#floating floor benefits

[hsmagazine254]

Soundproofing Secrets: Enhancing Your Off-plan Property While Under Construction

Soundproofing Symphony: Elevating Your Off-plan Property Purchasing an off-plan property opens up a world of exciting possibilities, allowing you to customize your future abode to match your dream home vision. One crucial element often overlooked during this phase is soundproofing. Whether you’re a fan of serene quietude or simply wish to shield your space from external disturbances, integrating…

[rowarn]

okay i'm back to expand on toxic situationship simon vs smitten golden retriever könig fighting for ur attention!!!

when simon first met you, he had no intention of interacting with you let alone "dating" you. but it just kind of....happened. you had a way of worming your way into his thoughts and his life.

the problem was that he was not build for a relationship. he had problems. a lot of them. he wasn't the type to work on himself, he was the type to find distractions to cope with the mess that was in his head at all times.

the closer you tried to get to him, the further he pulled away. but then when you backed off, he remembered he needed you as a distraction. so he'd rein you back in only for the cycle to continue.

he ignored how much it hurt you, how sometimes your eyes would swim with tears when he gave you the cold shoulder and told you to leave him alone. it wasn't like you understood what was going on — simon refused to open up and tell you that he was just...fucking messy in the head. instead, he just let you think he was some sleazy douchebag who used you for a quick fuck only to toss to the curb when you annoyed him.

part of him wondered (but didn't care bc it benefited him) why you kept coming back after how much he hurt your feelings. but when he wasn't being an intentional jackass to get you to leave him alone for a week or two, he was a great guy. a gentleman. he spoke to you with a soft but not condescending tone and was patient even when you asked stupid questions. when he had you as his distraction, he enjoyed your company and you enjoyed his — only for him to turn around and spew vitriol out of left field.

it was during one of the times he had chased you off that you met könig. on an elevator of all things. the entire mechanical box shuddered with his weight and you were downright shocked as the hulking mass of him ducked to step in.

when you asked what floor, he spoke with a quiet, almost nervous tone to tell you. as you rode the elevator down, you couldn't help but notice how he sort of shrunk in on himself as if he was trying to take up as little space as possible — as if that was even possible. he was massive. he avoided your gaze in a way that was shy instead of suspicious.

it was kind of...cute.

when you both got off the elevator, the lobby, you took a deep breath and stopped him, asking as confidently as you could if you could have his number. his eyes had widened but he surprisingly didn't say no — jackpot!

tho you couldn't see all of his face — the bottom half of it covered by a mask and his large hood concealing his hair, you felt a bit of an attraction to him.

as you walked out, hastily typing his number into your phone as you parted ways, you realized you may have a thing for masked man since this man — könig, he had said with an accent, and the ass that was simon both wore masks.

in between the time of The Simon Cycle, you went on a couple dates with könig. he was charming and sweet, if not a little shy. he was clumsy and almost always bumped his head on doorways before shamefully rubbing the spot he bumped with a look of embarrassment in his eyes.

he was excitable and energetic. he loved animals and always pointed out whatever animals he saw while walking with you — people walking dogs, cats in windows, ducks floating on ponds.

the more time you spent with him, the more you forgot about simon.

until his name popped up on your phone one evening when you were spending an evening in with könig. it was nothing crazy, he wanted to watch his favorite horror movie with you (an ancient black and white).

könig caught sight of your frown as your phone rang, catching sight of the name 'simon' with a blank picture.

"who is this?" he had asked, tho it wasn't out of jealousy, just pure concern and interest.

you let out a sigh, "i dated him....sort of...? not really..." you had responded, earning a confused look from him.

you explained everything to him, from meeting simon all the through his on and off behavior. by the end könig looked upset on your behalf, shaking his head.

"if he cannot decide if he wants you, then he should leave you alone," he said softly, smiling under his mask with a crinkle of his eyes, "that way someone who knows that they want you can move in!"

that was one thing you liked about könig, he was actually open to communicate his thoughts and feelings with you. he told you were pretty, how he liked your laugh, how much he enjoyed your company and was excited to see you again when you both had time.

simon was closed off. he was quiet, mostly listening rather than talking. but he listened well. you remember mentioning that you broke your lamp and had bought a new one but couldn't figure out how to set it up. a week later, after a nice evening spent in bed together, you woke up to find him sitting on your living room floor putting together that lamp for you.

even though könig was...lovely. there was something about simon that was so intoxicating that you couldn't seem to let it go. but also the sex with simon was....spectacular. you never had a man so eager to make you cum until you were incoherent — never had a man who could.

and könig was....traditional. slow. he wanted to date for a long time before jumping into bed. he wanted to properly court you and go through a whole process. which you respected but...you were impatient. greedy.

it wasn't like könig was against you seeing simon. he had told you that you were free to do what you wished, but unless you made it official with the other man he was not going to back down from trying to court you.

so when simon called on you again a couple nights later, you answered.

he was glaring when he opened the door for you, motioning for you to enter before shutting and locking the door.

"why didn't you answer?" he grilled. clearly you ignoring his call when you were with könig annoyed him more than you thought.

you raised an eyebrow before slowly answering, "i was on a date, simon."

that seemed to make him freeze where he stood, eyes narrowing even more into a glare.

"a date?" he spat, "with who? you don't need to go on any dates, you're with me."

that made you roll your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache, "a nice guy named könig. simon, i'm not even sure you like me beyond wanting sex. i want a boyfriend." you huffed, "and clearly you don't want that!"

"oh yeah? then why are you here instead of with your boyfriend?" he hissed the last word in disgust.

"we're not official. he hasn't asked but we've been...seeing each other." you decided simply.

at that, simon jerked his mask over his mouth to kiss you in that heated way that made your legs tremble, "does he fuck you as good as i do? hm?"

that got your attention, a sly smile coming to your lips as he worked you out of your clothes.

he was jealous. this revelation was exhilarating to you. simon, the guy who acted like he couldn't care less about you, was actually jealous that you were seeing another guy!

the sex that night was as phenomenal as usual and more. he spent a good half of it with his head between your thighs, pinning you down with strength alone as he ate you to orgasm after orgasm until your cum was a sticky, stringy mess on his lips and chin.

then he worked you to two more orgasms on his cock, the last one he hadn't even needed to touch your clit before you were creaming around him with a sweet little squeal.

simon had a point to prove. you were his and he was not going to lose you to some asshole. deep down, he knew he didn't deserve you and that he should let the better man have you but he just couldn't. he needed you. he wanted you. he was selfish and greedy.

simon disappeared after that. but for once had actually communicated what was going on — deployment, he said. didn't know how long he would be gone. he had actually gave you a goodbye kiss that left you spinning.

the next time you saw simon, you were on a date with könig. it was a quaint little bar that könig said he liked. so there you were, sitting across from him at a booth, nursing a drink and softly talking with one another.

you didn't even know simon was back. he hadn't said anything. when he walked into the bar, his eyes scanned the place like they always did before landing on you.

his gaze lit up as he took a step towards you but quickly halted when he saw you were sitting across from another man. but that didn't stop him for long.

you cursed under your breath, catching könig's attention before simon was right there at the end of the table, glaring at könig.

"can we help you...?" könig asked softly, clearly a little nervous.

"hi...simon..." you sighed softly. könig straightened up in his seat at that.

"official yet?" he asked you, ignoring your greeting.

you gritted your teeth, casting a glance towards könig who looked confused.

"no." you answered simply.

with that simon, yanked a chair from a nearby table and sat right at the end of your table. you concealed a groan of despair.

simons glare fixed upon könig, a challenge clear in his stare alone. he reached forward and grabbed your drink from your hand despite your protest, lifting his mask enough to take a sip, the cocky smirk visible briefly on his lips.

könig quickly understood what was going on and his own eyes narrowed into a glare. you could practically see the sparks going off between them and buried your face in your hands.

it was going to be....a painfully long night, you feared.

[asvterias]

𝖡𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖣𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋’𝗌 𝖣𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 + 𝖣𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀!𝖢𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾 𝖫𝖺 𝖱𝗎𝖾

clarisse masterlist

clarisse la rue ✘ black!fem!demigod!reader (daughter of demeter)

word count: 1.3k+

author’s note: black!reader is described of having blonde hair. also hair texture is (h/t).

requested from anonymous!

the couple is definitely opposites attract, sunshine lover x sunshine protector, & friends to lovers! you can’t change my mind about that, this defines their relationship from the start!

at first, your relationship was kept a secret from everyone! no one expected your relationship from a mile away, not even your own half-siblings. you were the sweetest girl at the camp whereas clarisse was the meanest girl there so you understood their assumptions.

(annabeth had a hunch, but she kept quiet wanting to respect your private relationship)

she was the hot-tempered, intense, and mean gf whilst you were the calm, sweet, and loving mediator gf.

you were soft-spoken, kind, sweet, often being an optimist, inheriting those traits from your mother, demeter.

favorite nickname that she loves; my dangerous wildflower!

a favorite nickname that you love: my gorgeous girl!

your love for nature was unconditional and clarisse encouraged it, as long as you were safe. from a young age, you had a deep connection with nature that your mortal father couldn’t comprehend, but he didn’t stop you. instead, he planned daily camps out in the woods so you can explore and love the outdoors.

makes sense if you’re an outdoorsy girl, considering your power is at its strongest in the woods.

throughout your daily nature walks in the mid-afternoon with clarisse, you’d kneeled down, staring at the bare soil, telekinetically growing a beautiful daisy.

“for you,” you smile, sweeping the tiny flower behind her ear, securing a loose curl.

she’d falter, surprised by the endearing action, blushing intensely as she accepted it.

“thanks, babe.”

you kiss her cheek, intertwining your hands together as you two venture deeper into the forest.

to bypass quality time spent together, you’d do the other’s favorite hobbies or go on dates.

clarisse would train you to spar, often worrying if you accidentally got hurt. to be honest, she’s constantly stopping every few seconds to make sure you’re alright.

“babe, i’m sorry, are you okay?”

“darling, we didn’t even start sparring yet.”

