and looked up at him. He gave me a quick smile. If anyone else saw it, they would miss it, but I knew Mattheo.

“What are you doing alone in the cold?” he seemed annoyed at the thought, his warm breath clouding up in the cold.

“There were too many people in there, and I told Ron I would wait.” I pointed at the window behind me, proving my point.

“Hmmm. I see.”

He did not see. His eyes never left mine.

“What happened to your date?” The word once again bitter on my tongue.

“Not my date.” He bit out. “And she ran off with some boy she wanted to make jealous.”

That look I couldn’t decipher flashed through his eyes again. This was good. Now he had an opportunity to make a move on the other girl.

“Oh.” I bit down on my bottom lip.

“Yeah, so I came to kidnap my girl. Did you eat?”

My heart skipped at his words—his girl. If only.

“Hang out with us. We were about to go get drinks. Plus, I really want hot cocoa.” I pleaded.

He was pulling his scarf around my neck, eyebrows furrowed, contemplating his options. It smelled like him, overwhelming my senses with a mix of his cologne and something distinctly Mattheo. I pushed my nose into it, inhaling for a quick second, seeking comfort in his scent.

“I will make you one, and we can go to the astronomy tower like we always do.”

It was tradition. We spent Saturday nights looking at the stars and reading from a book to each other.

“Matty, I can’t just leave without saying anything to my friends.”

“I will go in and tell them.”

He was not going to take no for an answer.

“Ok.” I caved.

His smile returned, and he pulled my hair out from the scarf before making his way inside. I watched him through the window, anxiety coursing through me. I hoped he was nice to them. It was no secret they hated each other.

He moved through the crowd so effortlessly, his presence commanding attention. Before I knew it, he was back outside in front of me.

“They’re all set. Let’s get out of here,” he said, taking my hand in his. His grip was firm, reassuring, and I squeezed back, feeling a sense of security wash over me.

When I walked into potions Mattheo was sitting at our usual table. Only my spot was taken by another girl who was letting out an obnoxious giggle. I rolled my eyes, making my way to my chair, but then I halted, Theos words echoing in the back of my mind.

Was this the girl?

I didn’t know how much more I could take of this guess-who game. My heart hurt more than I thought it ever could. Seeing him happy with someone else was more than I could bear. I was in love with him. I tried so hard to deny it, to hide it. But I was in love with my best friend, and this pain was getting to be too much.

I needed space.

Another giggle from her solidified my decision to keep my distance. I took the seat next to another Hufflepuff, who raised both their eyebrows up to their hairline, taking a second look to make sure they weren’t hallucinating.

Mattheo spun in his seat and sent me a what-the-hell look. He cocked his head to the side, using his head to point at my chair. The girl still sat there, getting comfortable. I waved and looked down at my textbook, repeating to myself that this was the right thing to do, trying to convince myself.

That’s how it continued for a while. I would sit with my house or walk the other way. My peers began to look at me like I had lost it. I was never at their table or on their side of the room, and here I was for the last few weeks actively being a Hufflepuff.

I showed up to class early to avoid him.

Mattheo kept my spot open and would stare at me from where he sat, whether that was in the dining hall or classrooms. The first few days he wore a questioning look. It slowly faded into one of hurt and confusion. The shine in his brown eyes was dulling.

I needed time. How much time exactly, I wasn’t sure.

Various friends became worried when I stopped taking care of my appearance. My hair was in disarray, my tie was lopsided, and my skirt was wrinkled. I felt queasy most of the time and wasn’t eating as much. The once neatly arranged notes and textbooks in my bag had become a chaotic mess. I stopped turning in homework.

Mattheo knew that I wasn’t eating enough because one afternoon in the library he dropped a sack of food in front of me, giving me a cold stare before walking off. There was a note in there that just said, “Eat.”

My roommates came into the room laughing loudly. From the sounds of it, Slytherin won the Quidditch game. Mattheo would be happy about that. I didn’t move, just stared at the blank stone wall in front of me, feeling the coldness seep into my bones.

Someone landed on the corner of my bed, their hand gripping my calf.

“Alright, no more being sad. We are going to the party tonight,” my friend stated, leaving no room to argue.

I turned my head to look at her.

But I was stubborn. “The Slytherin one? Yeah, no thank you. I am staying in.” Mattheo would be there. If one is avoiding someone, they don’t show up to their house party.

“Please? You need it.” Her bottom lip jutted out hands in a payer motion begging.

“I have stuff I need to do.”

Like stare at the wall till I fell asleep.

“Please? You won’t even have to do anything. I will do your hair and get you ready.”

She gave me puppy dog eyes. I honestly was convinced she would cry if I said no. Everyone would be there, and Mattheo and the boys always stayed in the corner. I just needed to stay on the opposite side. I should get out and find a new normal.

“You must stay with me, never leave my side.” I spoke sternly leaving no room for negotiations.

She squealed, agreeing with my condition.

I was in the thick of the people dancing and singing off-key. The room was a blur of colors and sounds, the music pounding in my ears. I hadn’t seen Mattheo or Theo all night. Theo wouldn’t keep his mouth shut if he saw me. I ran into Blaise on the way in—that was over an hour ago, so I don’t think he said anything to any of the gang. My friend had said they were all in their usual corner drinking about ten minutes ago. My guard was down.

I had a slight buzz from the one too many shots of firewhisky I took when we got here. Unfamiliar hands were on my waist, dancing with me. I didn’t push them off, just continued. My brain was too hazy to care. My friend made eye contact with me, wiggling her brows. I turned, facing the person behind me. It was some blonde from Slytherin I never talked to before.

We drunkenly smiled at each other, my arms going around his neck. As we danced, we grew closer. His forehead on mine. Kissing him would probably be a bad idea. But I didn’t really care. I wanted to feel something. Just as I was about to kiss him, my body was yanked away harshly.

“What the fuck, Y/N?” Mattheo growled, my name coming out like a curse. There was a dark look in his eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

Oh, I was in trouble. He never used my name. My heart rate picked up.

“Go away, Matty,” I slurred, pushing my way past someone. The moment was now dead.

In the next second, I was thrown over his shoulder and carried through the crowd. One of his hands held my dress down, keeping me modest. He shoved people out of the way. It wasn’t a hard feat—most of the people here were wasted anyway.

“Put me down.” I smacked his back, but it didn’t even phase him.

“No,” he hissed. “You are drunk.”

“I am not drunk.”

“We both know you are, so stop lying. It makes things easier on both of us.”

I sent a pleading look to Theo as we passed by. He laughed. Of course, he would think this was funny. No one made an attempt to save me. My friend was lost in the crowd, so I was on my own.

He kicked open a door, and once we entered, my nose was met with a very familiar smell. His room. I yelped as I was thrown down onto his bed. It was a little harsher than I think he intended, because he cursed and backed away. I sat up on my arms, glaring at him. Blowing the hair out of my face.

He paced in front of me, looking up at the ceiling, frustration etched in every line of his face.

“I am going back to my room,” I stated moving to stand up.

His head snapped to me, softening his gaze. “You are not leaving till you sober up.” There was tension in his tone, like he was trying to hold himself back.

I glared at his words. “I am fine. I can sober up in my room.”

His jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. It was a little scary to be on the receiving side of his anger. I almost stood up to ease the anger like I normally would.

He thrust a cup in my face, hissing the word “Drink.”

I complied, not wanting to further his anger. His fingers dug through his curls, tugging them out of place.

“Fuck, you look so good.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Darling, where have you been?”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the nickname. A knock on the door interrupted any response I was going to give.