“just making sure, wouldn’t want my gorgeous girl to get hurt.”

forest dates were often frequent for the two of you. packing a picnic basket filled with gourmet of different treats and sweets, spreading out a blanket on the forest floor and clarisse would rest her head in your lap as you rambled on about your day. her eyes would twinkle in admiration at your tactics as you two gaze at the many clouds floating above, purely just basking in the presence of each other.

clarisse suggested that you carve your initials into a tree for your 1st year anniversary but you politely declined that. you adored the sweet and swooning suggestion but you just couldn’t, the tree would have a marking, a permanent one, and nature couldn’t erase it away. as a child of demeter, trees are emotionally bonded to you, refusing the risk of feeling the immense pain it had to endure purely for the benefit of your love with clarisse. you hoped that she understood and thankfully she did.

at first, clarisse was intimidated by your powers but didn’t let it get to her head. she was so shocked yet impressed, despite not displaying it in her facial expression.

now whenever you show her your powers, she’d witness it in complete adoration. her favorite power of yours is when you communicate with animals, specifically deer. clarisse was certain that you couldn’t get any more cuter.

your powers consisted of many:

botanokensis is the ability to mentally and/or physically summon plant life, regarding fruits and flowers.

limiting your knowledge of how dangerous some of your abilities can truly be, like toxikinesis: which allows you to control and create the amount of toxins in a plant or fungus. you hardly even use this power because of the fatality it may cause against you or others.

it’s very rare to be given atmokinesis which is the ability to control climate, everything relating to the weather. luckily you gained that ability, but with a certain amount and limited time.

based on your emotions, especially anger or sadness, taphokinesis is decay manipulation, mentally/physically decomposing only plants. truth be told, if a majority of demeter’s kids are angry, most of the flora surrounding the camp would wither in seconds, including the trees. trees are oxygen so without them, everyone is as good as dead.

initially, you’re a fantastic chef, and as your gardening skills. gardening is your favorite hobby to do and it enlightens your day. during the day, it’s common to walk upon a child of demeter, deeply invested in gardening in their spare time. they’re definitely the leaders of gardening, you can’t convince me otherwise.

cabin 4 is surrounded by wildlife, anything and everything relating to nature, due to its close proximity to the forest. inside of the cabin is very homey, green blooming vines detail the cabin as a soft-like greenery carpet covers the floor. the entire interior was similar to actual nature rather than other cabins.

you’re very close with your half-siblings as you’re one of the oldest. your siblings look up to you and you try to be a good role model for them, even teasing you whenever clarisse comes around.

i guess it's possible to be a healer too, alongside persephone’s kids, discovering the remedies for various illnesses. some of your older siblings train in health care at the camp as healers.

sometimes, you create gifts homemade, flower crowns, and flower bracelets. anything you spent your hard time and effort on, clarisse would absolutely treasure it without any second thoughts. and it goes the other way around too. like she’d be so nervous at first, rocking on her feet, barely speaking with sense as she hands you the neatly wrapped-up gift.

bubbling up with anticipation clarissse would hesitantly observe your precise movements when unwrapping the gift and to see if your reaction shifted (even just a little) when the gift was revealed.

“do you like it…?” she nervously bites her lower lip.

your eyes sparkle in astonishment at her homemade gift, “oh, i love it, babe.”

a big ass grin would overtake her features, and she’d smirk definitely thinking: ‘oh i definitely knew that she’d like this!’ as if the ares girl wasn’t completely panicking over it a few minutes ago.

as you bring her in for a kiss. your girlfriend often resisted the temptation to linger on the kiss, but this time, she didn’t.

flower crowns are her favorite gifts from you. she has saved all of them, collecting them in her cabin on her bureau for keepsakes. the flowers don’t die out, your love revives them every day. (might make this into a drabble soon 😉)

take turns braiding each other’s hair, you adore each other's hair texture, clarisse was curly and yours was (h/t).

absolutely convinced her to wear flowers in her hair and sometimes you match with the same hairstyle and the same flower. you love it so clarisse immediately adores it.

to the other campers, it’s unusual to see clarisse so happy with you, and when you weren’t beside her, that mean personality would jump out so quick.

she’d scold anyone who had anything to say about you. clarisse would also glare down whoever dares to snicker at the pretty flower used as an accessory in her hair or anywhere on her body, cherishing the gift from you and she’d go absolutely livid. how dare they make fun of your gifts?! best believe, they’ll be receiving an ass-kicking later that day.

it was more common for clarisse to fight with someone and you’d be the one tending to her injuries (mostly little to none) afterward. you swear

that she intentionally starts fights in vain, or defending your name. without explanation, she’ll show up with a cheeky grin plastered on her face as you become her little medic.

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likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost or translate onto any other platforms without my permission.

[potatoplace]

You Can Have It - Chapter 4

Alpha!Feysand x Omega!Reader

chapter 3 | chapter 5 | series masterlist

Story Summary: You've been a baker for 75 years, and are finally moving on from the Winter Court to the City of Velaris to start your own bakery after your grandmother passes. After your grand opening, the High Lord and Lady of Night become daily visitors to your bakery for months, every day having your most popular pastry- one that increases fertility for a short time. All the while, the two alphas want nothing more than to call themselves yours.

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, nothing else I don't think

Words: ~7.4k

Author's Note: it's heeeereeeeeee aaaahhhhhhh RHYS AND FEYRE YESSS I hope you guys all like this chapter! And I can't wait for more cutesy lil interactions with them, all to start come the next update ☺️

18+ only pls

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The past month and a half had passed so swiftly, you could hardly believe it. Your days were filled with overseeing a few details of construction, and picking out every last piece of furniture that would be in your bakery, apartment, and garden. You and Mor went on lunch dates every Thursday, and most your other lunches were spent with Rella and sometimes Arana after shopping, or with Marcus between stints of supervising the construction.

Your dinners you spent alone most of the time, dedicating yourself to cooking every last recipe in your Night Court Favorites cookbook, enjoying your love for cooking as well.

The time you spent in your hotel room was either passed by reading the Healer of Time series that Gina had recommended to you, or creating your menu pamphlet for when you are finally prepped and ready to open your bakery.

It was completed already, and sent off to the printers for a custom metal press to be made. You had decorated it with a drawing of your bakery on the front, and the name Sparaiya Bakery. The rest of the pages were filled with drawings of your pastries, with the ingredients and, in some cases, added benefits next to them.

Construction had gone by quickly, and you could hardly believe it when finally, your large custom pink marble tub was flown onto the second floor of your bakery by three very strong Illyrians. It was a foot wider than your wingspan, and deep enough that you could float in it, and it also had pretty good veining done on it at your request. It was by far the most expensive piece of furniture on your second floor, coming in at 1,175 gold marks. But you didn’t care, you wanted your dream tub.

The most expensive thing in your bakery by far were your ovens, each one coming in at 2,000 gold marks with a lifetime warranty, and in a soft, pale blue. You have ten stoves in total, seven of them were against the wall separating the kitchen from the front room, taking up the expanse of it. Each are on an elevated platform so that you could see inside of them without needing to bend over. The other three were against the back wall of the building, slightly smaller oven sizes but with a stovetop on each of them, so that you were able to make the filling that some of your pastries require.

The kitchen was completely done at this point, as was the front room of the bakery. Your kitchen was decorated with the pale blue stoves as well as matching cabinetry with silver handles, and white marble countertops with silver veining. The wide window you had took up half of the wall in the center of it, allowing for more cabinets, as you would likely need them for all of your bakeware and ingredients.

The kitchen was exactly how you’d imagined it when you had envisioned it a month ago, as was the front room.

You had the cedar logs of bakery and it’s furniture stained slightly darker, wanting it to have the cozy feeling of a darkened cabin in winter. The log chairs and benches all had different shades of pastel cushions attached to the seats, and the backs of the chairs. The tables were beautiful as well, the carpenter, a kind beta named Oren, had done a fantastic job on all of the wooden furniture you had.

And the display cases Arana had made for you were lovely, two on each side of the wooden counter Oren had also made for you. Arana had made them of matching wood, with a glass dome on one side, and sliding glass doors on the back facing where you would be standing. The shelves were also made of glass, and you’d had Rella enchant them to be unbreakable, just in case.

There was also a counter running along the back wall of the front room, matching the counters in your kitchen, as well as having the same cabinets below.

Your fireplace- it was exactly what you had wanted, made of different shades of grey stone, and positioned on the left wall, even with the midpoint of the dining area.

Your front door had yet to arrive, but the artist working on it was bringing it by in the next week.

The upstairs was nearly finished as well, your bathroom, personal kitchen and bedroom were all fully decorated. Your bathroom and kitchen were both done in a soft, baby pink color, matching the marble of your tub perfectly. You had a small round dining table, perfect for four, made by Oren in the same stained wood as everything else. In front of your fireplace on the right hand wall, you had a matching couch placed parallel to it, and two chairs placed of to the sides and slightly in front of it, with end tables on either side of the couch.

And your bedroom was absolutely perfect, your nest filled with blues of nearly every shade, with white and silk thrown in every now and then. So many pillows, you have so many pillows. Back in Winter, you had been so focused on your grandmother that you hadn’t even truly settled back in, and your nest was one of the things you had consistently neglected.

But not anymore. From now on, you would honor your omega’s wishes, perhaps even find an alpha who would treat you right in the next few years.

You had a few bookshelves lining a wall of your room as well, and you were determined to fill them all in the next three years with books you’ve read while living in Velaris.

Everything about your apartment upstairs was perfect, you couldn’t have been happier with any other turn out.

And truly, the main thing left for you to do before you could declare your bakery’s construction complete is your garden. The enchantments are complete, including ones to keep the planters waterproof to avoid any possible leakage, as well as keeping the air crisp and humid for your soon-to-be plant babies. You have yet to fill the planters already in place with dirt, or pick up the plants from Winter though.

But that was your main goal for the next week.

You had finally moved in the night before, after Marcus had given you the all clear. Your bill with him came out to be 120,000 gold marks, and every single one of them was well spent, as you had your perfect bakery and perfect apartment.

You had woken up this morning and made tea for yourself in your kitchen, and stared out at the lovely view you had from your massive window. There were a few younger fae out already, skating along the Sidra. It had yet to unfreeze, the temperatures had stayed low ever since you had arrived in town.

You almost felt like winter was holding on a bit tighter, just for you.

You finished your tea and breakfast around nine, then got ready for the day, dressing in one of your new winter dresses, this one in a soft pink, with delicate silver flowers embroidered along the hems of your sleeves. You threw on a white scarf, hat, and mitten set, then made your way down the stairs, and out the of what will soon be your front doors.

You were planning to find a florist this morning, as well as find a garden supply store so that you would be able to visit Viviane later in the week.

Rella had told you of a nice florist who was on the south side of the Sidra, just west of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, so you were making your way there.

The streets were rather slick this morning, so you took your time in getting to the florist’s shop, as Mor had said, there was nothing quite like eating shit before a meeting or going somewhere- which you’d had more than your fair share of in the past month and a half, running around town so often.

Finally you reached the shop, painted a sage green on the outside, and there was a garden along the side of it that you could see wrapped around to the back as well.

You walked inside, making sure to stomp the snow from your boots before you entered. At the counter was a beautiful high fae, with lovely light golden brown hair in a messy bun atop her head, a few strands escaping it and framing her gorgeous face.

“Hello,” you said with a wave as you made your way to the counter. “My name is Y/N, Rella told me that you’re a florist?” You asked hesitantly.

“Rella sent you? That was so sweet of her, make sure to tell her thank you for me, Y/N! My name is Elain, it’s lovely to meet you.” She stuck out her hand, and you got a lovely breeze of her scent, jasmine and honey- another omega. You took her hand, surprised at the grip that the delicate looking fae had. “Did you need a florist for something?”

You nodded your head, answering “Yes, I’m opening a bakery in the next couple of weeks, and I was hoping you would be able to supply seasonal flowers every week.”

“Yes, I should be able to do that. Do you have a color scheme in mind at all, or just the seasonal aspect?”

“Jus the seasonal flowers, any color combination will be lovely, I’m sure.”

Elain smiles at you, her soft chocolate eyes crinkling at the edges slightly. “Very well, Y/N. Do you know how many bouquets you’d like weekly, and a price range?”

“I suppose I’d need…” you thought on how many tables you had inside of your bakery, as well at the mantle of the fireplace. “A dozen bouquets every week, I believe. And price wise… I’m not really sure, do you have a set type of plan?” You asked, feeling unsure.

“Yes, for a dozen bouquets my base price would be around 25 gold marks a week, and for slightly larger bouquets or more rare types of flowers, it could get up to double that.”

You thought about it for a moment. “I think that I’ll let you choose whichever flowers look best together, but I don’t need very large bouquets.”

Elain pulled a contract from beneath her counter, along with a quill and pot of ink. She wrote in the details of your request, then slid the paper over to you.

You read it over, then signed it and slid the page back to Elain. You handed your bank card to her, and she pressed it to her ledger before passing it back to you. “Alright, you’re all set up to start your deliveries, when you know the exact date just come back and let me know, okay?”

You nodded your head, then finally looked around the rest of her shop. There were large bags filled with dirt, gardening tools, large displays of seeds, and even a few types of planters on display. “Oh, you sell gardening supplies too? That’s perfect!” You said, happy to have likely found everything you needed to complete your garden.

“Yes, we even have carts that you can borrow or purchase to take everything home,” Elain said, already moving from behind the counter. “Are you starting a garden, as well?” She asked.

“Yes, just a small one for a few plants and herbs I need for my baked goods,” you replied, already moving to look at the types of dirt she had on offer.

Perfect. Elain already carried dirt from the Winter Court, exactly what you needed for your plants.

“I’ll take- oh, I think ten bags of the Winter dirt, please,” you said, hoping that it would be enough to fill up your planters. “And I’ll purchase a cart as well, that will probably be handy for just about all of my shopping for the bakery,” you said with a chuckle. Elain brought a cart over, and the two of you loaded ten large bags of dirt into it.

You also grabbed a few different sizes of hand shovels and a couple of watering cans, putting them into your cart.

“Is that everything you’re needing today?” Elain asked as you approached the counter once more.

“Yes, Elain.” You handed your bank card over, and tucked it back into the collar of your dress once she gave it back. “Thank you so much, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks,” you said, moving to push your cart through the front door.

“Did you need any help with your garden at all?” Elain asked before you left.

“Not at the moment, I just need to fill my planters with dirt today. But in the next week I’ll be transplanting some things from the Winter Court,” you replied, and her brown eyes lit up.

“Would you like some help?” Elain asked brightly. “I’ve been so bored during the winter, there’s not much to tend to, I’d love to help you out,” she said, with so much hope in her voice you couldn’t refuse.

“That would be lovely, Elain. I’ll come and get you once I have the plants back here, alright?”

Elain beamed at you. “Sounds like a plan, Y/N. I’m free all of this Wednesday, if that would end up working for you. If not, I’m sure I’ll be able to slip away for a little bit,” Elain suggested.

“I’ll try and get the plants here by Wednesday, Elain. Thank you again!” You said as you pushed your cart into the outdoors.

Luckily, the cart seemed to be enchanted to have the snow speared from its path, and you made it back to your home without much trouble.

Now the hard part: getting all of the dirt upstairs and into the planters.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

It took you a few hours to finish the planters off, and you were more than ready to wash the dirt from your skin by the time three in the afternoon rolled around, but you forced yourself to write a letter to Viviane, asking to come and grab the plants Wednesday morning before you did so.

You ran hot water in the tub, then let it fill up while you stripped your clothes from your skin and placed them in your laundry bin. You slipped into the tub, loving how your wings were able to sink beneath the water comfortably as well.

It was the first time they would have a proper wash in over a month, and you were looking forward to how soft and fluffy your feather would feel afterwards.

Taking your time, you spent over an hour in the bath carefully washing the first and debris from your wings, refilling the tub once so you could rinse clean. Afterwards, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, one that was so soft that you had bought all of your towels from the same vendor, even for the bakery, in varying shades of blues, pinks, and purples.

A reply from Viviane had landed on your desk while you were bathing, confirming that she would pick you up in front of Mor’s townhome at eight on Wednesday morning.

You’d considered buying baking supplies and bakeware today, but after the hauling of dirt you were too tired, and nothing sounded better than getting a takeout from Sevenda’s and curling up on the couch in front of your fireplace with the third Healer of Time book.

But getting Sevenda’s would require going outside again, and going across the Sidra…

You had the ingredients for the chicken curry you had made on your second night in Velaris, and that, you supposed, would be less daunting of a task than leaving your home.

You got dressed in a soft sweater dress, another recent purchase of yours, and let yourself read for a half an hour on the couch, until your stomach was growling at you to loudly to continue ignoring. Fine. I will make the damn curry.

You stood up from your couch and went into the kitchen, chopping and stirring and waiting until finally you had your dinner. Your cooking skills had improved in the month and a half since you’d made this recipe, and you could tell in the taste of the curry.

Seated at the table, you read while you ate, so lost in the gripping story that you hadn’t realized you were done with your food until you ate a spoonful of nothing.

“Oh,” you said to yourself, then got up and rinsed your bowl out. You were so tired already, and it was barely six in the evening.

Today would be a good day to start getting back into a baking sleep schedule, if you were so tired already… And then you would be able to get up bright and early in the morning, make yourself some breakfast, then head to the Palace of Bone and Salt to buy enough baking supplies to make each of your recipes three times, to make sure you still have all of the techniques you need down pat before your grand opening.

Grand opening. You could hardly believe it, you’re so close to your dream becoming a reality, and it’s been almost nothing but fun the entire journey.

That was definitely in part to the wonderful fae you’d met in Velaris, each one that you worked with you helpful and friendly. You truly couldn’t have asked for a better start to your new life here.

You allowed yourself to read until seven thirty, then forced yourself to get into bed.

It took a little while for you to fall asleep, even with being tired, but soon enough you drifted off, thoughts filled with bags of flour and the pastries you would make tomorrow.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Picking out your bakeware took you longer than expected.

Did you want glass or metal bowls? Pink or blue ceramic? Wooden utensils or metal utensils? You were so indecisive, trying to choose between whatever you liked most and trying to have a color scheme- but then you realized it doesn’t matter, all of them will be used for the same purpose.

And if you love all of your bakeware, then who cares if they don’t match?

So you’d gotten possibly double of everything that you needed, but that would just make it easier for you to do more batches or different things at once in the future. And you’re fine with that.

You’d carefully made your way home, trying your best not to break any of your new dishes.

Your only casualty was a cute mixing bowl you’d picked up for your personal kitchen, it was pink with little duckies all around it. You would get another at some point.

It took you two hours to have everything arranged the way you wanted, and immediately after getting your kitchen set up you went out again pushing your cart back to the Palace of Bone and Salt to get your baking ingredients. That shopping trip took you a bit over an hour, and by the time you got home you were tired once more, but more than ready to start baking again.

You had never gone much over a week without baking, ever since you were six years old. You felt like apart of you had been ripped away, until your hands finally sank into dough once more.

It was magical, how happy baking makes you. You baked for the rest of the night, probably eating far too many pastries for dinner, but you don’t care, because they’re pastries you baked, in your bakery.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Two days later, it was Wednesday, and Viviane had picked you up as promised.

“So, how’s Velaris treating you so far?” She asked as the two of you were on your knees in the greenhouse, working to free the last of three hornberry bushes you needed.

“It’s been amazing so far, the change of pace as been absolutely wonderful, and getting closer to the grand opening of the bakery I’m getting more and more excited! And everyone has been so kind so far, I feel so welcome.”

Your four combined hands finally pulled the bush out of the ground, and you carefully placed it in the cart holding the rest of your plants.

“That’s so great to hear, Y/N. I’m glad you’re settling in well, you deserve it after all you’ve been through,” Viviane said, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “Did you need any other plants, dear?”

You looked over the cart thoroughly. “Nope, that’s all I need Viv. Thank you so much!”

“Of course, Y/N! You know this section of the garden practically belongs to you, right? You and your grandmother are the reason our birth rates and overall health as a court have gone up. If you need anything else from here, just write me again, okay?”

You nodded, smiling gratefully at her. “Oh, by the way, the money you gave me was far too much,” you said, and Viviane opened her mouth to speak. “But it is very much appreciated, Viv. It’s made getting the bakery perfect so easy.”

Viviane grinned at you. “I knew it was the right choice, telling you once you were already in Velaris,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s true, I would never have accepted it,” you agreed, chuckling along with her.

The two of you stood from where you were kneeling, dusting the dirt from your dresses. “Are you ready to see my bakery?” You asked, holding your arm out for Viviane to take.

“I have been since before it was built, Y/N,” Viviane replied, taking your arm and winnowing the both of you back to Mor’s townhouse. “Lead the way, dear.”

The two of you trekked back to your bakery, taking longer than usual with the cart’s wheels snagging on the snow.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s perfect!”

Your front doors had been delivered yesterday, perfectly depicting the change from dawn to day to night while snow falls over the Sidra, more beautiful than you had thought it could be.

“Isn’t it?” You asked dreamily, still slightly disbelieving that it was real, even when you’d been living here for the past five days. “Come on, let me show you the inside,” you said, unlocking the doors and dragging the cart inside after Viviane had entered.

“This is so cute! I wish you were open right now, I’ve been dying for one of your hornberry tarts. Leo does a good job, but I don’t think he’ll ever get them perfectly like yours, Y/N,” Viviane said, referencing the pasty chef you’d trained before moving.