He made no move to answer it. We stared at each other, neither one of us blinking. His jaw set. We were playing an awful round of the staring game.

The door creaked open. I didn’t take my eyes off Mattheo, and his stayed on me.

“Matty, come back down,” a feminine voice spoke in a baby tone behind me.

Merlin. That was the girl, wasn’t it? I was now sobered up. My heartache was back, one hundred times worse than it was before. Now that she was there, and behind me.

Mattheo paid her no attention. I dropped the cup on the floor.

“That is my cue to leave. Goodbye, Mattheo.”

This time I meant it. Goodbye forever. I think he knew it too. He scrambled to catch my hand before I left, breathing hard, eyes wide. He tried to pull me back, but I didn’t budge.

“Y/N,” he said softly, as if my name was a prayer leaving his lips.

The girl behind us scoffed. I looked at him, really took him in. There were bags under his eyes and pain hidden in those beautiful brown pools.

My eyes burned I was doing this to him. I fought the urge to take care of him and take away any pain. But that would mean I would hurt all the time. It was something I couldn’t do. Call me selfish, but I just couldn’t.

“No. No, we are not doing this.” I yanked my hand away and ran as fast as I could.

There was a frantic banging on my room’s door. I didn’t move. My limbs felt like lead, and I had been staring at the wall in front of me since I left the party two days ago. I hadn’t left my room or moved. My friends had brought me food, but it remained for the most part untouched. I was not hungry. I missed my friend. I wanted to run back to him.

When I didn’t answer, the knocking didn’t stop; it just grew louder. I didn’t understand who it could have been. My roommates had all gone out to enjoy their weekend after I convinced them I was okay.

It wouldn’t stop, and the longer it went, the louder it got. Whoever it was, was not going to give up.

“Go away.” I yelled out still not moving from my bed.

It stopped.

“No,” a male voice growled out muffled by the door.

The knocking began again. A groan escaped me. The door was unlocked; they could just enter.

I kicked my sheets off me, cursing under my breath.

Mattheo stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists. His hair was messy, the curls out of place. He looked into the dark room behind me, staring into the shadows. When he looked back down, his eyes hardened with resolve.

When his hands reached out, I backed away. I didn’t miss the flash of pain on his face.

“What do you want, Mattheo?” I sighed; my voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Are you okay? Why are you avoiding me? What did I do?” He asked rapidly one question after the other not taking a breath.

“I am fine. Let me sleep.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. He was just as stubborn as I was. The air in the room grew thick, and we were on the cusp of a fight. He wanted to yell at me, and I wanted to yell at him.

“You are not fine. What’s going on?” He spat the words out. I flinched.

“Stop. Please just leave me alone!” I cried out, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to protect my fragile heart.

Mattheo reached out again hands shaking before he let them fall to his side.

“Why are you being so dramatic?” his tone was laced with frustration.

“Fuck you. I am going to shower. When I get back, be gone” I slammed the door my breathing was ragged. I was seeing red.

He was still there when I got back from the shower. My hair was wet and dripping on the floor. He sat on my bed head down and hands in his lap. I ran the brush through my locks.

“Why are you avoiding me little badger?” Mattheo whispered not looking up at me.

“I-I just need time.” I stuttered. Placing my brush on my desk.

“Time?” He questioned confusion showing on his face. He stood up taking slow steps watching me and waiting for me to run.

“Don’t make me say it please.” I whispered, the anguish seeping into my tone.

His hands were on me cupping my face wiping the tears that came.

“I don’t get it. I thought we were- I thought we were closer than this.”

He bent his head, so we were eye level, not letting me escape this time.

“We are Mattheo. I just have a lot going on up here.” I taped the side of my head. His hand grabbed mine clutching on to it. It wasn’t a lie. I did have a lot on my mind.

“Let me in. Let me fix it please.” His words cracked at the end; eyes glassy.

“Matty I will be ok. I just need to get over the fact you are in love with someone. I-“

He didn’t let me finish his words coming out in a hurry.

“I am not in love with just anyone. I am in love with you. I want you.”

“But Theo said-“

“My beautiful oblivious girl.” His hands moved to my neck. His forehead resting on mine. “Theo is an idiot.

“oblivious?” I scoffed.

“Yes, oblivious baby. I have been in love with you since we met. I can’t keep my hands off you, because touching you satiates the need to kiss you.”

I gasped.

“Which if you can’t tell is all the fucking time. The last two and half weeks has been hell.”

It was silent. We were breathing each other in his nose nudged mine.

I stood on the tip of my toes, closing the gap between us. At first, he didn’t respond or move. As I pulled away, he used the hand on my neck to pull me back. His lips moved slowly at first before moving in a frenzy. My feet were suddenly off the ground, and he nibbled down on my bottom lip. Mattheo had me in his hands, setting me on the desk behind us. My legs hooked around his waist keeping him close. He now had his fingers in my hair pulling gently angling my face to deepen the kiss.

I was putty in his hands. My fingers tangled in his soft hair ruining the curls even more. The taste of him was intoxicating something I would never get over. I was addicted. When we parted, I was panting for air. Mattheo moved his lips down my neck trailing to my shoulder. He bit down. I moaned before I could stop it. His lips moved in a smile against my skin moving his lips back up landing on mine again.

“Fuck little badger, I don’t ever want to stop.” He mumbled against my lips.

“Then don’t.” I pecked him once, twice, three times. My heart rate wasn’t coming down anytime soon.

He pulled my face back looking at me. The smile I loved plastered on his.

“You should smile more. I like it.” I whispered drunk off the kiss.

He didn’t say anything but placed a quick kiss.

“Theo and Blaise are going to be unbearable once they find out you are officially mine.” His smile widened.

“Oh yours?” I giggled pressing my face into his shoulder.

“You are mine, baby, and I am yours,” he promised in my ear kissing the shell of it.

“I love you Matty.” I whispered back.

Mattheo pulled my face up

“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that” he murmured, his eyes searching mine for any hint of hesitation.

When he saw none, he kissed me again, this time slower, with a tenderness that made my heart ache. His hands moved gently, reverently, as if he were afraid, I might disappear. We stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, losing ourselves in the connection we had longed for.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheoxreader #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle imagine

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cherry-leclerc · 10 months ago

Text

the set up ☆ ln4

genre: fluff, humor, parent trip vibes from oscahhh, strangers to lovers (bc of course it is), uni!reader

word count: 2.12k

Caught up in work, you find time to join your friends at the McLaren welcome dinner; meeting a certain British driver along the way. Whom you don't make the best first impression with.

req!...oscar+lily playing matchmakers? cute cute cuteeee. quick one for my lando lovers mwahhh

It takes a lot to convince you; like—a lot. Partial credit is due to your pride, but honestly, it drove your friends mad.

Let's go out and celebrate! Just a good ‘ol round of drinks. I have to study. Maybe next time.

Oh! I heard of this new place down the street where you custom make your own jewelry. Fun, no? I have enough already, thank you.

Five minutes—let’s just go grab coffee! Too tired. Go on without me.

“It’s my welcome dinner, mate. You can’t do this to me now.” Oscar’s brown eyes flicker between you and his girlfriend, to which she apologetically shrugs. Deep down, it's like she can forehear your excuse. An essay is due, your internship, helping out at your local library. There's been too many times where you’ve flaked, and they were starting to worry. The pile of clothes makes her wince as you greedily type away.

“I-I’m sorry, but I have to—”

“Reckon you don’t have anything on your agenda that is as important as you make it out to seem,” he hums. Narrowed eyes burn down, flipping your screen towards him.