“Well, if you come back for the opening or any time after, I’ll make sure you get a few to take home with you. I’m sure Kallias would like some as well,” you remarked with a smile, recalling how fond the High Lord was of your pastries.

“He’ll probably join me once you’re open, he won’t say it but I know he misses your baking. He does this cute little pouty face whenever something doesn’t taste perfect,” Viviane said, always ready to talk about her alpha. “Well, I’d better get going Y/N, I have a few meetings I need to get to, but let me know when your opening is and I’ll do my best to stop by.”

“I will, Viv. Winnow safe, okay?” You said as the two of you hugged, taking in one last breath of her calming snow and cranberry scent.

“I will, dear. Have fun planting!” Viviane said, winnowing away after giving a little wave goodbye.

You immediately set to taking the plants upstairs as quickly as you could, wanting to get Elain over at a reasonable hour.

It was eleven thirty when you finished, each and every last plant taken up the spiral staircase and placed next to the planter it would be replanted in.

You washed your hands, then put your winter wear on and headed into the city, going straight for Elain’s shop. When you arrived, the door was locked, so you knocked loudly on it. Elain came to the door a moment later, already dressed to leave the indoors.

“Lovely, Y/N, I’m so glad you could make it today!” Elain said excitedly, locking her shop up behind her. “And I get to see your bakery, I’m excited for that too!”

The two of you made your way to your bakery slowly, the two of you appreciating the people milling about as you walked.

“This is a gorgeous bakery you’ve got, Y/N,” Elain said once the two of you were standing in front of it, you unlocking the door.

“Thank you, Elain,” you said, swinging the door open and letting Elain inside.

“Oh, the inside is so adorable! Now I have such good ideas for your bouquets, after seeing the space. I’m thinking a blue flower in every weeks bunches, keep the winter theme going a bit.”

“I love that idea, Elain, that’s perfect!” You led her to the kitchen and up the stairs, and she rushed towards the garden.

“This is amazing! Who did your enchantments?” Elain asked once she was in the garden, the air even colder than it was outside.

“Gabrella, in the Palace of Flame and Steel,” you replied, joining her in the garden. “And this is my little garden,I’m excited to get everything planted. And please, don’t feel obligated to stay at any point, though I do truly appreciate your help.”

“I love to see new plants, and I’ve never seen any of these before. I’m guessing they’re native to the Winter Court, with the dirt you bought and the climate you’ve got here,” Elain said, hitting the nail on the head.

“You would be right, Elain. I use all of them in my pastries. All of them are pretty easy to plant, just make sure their roots are covered and then water them until the soil is completely soaked,” you informed Elain, already kneeling in front of one of the planters.

The two of you got to work, Elain watched you plant one of the bushes before moving to her own, planting it with expert hands.

As you worked, the two of you spoke of your lives, mainly your hopes for the near future. You spoke of your bakery, how excited you were to see it finally in action, and how the people of Velaris would react to your business. Elain talked about her mate and alpha, Lucien, and how they were hoping to have children soon.

“We’ve been trying rather vigorously,” Elain tittered, and you blushed along with her.

“Well, I cannot promise that it will work for sure, but I do make a fertility pastry with these berries,” you say, pointing to the spiky berries on the hornberry bush that you were currently planting. “We have seen a significant increase in births the Winter Court over the past five years, though that could be due to the end of everyone being imprisoned.”

“Anything at all that will help, we’ve been trying for the past five years with no luck so far. As long as it tastes decent, I am willing to try anything, I’ve wanted to be a mother for so long,” Elain said, sighing after she did.

“I believe they’re rather delicious, but you’ll just have to see for yourself,” you laughed.

Within two hours, you and Elain were sitting back on your hands, looking at your now completed garden. “Thank you for your help, Elain. Would you like to go to lunch with me?” You asked, wanting to thank her in some way other than words, and you had a feeling she would turn down any monetary payment you would offer.

“I would love to, Y/N. Did you have a specific place in mind?” She asked, already getting to her feet. You followed her up, then lead her over to the kitchen sink to wash the dirt from your hands.

“There’s this great noodle place on the west end of the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, if you’re interested? Or we can go someplace else, if you’d prefer,” you offered.

“Noodles sound great,” Elain said, smiling softly at you.

“Noodles it is, then.”

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

Lunch with Elain was nice, and you walked her back over to her shop before heading home. The two of you had gotten to know each other better, and you were happy to know that you might already have three omega friends in your new city, very different compared to your sold one in Winter- Viviane.

When you got back to your home, slightly surprised to see Marcus outside of your doors.

“Ah, Y/N, there you are!” He said, walking over to meet you. “I was… I was hoping that I could ask you something.” For the first time since you had met him, Marcus sounded nervous.

“Go ahead.”

“Well, I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me- on a date?” He asked.

You hadn’t seen it coming. You’d enjoyed his company, yes, he was fun to talk to and nice to be around.

“I… uhm…” you started, unsure of what to say.

“Look, there’s no strings attached, if you hate it halfway through, or even right when I pick you up, we can act like it never happened, hmm?”

You considered it for a moment. Would it really be so bad to go on a date with a handsome, friendly alpha?

“Okay, yes, I’ll go out with you. What night were you thinking?” You asked, looking up at Marcus nervously.

“Would tomorrow night at six work for you?”

You nodded your head. “Yes, tomorrow would be fine,” you respond. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow night at six, Y/N,” Marcus said before departing from you with a wave, leaving you to slink inside of your bakery and contemplate what had just happened.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

“You’re going on a date with Marcus? Oo, tell me what you’re going to wear!” Mor said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

“Just a dress and some tights, Mor, nothing fancy,” you said after swallowing your bite of salad.

“Well, at least tell me you’re excited for the date?”

“I guess so.” Mor stared at you, disbelief in her eyes as she chewed the last bite of her sandwich. “What? Marcus is nice, really nice, I just don’t feel any kind of spark towards him, that’s all.”

“At least give the male an honest chance, alright?” Mor asked of you before paying for the tab. “I’ve got to run, but next week you will tell me all about the date, yes?” You nodded your head. “Good. I’ll see you next Thursday, have a good date today doll,” Mor said, pressing a kiss to your cheek before leaving the restaurant.

You finished your salad, then walked the short distance home from the restaurant in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf.

Perhaps you should be getting ready excitedly at this point already, but you knew in your heart that you wouldn’t find that spark with Marcus. After all, you’d known each other nearly two months at that point, and you’d never looked at him as anything other than a friend.

But you supposed that going on a date, even one that you know you won’t go out with again, could be fun.

So you baked for a few hours, then took a long bath to make sure their was no flour left on your body. Getting dressed was easy, you simply slipped on one of your old favorites, a cute pink wool sweater dress that goes to your knees and some warm tights. You put on a little bit of eyeliner and a tiny bit of lipstick, but it only took you ten minutes to get ready. It was only five thirty.

You picked up your book and read, already on the fourth book of the series. By five fifty five, you had on your winter wear and boots and were downstairs.

Marcus knocked on the door exactly at six, looking handsome as usual.

“Shall we go?” He asked, extending an arm to you.

You took it, then said “Yes, lead the way Marcus,” with a gentle smile.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

The date was fun, that was true. But you felt no kind of connection with Marcus besides that of a friend. He seemed to sense as much when he dropped you off at your door later that night.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Y/N.”

“I did too, Marcus, but…” you trailed off, unsure of how to say it.

“But you don’t feel the connection?” Marcus asked, and you nodded in confirmation. “It’s alright, I had to take my chance, right? An omega as amazing and wonderful as you, well, you’re a catch to any alpha with eyes and ears, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Marcus. And I’m so sorry, I wish it could have worked out. You truly are a magnificent person, and I’ve loved getting to know you over the past two months. Friends?”

“Friends,” Marcus confirmed, giving you a brief hug before pulling away. “I’ll see you at your bakery’s opening, when was it again?”

“It will be next Friday, I’ve decided,” you declared brightly, glad that things with Marcus could still be pleasant.

“I’ll see you next Friday, Y/N,” Marcus said before walking away, leaving you on your doorstep once again.

You sighed and headed inside, going straight up to your bedroom to get undressed and wash your face. After you had, you flopped into bed, wishing that you’d been attracted to such a kind, helpful alpha.

But you’d find someone, at some point. You would meet at the right time, the perfect time, and everything would fall into place from there, you were sure of it.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

“It didn’t go well, did it?” Mor asked as you sat down across from her in the noodle restaurant.

You sighed. “No, it was a fine outing, just not a good date,” you said. “I did have fun with him, there just isn’t that connection there, you know?”

The two of you ordered quickly when the server came over, then went back to your conversation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to give it one more date?"

You nodded your head. “I’m sure, Mor. There’s no point to it, if I haven’t felt any kind of attraction in the two months we’ve known each other.”

It was Mor’s turn to sigh. “Okay, okay. Do you have any other alphas that you might like to date?” Mor asked, wiggling her brows at you.

“None that I can think of Mor, you can tell Viv that I’m happily single at the moment.”

Your food arrived then, and the two of you tucked into your food, both of you humming happily at the taste.

“So, my bakery opens tomorrow,” you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence while eating, and Mor quickly swallowed her current bite.

“Tomorrow? Oh, that’s so exciting Y/N! What time do you open? I’ll try to get there near then, but no promises, I might be sleeping in.l

“That’s fine, Mor, I’m opening at seven so I don’t really expect you to be awake at that time,” you laughed, knowing that the alpha was the opposite of a morning person.

“Mother no, I would never be up that early for anyone,” Mor giggled. “Have you sent out flyers or anything yet?”

“Yes, I had some pamphlets printed up with the menu, they’re being distributed around town as we speak!” You said brightly.

“That’s good, that’s good. I hope everything runs smoothly, Y/N, you deserve it after all of the hard work your put in.”

“Thank you, Mor. I just hope that people like my pastries.”

“Y/N, just based on that little sampler basket you brought me at the beginning of the week, the people here will go nuts over your bakery,” Mor reassured you.

You had brought a basket of pastries to every person that had helped you in starting your bakery: Mor, Marcus, Rella, Arana, Oren, and the stained glass artist, Wren. You’d actually brought five baskets to Marcus’s office, enough so that he could have a basket of his own, and plenty left for the crew that had worked so hard to bring your dream together.

“Thank you, I’m glad to hear that. I hope that you can make it tomorrow, I believe that Kallias and Viviane will be stopping in later in the day, so long as nothing pressing comes up.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing you and them tomorrow, then, Y/N,” Mor said as she gave you a quick goodbye hug, her citrus and cinnamon scent washing over you again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mor,” you said with a smile, managing to get your bank card down on the bill first.

You walked home alone, knowing that you needed to make sure everything was in order for the next morning as you went, taking a little longer to savor the warmth of the sun. It had started to warm a little bit, and most of the snow was cleared from the streets at this point.

You used your three hours before your self imposed bed time to check everything twice and make sure you had enough ingredients for everything you needed to bake in the morning, as well as plenty of tea and coffee for people to drink.

Your time to sleep went by too quickly, and soon enough it was four in the morning. You took a quick bath, then donned a comfortable lilac dress with a back scooped low enough for your wings to be free, something you’ll want as you will most likely be spending the next fifteen hours working in the kitchens and the front of house.

Finally, you thought, so happy that your grand opening is finally here.

You rushed downstairs, turning on the fae lights so that you could see your work.

Most of the pastries were done proving, and ready to go in the oven. You had plenty of your winter berry jams ready to go, all you need to do is make more dough and get it proving.

You spend the next two and a half hours working quickly and efficiently, the rush that baking on a large scale gave you fueling you on, faster than ever before.

You had just finished stocking up the pastry display cases, medicinal on the left and typical pastries on the right, when Elain showed up at the front door, bright eyes and perfect hair even at the early hour, You rushed over to unlock the door, opening it to let the sweet fae inside, and you flipped the open sign over as you shut the door.

“It smells absolutely wonderful in here Y/N. Lucien is bringing the rest of our family around, I made them all promise to show up after they devoured that basket of pastries you delivered to my house,” Elain said, shaking her head lightly at them. “I was able to try that hornberry pastry thought, it was divine. Tell me you’ve got plenty ready to go?” Elain asked.

“Oh yes, I’m already thinking it will be my most popular pastry, I’ve got two dozen ready already and another five dozen in the process of being made,” you reassured her, already going behind the counter to grab her a pastry and place it on a plate. “Here you go, and if you ever want to take some extras home, just let me know,” you said with a smile, loving that she immediately took a bite of the pastry.

“Seriously, these are so good,” Elain said, right as a crowd of people pushed through the front doors.

In first was a red headed male, who made his way straight to Elain, placing a kiss on her cheek and swiping the pastry from her fingers. Lucien, presumably.

Next in was a tall, bulky Illyrian with hazel eyes, holding hands with a beautiful fae- Nesta?

“Y/N?” Nesta asked, making her way over to your counter after she met your eyes. “I didn’t know you were the one Elain was working with, what a small world.”

You nodded your head, meeting her strong steel grey eyes. “Yes it is, I didn’t know that you were related to Elain, either. It’s nice to see you again, I’m hoping I can make it to that book club of yours in the next couple of weeks,” you said.

“That would be nice, Y/N."

“Introduce me,” the large Illyrian said after gently nudging Nesta, having followed her over.

Nesta rolled her eyes, a small but affectionate smile on her lips as she said “This is Cassian, my mate.”

Cassian stuck his large hand out for you to take, and when you did his hand practically swallowed yours. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Now, am I allowed to order right away or should I wait a little bit?” The alpha asked, eyes already turned to the pastry cases.

“You can order right now, if you’d like,” you responded, letting him look over the options for a moment.

“Oh, Nes, we are so getting the hornberry pastries, remember that little promise that you made to me?” Cassian asked, turning his mouth to Nesta’s ear, whispering something that made the fae’s face turn beet red before she nodded. “We will take two of those, plus three croissants.”

You handed them their pastries on a large plate, telling them “Bring it up here when you’re done, or if you need a to go bag.” They left the counter, Nesta still blushing profusely, even when they sat down.

You looked back to the door, seeing Mor and another Illyrian next to her, this one with shadows swirling around him, occasionally dipping into his ears. They moved over to the right side pastry case, peering through the glass at what you had on offered. You glanced away from them and back to the door, and that’s when you saw them-

The most devastatingly beautiful male and female you had ever seen, power thrumming off of them in gentle, soothing waves, and their combined scents washed over you- citrus, sea, jasmine and lilacs. A perfect, heart stopping blend of two alpha scents that set your mind and body on fire in the best possible way. You felt so awake now, so present as you stared at them both, trying to memorize their faces as quickly as you could.

This. This is the feeling you wanted to feel when you went on a date with someone.

The couple moved closer to you, and Mor introduced them.

“Y/N, this is Rhys and Feyre, our High Lord and Lady.”

Oh, Mother, you are so fucked.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Feyre said, extending two beautifully tattooed hands to grasp yours. “Mor has told us so much about you, it’s nice to finally put a face to her kind words.”

Your heart nearly stopped, you were sure of it. “It’s lovely to meet you as well, High Lady-”

“Oh none of that, please call us Feyre and Rhys,” Rhys said, his strong voice pulling your eyes away from Feyre’s hypnotic ocean eyes. His were just as mesmerizing, violet with flecks are stars in them, just as beautiful as his mate’s.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Rhys and Feyre,” you corrected, your hands still captive in Feyre’s.

“Alright you two, stop hogging my friend, I’d like to have one of her delicious pastries for breakfast,” Mor said, breaking the spell the two alphas had over you, and you finally looked away from Rhys’s eyes to lock onto Mor’s.

“Did you know what you wanted, Mor?”

“Yes, I’ll have one of those cute little cheese danishes, and a cup of coffee with some cream please.”

You nodded your head, then set to grabbing Mor’s order. With your head turned from the group, though, you couldn’t help but close your eyes.

You are so fucked. They are mates, they are a couple, you will never have them. Remember that, you thought to yourself, before turning around, Mor’s coffee and danish in hand

Mor tapped her bank card to your ledger before you could stop her, sticking her tongue out at you. “You can’t make me not pay, Y/N, I just won’t do it,” she said while smiling at you, then left the counter to take a seat in front of the fireplace, where Elain and Lucien were now sitting.

You turned your head back to the couple that you knew would stay in your thoughts for days, maybe even weeks to come. “Did you two know what you wanted?”

Series Taglist: @icey--stars @breadsticks2004

[kupidachillea]

I really liked you're yanderr Olympians x Reader :3 is it okay to ask for some hcs on yan! Hermes and reader? Only if its okay either you!!

Yandere Hermes x Reader Hcs! (Or imagines)

Author note: This will be kind of connected to the original Olympians x Reader hcs, hope you don’t mind. But also thank you for the request hope you enjoy.

TW (trigger warning): The writing ahead contains mentions of emotional manipulation, gaslighting, general yandere and toxic behaviour, manipulation, slight abuse(bondage). Please note that I don’t condone any of these things and everything here is fiction. With that said, please read at your own discretion.

✉️- You’re lonely..of course you are. How could you not be when yourself stuck on this mountain?

🪶- Most would consider it an honour, a blessing even, but you knew better. It was a curse, and there was no way to convince you otherwise.

✉️-You had tried multiple times to try and escape. Try to flee only to end up right back where you didn’t want to be. Usually this would end in you being bound in chains of gold, infused with magic or worse things that left scars to tell what happened. The gods found it amusing. Watching you struggle and act all defiant.

🪶- It was their form of entertainment. “How cute..” Poseidon would muse since your latest attempt to escape. “I don’t know why the mortal keeps trying to…they’re not going to make it off this mountain. Alive that is..” Hera would sigh. She didn’t really care much, though she would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t pity you in the slightest.

✉️- You just couldn’t take it anymore. You were sick of being up here, you’ve been in the mountain long enough to memorise where all the rooms and paths were.. it was downright ridiculous.

🪶- You didn’t care if you escaped anymore..all you wanted to do was touch the grass again..to listen to the birds in the trees and to feel the running water of the streams and rivers.

✉️- you wished that someone, anyone would hear you wishes and at least grant you 30 minutes of freedom..if you could even call it that. However fortunately (or unfortunately) for you..there was one such person that heard your cry. A certain someone that wasn’t afraid to bend the rules or stir up trouble. Whether it be for the benefit of others, himself or even to deliver a simple message.

🪶- Hermes was that god. He had been listening in to your little cries of despair and felt your home sickness from a mile away. How could he not take this opportunity given to him to care for his favourite lover? He was the god of travelling after all, among other things so he just had to step in.

✉️- And so the feathered friend (or rather fiend) approached you as somewhat of an angel of light. Opening a door for you that you had assumed was shut forever.

🪶- “Wouldn’t you like to get off of this old rock, hm~?” He would ask, a slight hum in his voice as he floated in front of you. You were sat on the marble floor, probably sulking a bit to yourself until the messenger had showed up. Without a second thought to his words you nodded. Wasting no time in taking his hand, so excited that you missed the devious little grin that had started to appear on his lips.

✉️-And that..was the beginning of what you thought would be a great companionship.

. 🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.🪶.

🪶- Over the course of those few days to a week, you and Hermes spent time away from the mountain and down on earth in the forest near mount Olympus.

✉️- And you had to admit; they were great. For once you felt like you were actually enjoying yourself. While you would enjoy the greenery and flora, Hermes would make up excuses for why you couldn’t spend time with the other Olympians.

🪶- He of course being a trickster did what he did best. Of course the others weren’t happy, especially Apollo who had demanded to see you but Hermes wouldn’t let him.

✉️- He even threatened majority of the surrounding nymphs and satyrs to not say a word about what he was doing. Obviously they listened though one particular satyr needed a little reminder on why snitches get stitches…let’s just say that Hermes acquired a new horn after that incident…

🪶- When Hermes wasn’t threatening the lowkey forest creatures he was with you. Sweet talking you..trying to get you to relax more around him. And you did to some extent. Just enough to let him touch and hold your hand..

✉️- But that wasn’t enough for Hermes. He thought he deserved more. Of course he did.. so he pushed. Being a little more greedy than he should’ve.

🪶- “Y’know..We’ve been spending a lot of time with each other and not once have you offered me a kiss..” He spoke one day while you were sitting near a stream next to him. You hummed in response, not really sure how to respond. “I guess..I’m not all too ready for that yet..” you would reply.

✉️- This caused the messenger god to furrow his brows. Lifting his helmet up a bit to get a better look at you. “And why not..?” He asked..his voice taking on a slightly aggressive tone. This would cause you to tense and shiver. “I just…can’t..I’m not ready..I-”

🪶- He didn’t let you finish, he grasped your wrist tightly and scowled. “You can’t ? After everything I’ve done for you? You can’t give me a simple kiss?” he hissed. His tone obviously took you by surprise considering how gentle he had been all this time. But you somehow started to feel..guilty? Why? Why did you feel guilty?