Compile a series of current events…BLAH BLAH BLAH. He stops caring, already bored.

“I wish I could—seriously, Oscar—but I’m needed elsewhere.” A beat. “Lily will keep me updated! Go Mango!”

The Australian rolls his eyes, sharp brows expanding with desperation. “Papaya, mate, papaya.” You giggle, mimically apologizing. The clicks continue; round eyes laser focused. He tries getting your attention once more, but you don’t look up at him at all. The driver’s girlfriend purses her pink lips, crossing her legs gingerly against the couch.

“I can help you write your paper. All of it. Just please, come with us.” Blue eyes wink back as you come to a halt, temptation swirling. “We’re your friends and we want you there. Pretty please?”

The McLaren rookie thinks it has to do with his girlfriend's cute pout, but that is so far from it. It was well known that Lily Zneimer had a wicked talent for conducting a killer research essay. From her resources, to her dialogue. It’s astonishing how smoothly it gets done too. With her, it’s a guaranteed pass. Now that was what you needed.

Berry lips twist back and forth for a second before stretching out. “Touch up on globalization effects in different cultures and we have ourselves a deal.”

The paper was coming along so perfectly that you almost wanted to cry. Your eyes buzz with excitement as you jot down a row of bullet points, conversing with Lily before settling on what to write.

“This is not what I had in mind when you both made this stupid pact,” Oscar groans for the millionth time as he passes by, spotting you and his girlfriend crouched down on a table; computer, notebook, pencils, index cards, books—everything—in hand.

“Mate, this is worth half of my grade,” you shriek, jotting a few more possible ideas. Finally, your dazy orbs connect back onto him. “As in fifty percent.” You gag. “Do you realize how terrifying that is?”

Lily shoos him. “We’re almost done anyway, darling. Go enjoy the party.” The Australian’s jaw drops and she huffs, raising her neat brows. “Go, go, goooo.”

Despite his girlfriend and his best friend ignoring him, he has a splendid time. He curses beneath his breath when a large hand sprawls against his back. Lando laughs. “Don’t worry, my date ditched me too,” he teases, blue eyes sparkling against the fuzzy lights. The rookie sighs plainly.

“I wasn’t ditched—'' He angles his head to face back to where you and the dirty blond hunch over, whispering, attention drawn onto the bright screen. A few people even go as far as to try and take a peek, probably thinking you were working on anything McLaren. “Yeah, uh, I guess you could say I was ditched.”

His teammate rubs his watch a couple or times, nothing but music lingering between them. No one really speaks up until Lily delicately makes her way. Oscar tilts his head politely. “Done?”

“No quite yet, but she has it all under control.” She faces the British driver with a sheepish line formed between her pink lips. “Hello, you must be Oscar’s new teammate.” A beat. “I’m Lily.”

“Lando,” he can feel himself proclaiming. “I thought she was Lily…” A lousy fingers points over to you. They both let out a weak chuckle. That’s my friend from back home, Oscar confirms. Her and Lily are super close, too. She beams, light blush feathering her full cheeks.

All of a sudden—the Australian sparks up. “Come, let me introduce you two.”

The twenty-four doesn't really have anything better to do; business convos that have him apologizing profusely, cameras being shoved straight into his face, girls who never get the hint. “Sure.”

First thing he notices is the faded scar that hugs the bridge of your nose. It's almost completely gone—and he really shouldn’t even be able to spot it—but it's there, almost a glassy color that shines back at him. He notices how quick you are at typing, fingers flying at a constant speed. He’s impressed. Or the way you barely spare him a glance.

“Don’t be rude, he’s talking to you,” Oscar hisses as he and Lily tower over you like a strict parent duo. You can distinguish the panic that laces through her when you didn’t first respond, too worried at making a bad impression, even if it wasn't her leaving it behind.

“Of course, I…um, I’m sorry—shit!” The laptop blinks back at you as a warning before settling in its death. A groan slips by, hands pressing harshly against the keys, then the screen. Nervously, you look up at Lily, biting your bottom lip. “What do I do? What should I do? What should I do?”

“Charge it when we get back,” Oscar advises, still waiting for you to greet the older McLaren driver. Lando stands back amused. “As I was saying—”

“It’s due at midnight, dimwit!” It’s eleven-fifteen. “I need to find a charger.”

“O-okay, lets just all calm down.” Lily turns to her boyfriend. “You always carry one with you, let her borrow it.” He winces. Only during races, sweetheart, not an important event. She rubs her temples, curly hair running against the wind. “Let’s just calm down!” she screeches.

“Not helping,” you wail. “That’s it—I’m leaving.”

Oscar is quick on his feet, already tugging you to stay firm. “We haven't even gotten to the speech!” A familiar fire rushes through your orbs, burning him along the way. I don’t give a shit about that right now! I need to turn this in.

“I’m sure Charlotte has one,” a friendly voice slides in, leaving you three to turn and face it. Lando awkwardly shrugs. “She’s really well organized, you know her. I’ll be right back.”

“Can I go with you?”

Blue eyes shift over, surprised to hear you speak. Anxiously, you bounce up and down against your heels. He gulps. “Of course.” He turns back to the Australian, who is busy comforting his girlfriend as if it was her grade on the line. “I’ll be right back.”

There’s a sort of tension that hangs steadily—or maybe he’s the only one who thinks so—but he tries his best to push past it. Of course, he was right, and Charlotte did have an extra charger, so that’s quite nice. As if this were the one and only resource of water in a hot desert night, you immediately take it from him, plugging it fiercely.

“You don’t know how grateful I am. You’re an absolute angel.” You’re quick to pick up where you left off. If you try hard enough, you can remember exactly what you need in order to have it done in a few minutes.

“Glad I could help.”

He should probably leave, he thinks. He’s done all he could, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a seat across from you, contently closing his eyes as the sound of your keys brings him to a deep sleep. The sound of a computer shutting gently is what nudges him awake. You grimace. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more quiet.”

Lando scrunches his eyes, rubs them for a couple of minutes. “It’s alright. You done?”

“Yes. Just in time—you really saved my ass, thank you again.”

A large hand waves you off, reclining against his comfortable spot. “You’re pretty dedicated to your work,” he mutters.

“I sort of have to be if I want to graduate on time and on top of my game. All those sleepless nights couldn’t have been for nothing.”

“Well, I don’t really know you that well…but I hope you pass,” he says. “Lando, by the way—you were probably too busy to catch it the first time.” He cocks his head to the side, a cheesy grin playing out. “And the second, as well.”

You giggle, shaking his humid hand. You don’t even seem to mind. “Third times a charm, no?”

“It appears it is.”

The objective was quite clear. Get you to leave your rotting bed. It was astounding how long you could go without getting up. You always blame it on the fact that—I’m finally done with my most important courses and I can sleep all I want—and—I never wake you up, now do I?

So, naturally, when they march into your room, flashing a phone—you curl a full brow. “What am I looking at?”

Oscar smiles. “Save his number. Right now.”

Lando Norris—winks back at you, digits causing a migraine to stir. You huff, reaching out for the blankets once again. “And why would I do that?”

Lily hums. “I tried to stop him, I really did.”

Beady eyes peek demandingly. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s really just one date—”

“What?”

“And if it doesn’t work out—”

You sit up straight and agitated. “What?”

“—then you won’t ever have to see him again?” The Australian flinches at your cold stare. “He thinks this was your idea…because I told him it was, but…” He winces harder. “Don’t make me look bad and please go!”

Lily squeals when you fling up, hunting him down your flat. “I am going to kill you!”

The Brit beams sweetly at you, pinching his hand a couple of times to pump his circulation that was suddenly lacking. “I’m a bit surprised you wanted to see—”

“This was all Oscar’s idea.” He blinks and you purse your lips. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I think he does it because the third-wheel act is starting to get to him. Asshole,” you hiss at the thought of the rookie.

Lando coughs, playing with his bracelets. “You’re not dragging me into anything. I want to be here.” Now it’s your turn to stare back at him, caught off guard. He chuckles. “I take it you haven’t gone on a proper date in a while?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Nah,” he yawns. “Oscar told me.”

Pounding your fist against the table, you yelp. “That little—he wants to ruin my life, I see.” You force a tight smile. “I’ve been busy with work…and…I’m—” A flash goes off from somewhere far away and you flinch. “A total catch. Like—total.”

Blue eyes flicker to the careful watchers surrounding the restaurant. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Good,” you respond, finally allowing yourself to rest easy. You raise a sharp brow. “Don’t you get tired of this?”

A few murmurs dance across the room, blinding lights continue. He sighs apologetically. “Right now I am. Let’s get out of here?”

You blush. “The bill…”

“My friend owns the place. I’ll pay him later.” He grabs your hand. “Let's go.”

The moment you slip into his car, panic rises fast. “I don’t hook up on first dates,” you spit out. “It’s not in my nature, I-I-I would rather get to know the person—”

“Then let’s get to know one another. I wasn’t looking for anything like…that,” he whispers, timidly. His blue eyes burn against yours. “I only wanted the chance to get to know you now that you don’t have your nose pressed up against a screen.”

A kind smile. “Okay.”

The more you two converse inside his crowded vehicle, the more you find yourself giggling against the rich seat. “You’re quite the charmer, Mr. Norris.”

“Thank God,” he jokes. “It’s working.”

Another giggle erupts when you nod. You’re sure that you're flustered, burning bright red from all his pick up lines, but you don’t have the strength to look away. “I’m glad we got the chance to talk. For real this time,” you add, sheepishly.

“So am I.”

And something inside of him tells him this isn’t the last.

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yandere-wishes · 3 months ago

Text

༻⋆Little Red Riding Hood You Know More Than You Should⋆༺

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Capitano recognizes your ancient name before he recognizes you. Ororon thinks it's about time to confess his feelings to his childhood friend. You just wanted to protect your homeland.

⁀➷ Warnings: Yandere Behavior, Stalking, Possessiveness, Reader has a pyro vision.

⁺₊𝄞₊�� Tejano Blue By CAS

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Bless your heart, make you part of my life forever ~ CAS

.✦── °❀⋆ .🔥.⋆❀°── .✦

It had started with Ororon.

With the Chrysanthemum he delicately weaved into your hair.

Red red red like the vision that burns at your hip.

Red like the boy-heart you wished to carve out.

It had ended with the Capitano.

With verglas weaving across your arms from his most intimate touch.

Blue, blue, blue like the creature that claimed to know you.

Blue like the veins that harbor such a melancholy legacy.

The chipped wood of the basket pierces your palm, tiny splinters pricking at soft flesh. You don't fully register the twinge; the pain is too silken, too delicate. Instead, you tighten your fist around the wooden handle daring the splinters to puncture, to draw blood. At least then you'd have a reason to visit Ororon, a reason to pry open his door and interrupt his precious isolation.

You'd like to forget about him.

The ignorant boy with the mismatched eyes.

Leave him to rot in his secluded cabin.

But it's all so hard to shake the saccharine memories of the all too lanky boy who used to hold your hand as you played hide and seek with Iktomisaurs in the forest.

Granny Itztli had requested ingredients for a ritual sermon taking place two moons from now. Nightshades and Quenepa Berrys and sand from the cost. "Have you talked to Ororon recently?" Granny asks, her brows furrowed in annoyance or worry or some other emotion too masked to fully read. You shake your head, gingerly plucking the ingredients from your basket and sprawling them across the table. "He hasn't been returning any of my letters, or even answering the tribesman's requests for his vegetables. I swear if that boy-"

You can feel her anger slipping out, the tendrils of her powers lashing at the air, slithering across the walls. You gulp, grasp tightening once more against your basket's handle. The wood scraps at your skin grounding you as you let out a shaky breath. "I'll check on him for you granny," you blurt out trying to plaster a desperate smile across your face. Citlali's eyes soften as she looks at you taking in your taut stance. "I'd always wished for him to pick you as his bride." She mused hand waving the air as if to dispel her anger like smoke. "you'd have been the perfect wife for my foolish grandson, someone to keep an eye on him and his whimsy wills of inanity." She sighs ushering you to the door. "Still I suppose it's not too late."

You turn on your heels defiance ripe on your tongue. Ororon had once been a dear friend, a brother. And while the memories are wrapped in golden velvet and honey. You'd much rather pluck the nails from your fingers than marry that weirdo. But before the protest could be launched the door is solemnly slammed in your face.

You fasten the cloak along your neck, pull the hood over your head

before making your way to the lone cabin in the woods. Skipping along the broken road swinging your empty basket.

The cabin itself is petit and serene, a pretty little heap of wood and spray paint with its renowned vegetable garden stretching the whole diameter. "Ororon," you call out, surprised at how bitter his name tastes. Rotton, almost forgotten. "Ororon," you knock at the door.

Four knocks.

Four pounds.

All accompanied by the bitter name spilling from behind your teeth.

But there is no answer, nothing outside the peaceful lull of the breeze and the distant shrikes of Yumkasaurs.

Nothing.

Well, maybe it's for the best.

You'd have shown him your blistered palm should he have answered. Shown him the blood and silently prayed he'd hold your hand and bandage your wound with all the tenderness of an eight-year-old boy bandaging his best friend's bleeding knee.

It's only when you've started back on the road, heading towards the grand stadium, that you hear something—an icy omen whispering along the horizon. You look around, greeted by nothing but Natlan's nature. Slowly, you start to leave the path, trudging through grass and marching up the little hills, following the distant chill in the air.

What was it Granny always said about straying off the path?

Something about tragedy and trouble waiting beyond the trees.

Only this time, trouble -or rather tragedy- lays behind a set of rocks, half a mile from the cabin. That's when you finally see them. The chill in the air has grown harsher here, biting at your bare arms. You pull your hood further over your head, wrapping the rest of the cape around yourself in a bid for warmth. From the rock you've concealed yourself behind, you can hear two men speak.

Ororon stands before a man, no not a man. Such a human word could not describe the terrifying thing that loomed outside the sun's reach.

Your ears perk at the low timbre of his growl. The monster spews blasphemy, sacrilege, against your dear archon. Calling her a coward for not using the gnosis, calling her inept.

You feel his words cutting through you, lacrations running deep. Your body is on fire your vision boling by your side. What's worst is that Ororon listens, humming along in acknowledgment. You can taste the molten anger stinging the roof of your mouth, feel the embers burning your tongue. Your hand covers your mouth, nails sinking into your cheek to avoid permitting the frustration to break free and blowing your cover.

You turn swiftly, using the cover of rocks and trees to shadow your escape.

Desperately dashing for the path that'll lead you back to your village. Granny Itztli and the tribe leader must hear of this. They must know that Ororon has joined the Fatui and is planning to steal the Archon's gnosis.

The problem, however, may have been the red cape you'd draped yourself in, its bright color catching the wrong sun rays at the wrong time. Luminous enough to catch the captain's attention.

You feel the world slipping, sunlight giving way to a ghoulish purple glow. Your feet hit the battered pavement of the path, right before the world turns to black.