✉️- Hermes continued. “I saw you upset and wallowing in despair, I brought you out from the mountain to be happy. I’ve lied to my own family, my king! Just for you and this is how you repay me?!” Hermes was obviously lying again. He had no issue in lying to his family. He’s done it more times than anyone..he just wants you to feel bad..and it seemed to be working with how your eyes shrunk in fear and darted away with a hint of guilt. ‘Perfect’ he’d think to himself.

🪶- “Maybe I should’ve just left you alone. I doubt the others would’ve done what I did for you…in fact, maybe I should’ve bring you back up to the mountain and chain you down so that they can have their way with you- does that sound better, Dear ?” Hermes crooned..his voice was taunting yet threatening and your eyes widened when he threatened to leave you in the hands of the other Olympians. You frantically shook your head no, you didn’t want that..not at all.

✉️-A kiss truly wasn’t as bad as what the others would do to you. A kiss won’t hurt..right? You sheepishly took his hands in yours, your eyes pleading as you spoke. “Wait- no…please don’t do that.. I’m grateful, I truly am, Hermes. I’m sorry if I made it seem like I wasn’t..I was just..nervous..” You admitted and Hermes cooed..his eyes softening as he moved his hand to your cheek..stoking it gently with his thumb.

🪶- “Oh Darling..it’s okay, you have nothing to be nervous about..it’s just a kiss, right? You can do that for me, can’t you my little mortal?” He didn’t wait for an answer before leaning in and capturing your lips with his own. The action causing your heart to leap and your breath to catch in your throat.,you couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or excitement.

✉️-However, you eventually gave in..kissing the messenger go back which caused him to smirk against your lips. He pulled you into his body. His arms wrapping around your waist as he kissed you more passionately. A soft moan leaving the god and the wings on the sides of his head fluttering with joy. Though you’re not sure if you share such a feeling. You felt something but you weren’t sure of it.

🪶- Soon enough Hermes pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath as he chuckled and stroked your hair. He rested your head in his chest and cooed while you stared at the grass with a conflicted expression on your face.

✉️- “There, there, my sweet mortal…You have nothing to fear. I’ll always be here for you..remember that.” Hermes would utter softly and you gulped subtly..wondering if you had just made a mistake in trusting the messenger god in the first place.

Author note: Oof, I wrote this at like 3am. I’m starting to realise my ‘HCs’ aren’t really like Hcs at all, but I still hope you all enjoy. Also forgive me. That kissing scene wasn’t really the best.. I was flip flopping between descriptive or not that descriptive 😭. But anyway hope you enjoy Anon!

[amethystwrytes]

Safe. (Part Two)

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Fem. Reader x Lee Minho

Summary: A broke ER Nurse offers up her services to a large crime organization in exchange for much higher pay and benefits that are unconventional, but lucrative. The life proves to be questionable at best, and downright isolating at worst which leaves her feeling unsure, unstable and dangerous. 

Warnings: Explicit language. Explicit depictions of sex (some chapters will be more explicit than others sexually). Violence. Blood. Trauma injuries. (Organized) Crime. Emotional manipulation. Medical inaccuracy galore. Smoking. Past addiction. 18+ Only.

Chapter WC: 6.5k

Read Pt. One Here

- PART TWO -

When you wake up this time, unlike the previous evening,  you’re on the couch in the living room. You hear whistling and dishes clanking from the kitchen, and the roar of a load of laundry going. You sit up and rub your eyes. You know Hyunjin isn’t feeling well enough to be bustling about your kitchen and Seungmin would never. So, you’re not surprised to see Han Jisung floating around the kitchen, putting things where they don’t go, while he flip flops between whistling and singing random songs. 

The scent of coffee is in the air, and that takes precedence over other thoughts. So you lift your stiff body off the couch to greet him. 

“Where did my best buddy go off to?” you joke dryly as you grab a mug from the cupboard. 

“Oh! Good morning, uh…Seungmin? He and I switched out shifts, I didn’t figure you cared so we didn’t wake you up,” Han explains, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. 

“Thank you for cleaning,” you look around. He’s cleaned everything from last night, the counters, the floors, the sheet you put over the dining table is in the laundry, along with some bloody towels and clothes. The kitchen and dining area look like a normal house again, and not a surgery center.

“Eh,” he shrugs, pouring himself a refill, “I assumed it was a hard night if you passed out on the couch, just wanted to help. Um…how is he?” Jisung asks. 

“Let’s go see, besides, he needs to eat here in the kitchen, needs to walk around so that wound doesn’t start healing in the wrong position,” you say, then take a big gulp of coffee before setting it down on the counter. 

Hyunjin is awake when you and Jisung walk into the room, he’s got his tongue tucked between his teeth and he’s concentrating hard on an open notebook, a simple #2 pencil seems to be possessed by something as he drags it across the page. For several seconds he doesn’t even seem to notice anyone has walked into the room until Jisung runs into the chest of drawers near the door. 

Like a shot, Hyunjin snaps the notebook closed and his face goes from wild concentration to that cool, unbothered demeanor you’ve grown accustomed to with him. 

“What are you drawing?” you can’t help but wonder. 

“I just like to doodle, it’s nothing,” he says a little too quickly and you get the feeling he doesn’t want you to see his work, fine, you’re not here to argue. 

“Up you go,” you stand by his bed and beckon him with your fingers. “We’re going to go eat at the kitchen table, you need to walk around.” 

“Uh, pardon? Was it not you that sewed my damn side back together last night? Can’t you just bring it in here?” he asks. 

“You have stitches Hyunjin, there are women in hospitals all over the world right now who just had seven layers of their guts sliced open, a literal human being dragged out, and then those guts stitched, cauterized, and stapled back together - and they have to get up and walk as soon as the spinal block wears off - so get your ass up, go sit at the table, and I’ll make you some breakfast,” you instruct, patting the side of his face with a smug smile. 

“You’re kind of mean, you know that?” he half smiles. 

“I know,” you wave as you walk back to the kitchen. 

“Seven fucking layers? I didn't even know there were seven layers…” you hear Jisung whisper as he assists Hyunjin out of bed. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Later in the afternoon Minho pays another surprise visit. You think he must favor Hyunjin, he’s never been this diligent on checking in. Or, maybe he wants to make good on his promise to make you his when there wasn't a man bleeding out on your table. The thought gives you an unhealthy excitement.

“You’re alive!” Minho grins and gives Hyunjins shoulders a shake. 

“Yes sir,” he nods, “Gonna take more than some bitch ass blade to take me out.” 

“Of course,” Minho smiles, then looks at you, “You did wonderfully love. He looks right as rain.” 

“Well, I’d still like to monitor him for infection, though I do have him started on antibiotics, but yes, I think he’ll be back to normal in a few days,” you report. 

“Good! Then you’ll both join me this coming Saturday evening,” Minho casually goes to the fridge and plucks a water out. 

You and Hyunjin look at each other quizzically. You’ve never been asked to do anything aside from bandaging Minho’s guys. 

“You mean me?” you ask, looking around. Jisung is upstairs taking a nap, so there are no other people in the room. 

“Yes, I mean you,” Minho confirms. “This Saturday I’m hosting a meeting of sorts with some of our associates. Specifically, I want to ensure they’re on our side of things. The intel on your attack leads to Kim Taehyung. I guess those guys that attacked the three of you were planted there by him. I’ve had just about enough of the Kim organization pushing back lately, after we’ve been so generous in letting them live and operate around the gun sales - but the attack on the three of you last night - in addition to him selling to our clients, that was the last straw,” he explains. “I plan to obliterate their ops, and make sure Kim Taehyung never sees another daylight.” 

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, you have no idea who Minho is talking about but the visions of all the ways this Kim Taehyung is going to pay for what he’s done is overwhelmingly gruesome. 

“Anyway,” Minho clears his throat, “Saturday at the Casino, I’ll make sure our business partners and associates are all on the same page, if not then I’ll assume they’re enemies now, but in order to keep the tension down I’d like it to be casual - which is where you come in darling,” Minho looks at you. 

“I don’t understand…you need first aid on site or?” 

Minho laughs, “No love, I want you there as my date, so to speak, I’ve told the others to bring their wives, mistresses, whomever - it’s a party, and I want to keep it light, I’ll look less uptight if I’ve got something to occasionally hold my attention,” he smiles, then looks at Hyunjin, “I’m sure Kim will have some of his guys planted around the casino and I want them to see you there Hwang. I know they targeted you because of your reputation as my best, and they need to know it was barely a scratch.” 

Hyunjin nods, “Of course.” 

“Good, then it’s settled.” 

You say nothing, still too stunned to speak. You don’t really want to go to his Casino. You don’t want to be seen as his…anything. You feel like you’re being debuted as something you never agreed to, and you’re also sure if you bring it up he’ll brush it off as nothing, that you’re reading too much into his invitation or worse, he’ll be livid for your insubordination. You don’t like this, you didn’t agree to dates, or public appearances. When Minho approached you in the hospital parking lot that morning all those months ago, the parameters were clear: He’ll pay you and keep you supplied with medical necessities if you tend to he and his men. Period. 

And yet. On the other hand, you can’t quite explain the flicker of giddiness in your stomach at the thought of having a night out with him. It’s exciting and yet simultaneously makes you hate yourself. 

This is your fault. You never should’ve fallen for that face, that misleading smile that conceals the evil within, that makes you think he’s harmless. He’s not, and you climbed into bed with him literally and figuratively, you’ve done this to yourself. You know you’re in too deep even as he looks at you now from across the room and motions up the stairs with his eyes, the excitement pools immediately between your legs and you get up and lead the way, not caring your house is occupied with two other people, not caring about Saturdays Casino night, only caring about feeling good. You’re in too deep, and you don’t think you can pull yourself out.

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“So, about Saturday,” you say, pulling the sheets up under your arms, concealing your nudity. 

“Hm?” Minho is just out of the shower, he wraps a towel around his waist and sits back down on the bed, picking his phone up to check it. 

“I’m just a little concerned…” you trail off, not sure what to say or how to say it. 

“If you’re worried about what to wear, don't be,” he says casually without looking up from his phone, “I’ll send Christopher over with dress options and accessories that afternoon for you to choose from.” 

“That’s not really what I’m worried about, but that’s nice of you,” you say. 

“Then what?” he finally looks over at you. 

“It’s just…It’s just that surely there’s someone else you’d rather have with you than me, I’m just for emergencies you know? Medical emergencies,” you clarify. 

He laughs dryly, “You said you felt lonely here, that you’re not sure how to act normal when you’re not with us, so I figured I’d take you out into our world, that way you don’t have to worry about how to act or not act. It’ll be fun, you’ll get to dress up, have drinks, eat delicious food, and play some games if you’d like. Why are you concerned?” he looks genuinely confused and closing in on irritated. 