You scream just as something pulls you away...

You've been here before, several times in fact. This is the night kingdom or at least an astral realm within the night kingdom. Your body -your real body- is probably laying limp in the grass being licked by some saurian.

"(y/n), what are you doing here?" Ororon's voice is muffled, distant. A cloud scraping across the rougher edges of the sky. His ghastly apprehension hovers behind you, you can feel his chilled breath on your neck.

You try to speak, to answer. But the words never leave your mouth. You must remember that the shadow world has rules. That you can not move with your legs or speak with your tongue. You form the words like bubbles floating in the air. Waiting for them to pop, to unleash your voice amongst the gloom.

"I was looking for you, granny's worried. Apparently, you've disappeared."

His nails scrape at your neck. Fitting the delicate bones between the cusp of his palm. "But I'm right here" he whispers in your ear, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Sorry, I wasn't there to greet you. I've been...busy".

"Ororon" The voice echoes across the cavern, loud and disturbing. You feel frost leak from every syllable. Your eyes widen as the black-clad monster marches forward body rigid embodying authority and discipline in every move.

Is this how everyone from Snezhnaya looks?

Taut and stiff and malicious?

Draped in furs and armor.

Ominous and cruel.

"This is my friend (y/n) we grew up together. Isn't she cute Capitano?" Ororon ends the statement with a mock peck to your neck. Despite its fleeting nature you still wince at the invasion.

You don't recall Ororon being so bold, so satirizing. Has the folly of the fatui bled into him? Rotted his essence and painted it anew?

"Get rid of her, we haven't the time to waste on such..." The man, no the nightmare. Stops in front of you. His bulky clothes remind you of the Tatankasaurs that roam the sandy southwest.

The captain's mask is sheer black. Murkey candance that hides his mysterious visage. But you notice the jerky way his head tilts down the way you can't escape the strange pierce of his unseable eyes.

"Do I know you" it's phrased as an order, a demnad.

Tell me what you are, what you're supposed to mean to me.

But there is no answer to greet it. Nothing apart from an unsteady silence. You can not know this ice-cold man. From behind you Ororon stiffens, "Do you know the captain." he asks, a silver of betrayal lacing his words. You only shake your head, narrowing your eyes to try and pry beyond the abyss of his mask.

Capitano's hand grips at your fingers pulling them up to his mask. Your heart stops as you see him bow his head, the cold of his helmet biting into your flesh. You hear the kiss like an arrow piercing the ever-looming eeriness of the night kingdom.

Capitano utters your name.

Rolls it around his mouth trying to savor the nostalgia.

Trying to crack open every syllabus and taste its familiarity.

"(y/n)..."

Your body lays limb amongst the grass, from atop the green hill Capitano observes your sleeping form. His eyes trace every curve and crevasse of your body jotting each detail to memory.

You look like so ethereal like this. Blood red amid the green and gold of the prairie. The humor of it all isn't lost on him after all he's partaken in more than his fair share of carnage. And that's exactly what you look like, a beautiful corpse laying in her puddle of blood. A macabre laceration layed upon Natlan's corse.

The sun beats down. Its rays too warm and treasonous.

It's only then that Capitano realizes where he's seen you before.

This exact scene, the blood pooling from beneath, the body lying amidst the grass, the sun blessing the slayed warrior in its light.

He knows you...

You don't remember waking up. Don't recall commanding your stiff muscles to move. Nor do you recall the first sight your wry eyes landed upon.

All you remember is running.

Blurred greens and reds of the scenery rushing by.

Granny must know of this.

The tribe must know of this.

Ororon is a traitor. A conspirator in a plot against Mavurika.

You're not quite sure why your heart stings when you think of this.

Your mouth is dry, ash coating your lips as Citlali glares down at you. Ororon's face flashes behind your eyes. You see him everywhere. Hear his gentle voice shushing you. Your ears are ringing, his voice whispering how much he's missed you, how much he wants you by his side once more.

Citlali says something, you think she's scolding you for traversing the pathway. She's gone in the next blink, essence lingering in a spinning room. Ororon kneels in front of you. No, not Ororon just some spectre wearing his face.

Or maybe it's his astral projection. Maybe he can't let you utter a word of what you saw.

"Just keep quiet darling. I promise this will all make sense soon." His fingers spark when they grace your cheek. Solid and spirit all at once. You try to touch his hand, to sink the sparks inside you, to feel Ororon once more. Instead, your finger collides with your own soft flesh.

The colors are chipping away.

Someone is calling your name.

Ororon or Citlali?

Maybe they've always been the same.

Why is the room spinning?

Why is it so dark...

You shouldn't be out. The sun is too harsh, merciless. You ring your palm across your basket's handle letting the friction rub the flesh raw.

Granny had warned you to stay inside. To avoid Ororon and whatever else you'd seen. But you can't let this go, the words may die upon your tongue but there must be evidence hidden somewhere. Evidence that you can present to the pyro archon, evidence that could save everything.

"Did you really miss me that much?" His voice is sharper than any arrow from his bow. Ororon stands blocking your path the captain hovering beside him.

Weren't you always told the path would be safe?

Capitano reaches out, metal fingers wrapping around your fragile wrist he pulls you to him, dark mask peering beyond you. Trying to piece you together. From behind you feel Ororon's lips sneaking up your neck. You scream, a shriveled sound. "Didn't you come all this way just to see us?" Ororon asks between open-mouthed kisses, you writher between their bodies desperate to escape. Tears flowed from your shiny eyes.

You're so pretty when you cry Ororon feels bad for admitting that. But he can't help but admire how innocent and helpless you look, trapped between two monsters.

It's only now that he notices your red hood is adorned with embroidered Chrysanthemum, for a moment Ororon thinks it has something to do with flowers he used to braid into your hair. Back when he'd been too young to fully understand destiny and you'd been too young to understand legacy.

"I came to find evidence of your betrayal." You spit, free hand reaching into your basket to try to find your ancient name. Tears trickle from your eyes as the captain leans closer. Your fingers finally graze the forged feather and you pry it out, holding it to your chest, feeling its power coursing through you.

Your elbow collides harshly with Ororon's rib, as he tumbles backward you gain enough space to sidekick the captain. Only for it to be blocked by his iron-clad hand. The metal makes your bones ring a sharp pain that leaves your leg numb.

"You bear an ancient name?" Capitano asks, skeptical. You roll your eyes despite your better judgment. Capitano releases your wrist, instead reaching out to try and grab your ancient name. In the millisecond of freedom, you stalk backward before sprinting back to the tribe. Your basket forgotten at the captain's feet.

"she bears the ancient name Ayizu," Ororon says, still clutching his side.

Capitano swallows the information. Letting the sharp edges nick at his throat. He'd had been uncertain before despite all the parallels.

But now the shock was rolling through him like lightning bolts. That's why you looked so familiar. Not only did you bare Ayizu's name but there was no doubt in Capitano's mind that you were one of his descendants.

The captain chuckles a mirthless noise. The irony feels like a blistering burn blooming upon his rotting flesh. "She's quite loyal." he begins, blacked gaze traveling to Ororon. "She'd make a valuable asset in our quest to save Natlan. Fetch her for me will you Ororon?" It's nothing less than an order one that Ororon may be a bit too keen on fulfilling.

"Oh and Ororon, we need to start you on a training agenda. I fear you are the most pathetic warrior Natlan has ever seen."

Ororon's eyes sunken before traversing up the captain's imposing form.

"Yes sir" he mumbles, biting his lips to avoid moaning at the deliciously sharp pain you've gifted him.

It's dark again,

You let the sharp wood of your basket cut into your palm. Relishing in the familiar feeling as blood mars the wooden handle. When did your basket return? You could have sworn you'd abandoned it with your attackers,

The path beneath your feet is cracked and broken. Smeared in ice and ectoplasm. Still, you walk forward into the abyss. There's nowhere else to go.

You expected them to be there. To see their towering forms amidst the darkness. Instead, you see them lounging between the blacked boulders.

Soldiers fresh from the fight. You don't enquire about their endeavors about the horrors you're sure they've inflected upon your land. But before you can fully walk past Capitano grabs your wrist and pulls you into his lap. "Stop" You struggle to break free, only for him to grab your chin and force your eyes onto his faceless visage. "So you're the descendent of my old friend? The inheritor of his noble name." You feel bile creeping up your throat. "Don't insult my ancestor, he'd never associate with the likes of you." you spite.

Capitano chuckles and signs, pulling his mask up a smidge to reveal decayed flesh. You gasp, an opportunity he ceases to pull you into a deep kiss, teeth biting and tearing at your soft lips, his holed tongue running over your teeth. You try to scream to cry, suffocating from the floral-scented rot. When the captain finally pulls back you run your fingers over pained lips smearing the blood across your cheek and chin.

"You should smile more" Ororon teases nipping at your ear until you wince, his hands move up and down your hips squeezing every so often. He's never been this bold before. You blame the Fatuis staring down at you. Blame the Outlander and his weird ways, somehow the irony is utterly lost on you.

"Please just let me go" you beg, your body is on fire your vision pulsing once more. "You're a captain surely you must understand why I'm so eager to protect my people from you?" Ororon laughs, littering your cheek with tiny kisses. "I understand," Capitano responds, his fingers dabbing your blood-covered lips. "I'm desperate to save Natlan too." He brings the red-coated digit to his mouth, sucking softly.

"We all want to protect Natlan" Ororon chips in. "That's why you should join us, honor your ancient name." You shake your head, almost as if you're shaking the nightmare away. "There is no honor in what you're doing."

You feel something around your neck. Metalic fingers wrapping tightly around your throat. Clutching tighter and tighter. With his other hand, the Captain removes his mask.

You scream...

The room is cold, freezing.

Your calloused palm squeezes trying to feel the handle of your wooden basket. When your nails only dig into your own skin, you awaken, head darting trying to find your precious basket.

It's on the table...

You don't have a table by your bed.

Beside you, someone tightens their hold on your waist pulling you into an icy stiff chest. Captiano's breath is cold, his voice gruff with sleep as he whispers little adorations into your ear. You're only now realizing Ororon lying in front of you, his lithe fingers playing with your neck.

No not your neck. There's something wrapped around your throat, no one the cold was unbearable, this "necklace" must be made of pure cyro. "You look so pretty like this." Ororon mumbles, daring to connect his lips to yours in a sheepish, sloppy attempt at a kiss. You wrangle your head to the side breaking the pathetic kiss. Behind you, you feel Capitano's chest rumble in laughter.

"Really Ororon must I teach you everything?" Capitano pushes Ororon's head roughly until his lips are on yours, "Open your mouth" he commands. To which both of you obey not knowing who he's referring to. Slowly Ororon permits his tongue to wander past your lips and into your mouth. Satisfied Capitano begins to suckle and kiss your neck, his sharp teeth effortlessly breaching skin.

"I know you don't believe me when I say, I'm here to save Natlan." Capitano whispers. "But I helped your Ancestor defend this land once, and I shall do it again." Capitano sits up stiffly, his hand on your shoulder using ice to keep you in place. "The war with the Abyss is starting soon. You'll be safe here while Ororon and I make the final preparations." He sighs fully turning to you.

For the first time, you see the rot and decay that has marred his once gorgeous face. You gulp, swallowing your screams, letting his words sink in like the ice chaining you. Capitano pulls himself from the bed, making his way to the door. Ororon gives you a final kiss before also retreating from the bed and going to stand by the captain.

"If we survive this, I don't intend to take you to Snezhnaya. Frankly, I don't think either of you could survive the cold." He jokes, and you notice it's the first time his serious icy facade has cracked. "You will be safe here with Ororon and I'll visit you as much as my duties permit." strange how his words almost, almost sounded like 'I love you' muttered in a foreign tongue enclosed in ice. Something impossible to thaw out.

"I'm sorry about this darling," Ororon mutters as he follows the captain out. "But we'll be back soon." He offers you a soft smile before closing the door. One that makes your heart melt. Instead of a kidnapper, you see the little boy who used to own your heart.

The door closes leaving you to bask in all the glory of your doom.

.✦── °❀⋆ .🔥.⋆❀°── .✦

Apologies this is definitely not my best work but I just wanted to get something out for these two. May end up writing something better later on.

💜Tags: @definitely-asexual-volcano @fujisworld @kudoaii @savsxz @fantasyhopperhea @misscoolisback123 @army-of-inspirited-onces @lorkai @lavandulawrites @kazudare @s1mppp @onceapirateprincess @lovelive-animequeen1029 @trashpandaperson @rhain-things @milktea-coffeelady

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aurumalatus · 4 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟑]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.6k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, cursing, mentions of abuse/alcoholism, character death and graphic descriptions of death, mentions of vomit

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this one is... a lot. take heed of the warnings/let me know if there's something i forgot to tag! i might've missed some errors because it's late so i will fix in the morning, otherwise please enjoy! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗡 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗢

When the meadows grow full and lush, Kinich awaits your reappearance.

The winter had been long—with his crops iced over, he’d had to rely on hunting to survive. His mother’s absence had taken a heavy toll on his family (though he uses the word loosely), and his father somehow finds more time to drink his life away. Now the sole homemaker, Kinich finds himself as his father’s newfound punching bag as well.

He discovers that he has a talent for patching wounds and bruises.

Some days, the man awakens in the dead of night, freshly sober—Kinich can hear him crying his mother’s name in the dark. He doesn’t know whether to take that as regret, or simply loneliness.

They don’t talk. They never really did, but the silence grows quickly, curling and weaving and winding like vines through the house, until Kinich can feel it wrapping his throat shut. Days and weeks go by without him talking to anyone at all.

Still, he moves on.

The ice finally melts, and he welcomes the sight of animals returning from hibernation, despite how they nip at his garden. New life sprouts from the ground, and it’s only a matter of time before you appear in the forest again as well.

This time, you’re touting a burlap bag of Quenepa Berries, and you offer him one as he approaches.

“They’re sweeter at this time of year,” you comment, before popping one of the fruits into your mouth. He accepts and does the same—this batch is fattened and sweet, he thinks as the juice dribbles down his chin. You must have an eye for a good harvest.

“You came back,” is all he replies, as a greeting.

An incredulous expression crosses your face, almost judgmental—you hold the bag of berries away from him as teasing punishment. “You thought I wouldn’t?”

He reaches over you, quick as a fox, catching one of the fruits in his fingers.

“Don’t know.”

There’s no way to tell you about his mother’s disappearance, at least not one that he’s confident about. After all, he feels there’s no logic in informing you anyway—there’s no solution that you could potentially offer, and it’s not as though it affects you. But it’s the thought of that, and the lasting image of her footsteps, that had instilled this fear within him.

The fear that you would never return.

But you’re here, he soothes himself, another berry in your outstretched palm. He takes it, just as your voice rings out again.

“So, do your parents not like girls?”

The skin of the fruit catches in his throat at your question, and he lets out a series of wet coughs—you pat his back, eyes wide with concern. It takes a few moments for him to return to his senses.