“People are going to think we’re together,” you blurt, “I mean Seungmin already - ugh, it doesn’t matter, but I just want us both to be clear about things, about this,” you gesture towards the bed. 

“I see…” Minho says tightly, “So, you don’t want to be seen with me, is that what I’m getting from this?” 

“It’s not that! I mean if you want to whittle it down, completely ignoring all context and nuance then fine, but what I’m actually saying is that I’m just a nurse, when we made this arrangement you never said anything about going to Casinos or being on your arm to keep things casual amongst your associates. You told me that you’d pay me to take care of any injuries your guys get and that’s the position I accepted. Then we started fucking each other, and now we’re going to be playing a couple at your Casino and that’s…a lot,” you explain. 

“Right,” Minho looks half amused, half pissed as he gets off the bed and starts dressing himself. You watch in silence as he flits around the room without a word and you grow increasingly nervous. It’s as if the very temperature in the room has dropped. 

“Can you say something, please? It’s not my intention to hurt you-,”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. Me coming up here and fucking you a couple times a week is perfectly fine, but suddenly I ask you to do me a favor - which is just to spend an evening out with me at a fucking Casino for God’s sake - and that’s the line you draw? That’s too much?” he looks at you, and you’ve never seen him look that way before, not at you. It chills you. 

“I just-,” 

“Stop talking,” he sighs, “You’re prettier when you don’t talk.” 

Your eyes widen at his words. 

“What? This is what you expect of me, correct? The big, bad, wolf? Fine. So here’s how it works now - I tell you where to be and when to be there, and you’re there. I enjoy fucking you, very much, but at the end of the day you can just be my employee. Now, back in the hospital I’m sure that comes with boundaries and scopes of responsibilities but here, all it comes with is: I tell you what to do and you do it. There is no HR complaint box, there’s you getting in the car I’ll send for you Saturday, and smiling and pretending like you’re having the time of your life while I assess the people in attendance to see if I’m going to allow them to live and operate their organizations peacefully in this city, or if I’m going to have a very bloody few months on my hands.” 

You shake under the covers, fight the tears that are burning your eyeballs. 

“Do you understand? Have I made myself unclear in any way?” he asks. 

You shake your head. 

“Words please,” he stares into you. 

“Yes. I understand,” you answer, hoping he doesn’t see the way your chin wobbles. 

“Good. Then from now on we don’t have to flirt around what we are or aren’t, since that’s so fucking important to you suddenly. You’ll  know exactly where you stand,” he heads towards the door, “Oh, and before you get any bright ideas about running back to your miserable life at the hospital, try to remember you don’t walk away from this life. You don’t walk away from me. There’s not a hospital on this planet that will hire a nurse who sells controlled drugs out of her house.” 

“I don’t sell-,”

“Oh don’t you?” he slowly walks back over and leans down close, “Because the cops on my payroll who will turn this house upside down if I ask them to, will write a report that says differently - think of the pharmacy you’ve got going on down there, my goodness. Jail time won’t suit you Kitten, so be a good girl,” he grabs your chin and kisses you hard on the lips. 

You watch in absolute horror as he opens the door and steps out, your face hot and wet with tears, jaw clenched so tight in fear that you feel like your teeth might break. 

“See you soon baby.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“___?” 

You hear Hyunjins voice softly call through the closed bedroom door before he gently opens it. 

“What are you doing in here?” you demand, not bothering to roll over to look at him. 

The room is dark, you’ve laid in the same spot, naked, all day. Your pillow is damp with the tears you’ve shed between cat naps. You’ve no idea what time it actually is but his wound needs to be cleaned and the dressings changed. He’s probably also not had any more medication, and you’ve no idea what his vitals look like but you imagine he’s still dehydrated and weak from all that blood he lost. 

“I haven’t seen you all day, I just…I wanted to make sure you were alright I guess,” he says, and you can hear his uneven steps hobbling towards the armchair in the corner of your room. 

“You shouldn’t have walked up the steps, you’ll put too much stress on the wound,” you say flatly, though you can’t seem to find it within you to care. 

“I’m turning this light on,” he says. 

“Don’t! I’m not dressed,” you say, your chest flooding with shame and humiliation, a fresh batch of tears start flowing. 

“Hey,” he stands up again and you hear him grunt, “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you sob, which only makes more tears because how pathetic is it to say I’m fine when you’re clearly not? “Just go back downstairs - I’ll be there in a minute okay? Please Hyunjin…” 

“Okay,” he says softly, “but if you’re not down there within the hour I’m coming back up here and annoying the shit out of you until you get up and eat something.” 

“Fine.” 

When you come down into the kitchen you say nothing to the two men who sit at the table. Jisung still seems to be on duty and is enamored with some game that’s too loud on his phone. Hyunjin on the other hand, you can feel staring at you as you make your way to the fridge and grab a yogurt. 

You eat it standing over the sink, your back towards the men. 

“What have you had to eat or drink today?” you ask Hyunjin as you toss the spoon into the sink, the half eaten yogurt into the garbage. 

“I’ve eaten, and I’ve been drinking the gatorade and water back and forth. I’m fine,” he says with an emphasis that implies he knows you are not fine. 

“Good, let’s go to your room and take a look at that wound, I’ll get your vitals too for good measure, then I’m going to bed,” you tell him. 

At this Jisung looks up from his phone, “Haven’t you been asleep all day?”

“Well, considering I didn’t really sleep last night, and honestly the fact that you people keep me from sleeping most nights, I figured I’d fucking play catch up Jisung. Is that okay with you?” you snap. 

“Yeah, jeez,” he huffs, “Sounds like you need it.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“Ouch,” Hyunjin winces as you peel the bandage off his stitches. 

“The wound looks good, it’s a little sticky but that’s normal. Tomorrow we can have you leave the bandage off, let the air get to it,” you say. 

“What happened?” 

“You got stabbed in a fight,” you answer as if you don’t know what he’s really asking. 

“When Lee left and you didn’t come back down I figured you were just taking some time, and then an hour passed and I thought you were just napping or something, but then the whole day went by and I thought he…” Hyunjin trails off. 

“Killed me?” you finish for him, hyper focusing on carefully opening the clean bandages. 

“I mean…I know that doesn’t make any sense, but yeah, kind of,” he nods. 

“Well, I’m not dead,” you say. 

“I can see that. Did he… do something else…” he trails off again and his dark eyes meet yours for a split second before he looks back down. 

You know what he’s implying and it makes you feel sick. You’ve never done anything nonconsensual with Minho, but that was before his fucking second personality showed up. 

“The only thing that happened in that room was me being made painfully aware of what I’ve really gotten myself into Hyunjin.” 

“What have you gotten yourself into?”

You sigh, your fingers faltering over his skin as new tears make their way down your cheek, “You know. You know exactly,” you sniff. 

Hyunjin takes the pad of his thumb and wipes some of the tears away. 

“Seeing you cry kills me,” he says softly, “When we first started bringing the guys here, I thought you were this tough, bitchy Nurse Ratched type, you’d tell us all what to do, what to get, make us tell you what happened like fifty billion times. Then I realized what you were really doing.” 

You sniff and wipe your tears with the back of your hand, “What are you talking about?” 

“You make us do all those things, you talk us through everything so we won’t freak out. You’re tough, I’m not saying you aren’t,” he laughs, “but you’re sweet to us, to every patient you’ve ever had probably. Like last night when Felix and Bin were freaking, and you asked them about the knife and what happened and made them part of it so they had something to do - that was intentional.” 

“You heard all that?” you wonder. 

“Well yeah, some crazy nurse had her finger in my guts, I wasn’t taking a snooze,” he smiles. 

You laugh through your snot and tears and he smiles. 

“I guess my point is that I don’t know what Lee said to you upstairs, but I do know what you’ve gotten into because I’m in it too, in the thick of it. I’ve killed people ___, but you, you heal them. So if there’s even a shred of goodness in any of this, it’s you. You are the good, and I don’t want you to forget that.” 

You smile and look up at him, “Why are you being so nice, hm? I think the entire time I’ve worked for Lee you and I have spoken maybe three times in passing.” 

Hyunjins smile falters a little as he looks down at you, “Just because you’re always too busy to notice me doesn’t mean I don’t notice you,” he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear then clears his throat, “And I’m not being nice, I’m being honest. Okay? Forget whatever Lee said to you, we all get chewed out from time to time when he’s in a bad mood but that’s just part of the business. I’ve got your back, okay?” 

You nod, and because you need the extra confirmation you look at him, “Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

You tape his new bandage on and squeeze his hand, “Thank you Hyunjin.” 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

You sleep all night, it’s the first night in a long time that you’ve slept well. Surprisingly. Minhos words haunted you. He had been like a light switch going from light to dark. You had known from the get go that Minho was dangerous, you weren’t that naive, but he’d never made you feel like you were in danger. Well, that certainly was no longer the case. Maybe you slept so well because now there’s no confusion, no guessing about where things stand. He’d said that you weren’t his prisoner, and maybe you weren’t locked up or chained, but in every way that matters you are most definitely his prisoner. 

When you walk down stairs you’re disappointed that Jisung is gone, you owe him an apology for snapping at him. Instead Seungmin is back, making a mess in your kitchen and not caring to clean it. 

“Are you really necessary?” you groan, smacking his arm and shooing him from the kitchen. 

“Meaning?” he frowns. 

“Is the security detail necessary? I mean, nothing has happened this entire time and I’m getting tired of you all tracking your shit all over my house,” you gripe as you pour yourself some coffee. 

“It’s not your house, is it?” Seungmin sneers, sitting down at the table with the breakfast he helped himself to.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” you smile as you sit across from him. 

“And you-,”

“Shut the fuck up!” Hyunjin whines sleepily as he walks into the kitchen from the guest room. He’s getting around better. His hobble from yesterday has turned into a minor limp today.

“Minho says he’s been texting you with no response,” Seungmin chastises Hyunjin before his butt hits the chair at the table. 

“My phone’s in the room,” he whines, bracing himself to stand back up. 

“I’ll get it,” you say. 

You see the phone on the bedside table and walk over to it, Hyunjin has left the notebook he’d been sketching in yesterday on the bed, wide open. You feel bad for peeking, considering he didn’t seem like he wanted anyone to see his drawings, but you can’t stop yourself from looking down at the page. 

To your surprise, he’s drawn you. You pick up the book and stare at the lines. It’s good, really good actually, and you start flipping through the pages. Most of them are of you. Standing over the dining room table, sitting on the side of his bed, smiling, sad…he’s drawn you at least ten ways and all of them make you feel so…seen. If anyone ever asked you to describe yourself, you’d never be this kind. Never this beautiful. Never this vulnerable. Is this how he sees you? 