“What are you talking about?” he splutters, uncharacteristically flustered.

You don’t seem to notice, too absorbed in picking through your bag—you prefer the lightest blue berries, the ones that are still slightly unripe. Perhaps you enjoy the tartness they offer.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “It just seems like you don’t want your parents to see me.”

And there’s no easy way to explain his situation, so he doesn’t. Instead, he hums, watching the birds soar by overhead. His heart vaguely tugs with jealousy at the sight of them.

“It’s not that. My parents just…don’t like people hanging around our house. That’s why we moved out of the village.”

Not a total lie, he reasons—the financial issues were the root cause, but his father had also grown tired of neighbors attempting to intervene in his parents’ endless disputes. It had given him hope, for a time, that someone might be able to remedy the situation.

But that hope was quickly snuffed out.

“Makes sense,” you say, tracing shapes in the dirt with your foot. You draw a heart, a smiley face, and then something that looks like a defective Yumkasaurus. “Your dad is the mean one, right?”

You’re still not quite educated on social faux-pas at your age, and Kinich almost chokes again.

“What?”

Something rustles in the bushes nearby—an animal scared away by the sudden loudness of his voice.

“He always used to yell at me when I’d come around to leave you things,” you explain, overwhelmingly casual. “Smelled like that stuff that us kids aren’t allowed to go near in the market.”

Kinich vaguely remembers hearing his parents argue about something like that, but all the fighting tends to blur together after a time. He’s not sure how to reply to that, or what you might think if he did.

So he doesn’t.

He asks you about your winter instead, a topic change that you welcome eagerly. You tell him about the village, the white-topped roofs and the way the Yumkasauri would redden and sneeze, whelps hiding in their mother’s wings. You tell him about how you tried ice skating on the frozen river, recounting how many times you fell flat on your face. The thought makes him smile faintly.

He’s almost surprised by how enthusiastic you are about it—you’d told him before about your parents’ death in the cold season. He wonders how you seem to move past it all.

You turn your attention back to him, curious. “What about you? What happened during your winter?”

There’s a lot he could say, but none of it feels right, every word sticking to his tongue, stubborn.

“The winter felt really long,” he finally says, mostly to himself, chewing thoughtfully.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “It did. But it’s not so bad, I think.”

He hums. “Really?”

You shrug. “Spring always comes again anyway.”

On Kinich’s seventh birthday, you knock at his door in the evening.

The November air is crisp, but not yet chilling. After all, the nation of Pyro tends to run warm until the very depths of winter. It’s for that reason that the fireplace still lies darkened and empty, and that the kitchen window is still open a crack.

The sound shocks him at first—it’s been a long time since anyone has visited at all, so much so that the dull thump is unfamiliar. Wilder animals tend to come out when the sun sets, so he tries to finish up his farming and hunting beforehand—at this time, he’s usually preparing some sort of meal for the next day.

He glances at the source of the noise, then at his father, slumped over the kitchen table, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. The man will likely be asleep until the early morning anyway.

So Kinich pads to the door, pulling it open just a crack, and it’s your eye that peers back at him, curious.

Another inch, and then the rest of you is revealed to him—you’re holding a neatly wrapped box in your hands, an innocent smile spread across your lips.

His first words come out in a hiss.

“What are you doing here?”

He thinks he’s been quite clear about your need to return to the village by this time, for many reasons. It’s growing dark, a time where animals and humans alike grow more dangerous, and his father tends to be home. The man has a talent of putting Kinich in the worst moods, and he’d rather not spread that to you.

“It’s your birthday,” you greet, as an explanation, shrugging like it’s all so obvious. Kinich tilts his head.

“So?”

“So, we’re celebrating! I spent the whole day baking this cake with Chief Wayna’s help.”

Kinich steps outside, quietly letting the door shut behind him. The sunset sky is burning away at this time, pinks and reds fading into black and blue. The stars will be out soon.

“It’s nighttime,” he says, crossing his arms.

You nod vigorously, undeterred. “Yup! All so you can see the candles better. It looks so much cooler when it’s dark.”

It’s a ridiculous statement to someone like him, and Kinich is once again reminded how different the two of you are. His sense of logic doesn’t seem to align with your enduring enthusiasm. Still, he likes the fire that you have about you, and has no interest in snuffing it out, so he merely sighs and leads you away from the front door.

Once you’re a bit away, the house still in view, he looks to you again.

“So, what is it about candles?”

Without a reply, you turn away from him, fiddling with various things—he hears a match being lit, sees the faint light reflect from behind you—and then you’re facing him again, proudly holding out the cake.

There’s seven brightly colored candles sticking out from the top. The candlelight illuminates your face with a soft glow, a cheeky smile spreading across your lips.

“It looks good, right?”

Kinich peers down at the treat—it does look good, with the expensive kind of frosting that he used to look at longingly in the market. He hasn’t had something this sweet, this luxurious, in a long time, or maybe ever. When he glances back up, you’re staring up at him expectantly—he shrinks back from the pressure.

“What is it?” he asks, feeling self-conscious. You point to the candles.

“You have to blow it out.”

Vaguely, he thinks back on when he used to live in the village. He’s seen people hold birthday parties before (though he can’t say he’d ever been invited), but he’s not sure he’s heard of this tradition. Birthday celebrations weren’t something his family could ever afford anyway, or maybe they just didn’t care to.

Kinich realizes he doesn’t even know when his parents’ birthdays are.

But you’re still watching him, so he pushes that thought aside. Instead, he leans over and gently blows out the candles in three small puffs of breath.

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” You cheer, tilting the cake toward him. “I hope you made a wish!”

You’d forgotten to mention that before he blew out the candles, he thinks to himself, but he’s in no position to argue with your good will anyway. So he nods, silently making a wish after the fact.

“Alright, the best part is eating it,” you whisper conspiratorially, like you’re sharing a life-shattering secret. “And Elder Leik says it’s bad to have sugar before bed, but I think it’s okay just this once—”

“Kinich!”

That voice—

His heart freezes in his chest. Your face morphs in confusion, and then he’s grasping at your arm and yanking, hiding you behind him—you’re not much smaller than him, though, so it’s a futile effort. At the force, the cake slips out of your grip, smashing uselessly into the grass.

Kinich has half a mind to apologize, but he can’t—instead, he holds you tighter.

“Kinich?” A hoarse voice echoes in the dark. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m here. I was just taking a walk,” he replies. His voice shakes at the edges of each syllable—he hopes his father doesn’t notice.

Something crunches in the distance; it’s the sound of grass underfoot. His father is coming this way, Kinich realizes in a panic. He glances back to your fearful eyes, clutching at the back of his thin t-shirt, and his chest burns with the desire to protect.

It’s too dim to see the man until he’s a few feet in front of you—he’s dressed in a tattered shirt and loose pants, feet dragging through the grass. His eyes narrow when he gets close enough, brows knitting together.

His gaze zeroes in on you, venomous. “It’s you again.”

The collar of Kinich’s shirt grows taut against his throat as you pull against him, afraid. He squeezes at your arm once, a comfort.

“You damn orphans, got nothing better to do? Just fucking around on my property, I should throw you off this goddamn cliff! Not like you got anyone to miss you.”

Kinich grits his teeth. “Leave her alone.”

His father laughs, a grating sound like nails on a chalkboard, then belches. The smell of cheap alcohol filters through the air, even from a distance.

“Go do something useful then. Too many useless people in this world, ha! Just like your damn mother.”

The mention makes the blood ice over in Kinich’s veins, a sharp frost crawling up his spine. Your grip loosens just a hair, likely in confusion, but the detail barely reaches his mind.

“You know where she is?”

The image of his mother’s footsteps in the newly fallen snow had never left his mind—he sees it in his nightmares, trapped and crawling in an endless frozen landscape, alone. He thinks of her when he farms, when he weaves, when he’s forced to eat another Grainfruit.

He thinks of her always, maybe, in the back of his mind.

And his father does too, maybe, based on the way his whole body seems to tighten with anger at the question. He doesn’t reply, at least not verbally.

You watch, horrified. Even as his father’s eyes glow with rage, even as he drunkenly hobbles toward you both, hands outstretched.

(Kinich blankly notes that they form the shape of his own neck.)

The man isn’t too coordinated, especially with the alcohol coursing through his veins—he stumbles a few times on the way, the grass seeming to curl around his ankles, slowing him down. Perhaps it’s the land’s way of protecting him, Kinich thinks.

He grabs your hand, pulling you behind him. “Come on!”

Kinich runs, wind whipping at his face, the way he always does when his father gets this way. He takes you through the backyard, toward the forest, where his father might lose sight of you both and give up the chase. He knows the paths there and knows them well—the shadows of the trees will protect you both.

But the man is picking up speed behind you, roaring about what he’ll do once he catches you.

“Kinich,” you wheeze. You’d already been semi-exhausted by your trek here, and certainly not expecting a sprint like this.

“I know,” he pants back. “Just a little more.”

You’re trying your hardest, he knows.

But he’s faster than you, and you stumble, lagging behind.

“Kinich!”

His father lunges, fingers barely grasping at the leg of your pants. A shriek erupts from your throat as you tumble to the ground in a twisted pile, and Kinich cries out with you, just as the cliff seems to rumble beneath his feet.

It happens in slow motion.

Kinich’s father meets his son’s gaze, enraged, then afraid. Terrified, just as he feels his legs dangle over the edge of the cliff, just as the weight of your smaller body pushes his torso over. Shocked, just as the rest of you starts to come down with him.

Your screams echo off the darkened mountain.

Kinich weighs his options—it doesn’t take long—and then leaps forward. His chest smacks painfully into the dirt, but he manages to grab your wrist just as you slip down the cliff.

“Kinich!”

His father is screaming his name, and so are you, pleading, begging for his help. And you’re still in his grasp, but you’re slipping, and his father is reaching for him, and if he could just grab him with his other hand, he could maybe pull you both up, but—

Kinich’s gaze meets your tear-filled eyes.

So he grits his teeth, clawing at the dirt, and with his other hand, he grabs—

You.

He doesn’t have time to catch his father’s expression—he doesn’t think he’d want to see it anyway—before he’s hauling you up, yanking you into his arms until you’re both collapsing into the grass. The crown of your skull clashes with his chin harshly.

His father is still bellowing curses, not that you seem to hear it over the sound of your screams and cries. But Kinich hears it, somehow, floating above the chaos and agony in your voice.

“It’s your fucking fault! This is all your fault!”

His eyes flutter shut as the voice fades away, and then grows silent.

It’s too quiet.

Even the crickets seem to censor themselves, hiding from the entire ordeal. Kinich releases his hold on you, rolling onto his stomach, then onto his knees. The grass seems to waver under his stare, rippling and oscillating until it feels like the entire world is quivering beneath him.

He barely registers that you’re struggling to pull yourself upright behind him.

You turn away from Kinich’s hunched form to vomit in the grass, overwhelmed by it all. A corpse lies at the foot of the cliff now, one that could’ve just as easily been you. One that might have actually been your fault. The thought makes you vomit again.

After a few more dry heaves, Kinich’s hand rubs at your back, the other gently easing your hair away from your mouth. You look over your shoulder at him, eyes filled with tears and nose dripping with snot.

“Kinich,” you sob, trying to catch your breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was too slow, and he—he fell. I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry. I know he wasn’t—I don’t—but that was your—your father—”

He takes you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him—really look at him. His expression seems the same as always, but you know the difference. You note the quivering at the edge of his lips, the light sheen at the corners of his eyes. It disappears as quickly as you notice it, flattening under a disposition of stone.

“I weighed the value between you,” he says, gaze meeting your glassy stare. Your heart flutters. “And I chose you.”

And for a bit, you pretend that you can’t hear the thick lump in his throat, or the way his nose scrunches to keep the tears from slipping. Instead, you take his hand, struggling to your feet.

Kinich gives you a once-over—your pant leg is tattered now, a long strip of fabric ripped from the bottom. A flash of crimson peeks from under the remaining cloth.

Thin lines of blood bloom over the joint there, slowly running down the length of your leg.

“You’re bleeding,” he rasps, assessing the extent of your wound. It’s not deep—a skinned knee at most, which he’s grateful for. He’s treated much worse on his own body.

There’s so much to do, he thinks, pushing through the foggy haze permeating his mind. He has to retrieve his father’s body. He has to treat your wound. With his father gone, he needs to make a plan for his own survival.

It’s not as if his father ever really helped out anyway, but the thought of being truly, totally alone is harrowing. It takes another minute for him to remember that you’re still standing at his side.

“Go back to the house,” he mumbles, almost to himself. “Wait for me in the kitchen—”

“No!” You blurt, looking surprised despite yourself. Kinich jolts, meeting your eyes. “You’re going to get his body, right?”

After a moment of hesitation, he nods solemnly.

Kinich has looked down these cliffs many times; he knows the sheer height of them. There’s absolutely no chance that his father’s body is in any sort of good shape at the bottom. The thought makes bile rise in his throat.

You swallow. “So let’s go.”

The fear is reflected in the way your hands shake, but your shoulders straighten and you reach for him, slotting your fingers together. It’s the most bravery that you can manage, at least right now. Kinich accepts it gratefully.

Making your way down the cliff is treacherous with the little light you have. You don’t speak, barely even breathe. The stars lay watchful above, winking and illuminating your way.

Even with your hand in his, Kinich glances back occasionally, ensuring you’re still with him—you always are, still sniffling and scrubbing at your eyes.

It’s hard for you, and it’s obvious; he has to catch you several times when your foot slips off the stone, but you’re still with him. You’re still with him, he thinks. Kinich repeats it to himself a few times, letting it anchor him as he struggles down the rocks.

His father’s body is stiff by the time you reach it.

You’re too afraid to look at first, meekly standing behind him. It takes a few minutes before you work up the courage to peek over his shoulder, one hand over your mouth. Kinich isn’t sure whether to pray, or cry, or leave it all behind—for a few minutes, he doesn’t do anything at all.

The body is mangled, as he’d expected. You don’t dare to look at it again; you pace about the area, trying to keep your wits about you.

Everything about it is too familiar. He sees himself in the corpse, the blond hair fanned around the head like a halo, the golden eyes forever stuck in a faraway stare. The grappling hook that he always kept on his person.

His father. A half of him. His flesh and blood.

And he’d let him go.

Kinich feels for his own heartbeat over his shirt, fisting at the cloth there.

You are still alive, it whispers.

So he calls your name, soft. You peek at him through the darkness.

“We have to bring it back,” he murmurs.

And you, despite it all, despite the terror that licks hot up your neck, simply nod.

“Okay.”

As the two of you drag the corpse back toward the house, fingertips sticky with blood that freezes in the passing wind, Kinich realizes it—

This is the coldest November he’s ever experienced.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #genshin impact #kinich #genshin impact imagines #kinich x you #adeptus ink #tw death #tw vomit #tw abuse

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