“Like them?” Hyunjin asks from the doorway and you drop the notebook back onto the bed. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I should’ve asked to look.” 

“It’s okay,” he shrugs, “It’s not that I’m violently opposed to people looking. I mean, Jisung brought it to me yesterday while you were sleeping and I know he snuck a peek. It’s just…” he trails off. 

“Personal?” 

“Yeah.” 

“May I?” you pick the book back up slowly and he nods, limping to the chair nearby and sitting down. 

“These are so good Hyunjin, truly,” you tell him as you flip through more images. 

Hyunjin seems to have drawn everyone around him to perfection. They could be black and white photographs. There’s Seungmin, whose grumpy, distanced demeanor is so well captured you giggle. Felix's angelic, ethereal face with every freckle included. Changbin’s thoughtful expression that he always wears, like he’s constantly planning his next steps. Jisungs sweet smile. Even Minho, whose eyes are just as dark and wild on the page as they are in real life. Then there’s pages of you, more than the others and you feel your face heat. 

“You draw me a lot,” you state quietly. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

“Like I said sweetheart, just because you’re always too busy to notice me doesn’t mean I don’t notice you. I like drawing you, it relaxes me,” he chuckles. “The lines of your profile, the way your hair falls in your face when you’re working, the expression you wear when you're worried about us,” he looks at you, “I love watching you. You’re so beautiful.”  

“I didn’t realize…” you say softly, suddenly at a loss for words, as you place the book gently back on the bed. 

Hyunjin licks his lips and shrugs, “That’s understandable, I mean, Lee demands most of your attention since you’ve been around, and when he’s not here you’re usually elbow deep in blood so I just keep my distance.” 

At the mention of Minho you’re reminded of the reality of your situation and you take a breath, picking up Hyunjins phone as you originally intended. You walk it over and gently hand it to him, his fingers envelop yours for a moment and he looks up at you wantingly. You remove your hand from his as gently as you can and lay it on his shoulder giving it a squeeze. 

“Don’t look at me like that, okay?” you say softly. 

“Why not?” 

“It makes me want to kiss you,” you say shyly. 

“Would that be so bad?” he half smiles and you screw your eyes shut. 

“I’m not a whore for you all to pass around,” you say stiffly. 

“No, you’re not, is that really the impression you got from everything I just said? That I think you’re the resident whore, here for our pleasure?” he frowns. 

You sigh, “No, I’m sorry I just…” you grab his hand again, “I’m scared of him, Hyunjin. Terrified. I’m scared to do anything that will make him angry.”

“He doesn’t have to know, and I’ll protect you,” he whispers, his fingers tracing lines down your arm, he grabs your hand and kisses the back of it. 

“He knows everything, eventually, and you and I both know he’s the only person you can’t protect me from,” you pull away again and this time leave the room. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

Later that evening you sit in the living room with Seungmin and Hyunjin watching some horror show on Netflix. You’ve not paid a bit of attention to it, though Seungmin is hooked from his favorite recliner. Every few moments you look over to the other side of the sofa and see Hyunjin looking back at you in the darkness, playing with his bottom lip and looking like he wants you so badly it makes your insides clench. You’ve never been so grateful to have Seungmin sitting in your living room, because you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t crawl over to Hyunjin and take his lips with yours if Seungmin wasn’t there. 

Suddenly your phone rings and movie night comes to a screeching halt. 

“Hello?” 

“Jeongin got shot!” Jisungs voice cries into the speaker and Seungmin and Hyunjin both stiffen up. 

Jeongin is the baby, and the other men treat him like their pet. They love him, from what you’ve observed, and you know your every move is going to be watched like a hawk. 

“Where?” you ask, standing up to flick lights on in the kitchen. 

“At some assholes house, we were there to ask some questions about what happened to Hyunjin and-,”

“Where on his body, Jisung?” 

“Shoulder, in his shoulder,” he answers. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, you can handle a shoulder. 

“We’ll have everything ready, come quickly,” you say, then hang up the phone and get back to work. 

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

“You’re not to use this arm for several days, you hear me?” you look at Jeongin who looks way too proud to have gotten his first gunshot wound. 

“Yeah, I hear you,” he smiles, a little dopey from the pain pill you gave him. 

“You’re lucky I was able to pry that thing out of you whole,” you remind his smug ass. 

“Mmhmm,” he yawns. 

“Someone drive this kid home so he can sleep,” you laugh. Jisung rushes to Jeongin to help keep him upright.  

“I’ll drive them home,” Seungmin offers. 

“Make sure to remind him not to sleep on that side, and keep his arm in the sling while he’s up and about,” you tell them as Seungmin and Jisung help Jeongin out the door. 

“Thank you sweet princess,” Jeongin grins like a doped up disney character and blows you a kiss from across the room. 

The door shuts and you start cleaning up the mess. It was pretty clean, so not as much blood as there was with Hyunjin just a few days prior. You toss the sheets into the wash, and get rid of the bullet you pulled out of Jeongins shoulder. Everything else goes into a steamer for sanitation. 

“You did good, taking care of the kid,” Hyunjin says walking into the kitchen. In the rush of things you’d almost forgotten he was here, almost forgotten about the suggestive things he’d said to you earlier. Now you’re alone with him. 

“It was an easy one,” you shrug, not turning around, instead you start on some dishes left over from supper. 

“I locked up,” he says, voice getting closer, “checked the perimeter outside, we’re all good.” 

“Thank you,” you slightly turn your face and give him a soft smile. 

“You’re welcome,” he whispers, you can feel him behind you as you splash suds around the sink, you can feel his body heat against your back. 

You turn to face him, drying your hands on the side of your shirt, “What are you doing?” 

“I’ve never had the chance to be alone with you,” he shrugs. 

“We shouldn’t be close like this…” you whisper. 

“Why not? Don’t you feel something here? Because I do, and maybe it’s just the stupid crush I’ve had on you since you started, but it feels deeper than that,” he whispers back, his hand falls gently on the small of your waist, pulling you impossibly close. 

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder, “I’m so turned around I don’t know what I feel, or what I want, or what to do with myself.” 

“Then let me help you not feel so turned around,” he says, he lifts your chin up with his fingers and brushes his lips over yours softly. 

It starts so slow, so soft it feels like kissing a ghost. His lips roll against yours with more and more pressure, your back pressed against the kitchen cupboards. You let your arms wrap around him, being careful not to hurt him where he may be sore and his hand gets buried in your hair, his thumb tracing gentle lines over your cheek as he anchors you to him. 

His tongue darts out and you meet it with your own, his urgency more palpable now, his body pressed harder against yours. He makes a soft noise into your mouth and you melt, not a moan, but a plea. It’s not until he attempts to lift you up onto the counter that your eyes pop open and you pull away. 

“You’ll hurt yourself,” you remind him breathlessly. 

“I don’t care,” he smiles, pressing himself against you again, capturing your mouth once more. 

You wrap your arms around him again, but then a familiar pounding hits the front door. 

“Minho.”

You both say it simultaneously and leap apart. 

To be safe, Hyunjin picks up his gun from the side table before he opens the door, you’ve come to recognize this as standard protocol with them anytime someone opens a door. You wonder if they do this everywhere, or just at the safe house, it must feel ridiculous to have to open your own door armed. 

“Where is he? Is he alright?” Minho brushes past Hyunjin and comes in, looking for Jeongin, “I came as soon as I saw the text. I was in a meeting.” 

“He was shot in the shoulder, I pulled the bullet out whole, patched him up, gave him something for the pain and sent Jisung and Seungmin to drive him home and get him settled. He’s fine,” you report. 

Minho sighs with relief and nods, “Good, thank you.” 

The room goes silent, the only noise is Hyunjin sitting down on the creaking couch. You’ve got no idea what to say to Minho, the mere sight of him makes your skin crawl, makes you angry, but most of all makes you scared. You ball your fists up in case your fingers start to tremble. 

“I uh, I owe you an apology,” he looks at you, closes some of the distance between you but not close enough to scare, “The things I said yesterday, I think I was a little too harsh with you, I hope you can forgive me Kitten.” 

He touches the side of your cheek gently and you fight every fiber of your body not to recoil, afraid he’ll take it personally and hurt you. 

“Of course,” you manage, though your voice sounds shaky, breathless. So you clear your throat and look at him directly, steeling your nerves, “Forgotten.” 

He smiles and pulls you into him, resting your head snug between his neck and shoulder and you wrap your arms around his waist. Looking beyond into the living room Hyunjin stares at you, your eyes locked in a knowing glance, a sad smile on his face. 

“Good,” Minho says gently, then kisses your cheek. He heads towards the living room to sit with Hyunjin while you finish what you were doing in the kitchen. 

“How are you feeling, then?” he asks. 

“Sore,” Hyunjin shrugs, “Don’t feel much else.” 

“How about I drive you home tonight?” Minho suggests and you drop the plate you were scrubbing into the sink with an annoyingly loud crash. 

“Oh, I…uh,” Hyunjin looks in your direction, “If the doc gives me the go ahead then sure.” 

“Darling? What do you think? I feel like Hyunjin would rest better at home, in his own bed, can you get anything he needs to take with him?” Minho asks. 

“Um, sure,” you nod, not really having a better reason and not good enough at lying to think of anything. “He’s been on antibiotics more than 24 hours and there’s no sign of infection or any other issue. The wound will be sore for several more days but you can treat that with Acetaminophen or Ibuprofen. I’ll get your antibiotics and some clean bandages,” you smile. “Oh, but you will need to come back in about a week so I can remove the stitches.” 

You gather up Hyunjins things, his antibiotics and stuff he’ll need to treat himself at home. You feel robbed of time with him and it makes you feel ridiculous. You know this is probably for the better. Minho was very plain with you in that he’s not your boyfriend, but all the same, something tells you he doesn’t share well. All Hyunjins crush will achieve is both of you dead or at least very fucked up. Besides, you don’t know what you feel, you’ve not had a spare moment in the last few days to slow down and work yourself out - such a thing will probably take a lifetime you think. 

“Here’s a bag of everything,” you hand it to him back in the living room, “I want you to continue the antibiotics twice daily until this bottle is empty. Try to let your stitches air out when you can, but keep a clean bandage on when you sleep, or if anything is going to be rubbing against it. Okay?” 

“Got it doll,” he nods, “I’m going to go grab my stuff, be right back.” You watch as he skulks off to the guest room, leaving you alone with Minho. 

“I really am sorry, ___,” he wraps his arms around you from behind, “I hope you know I’d never harm or hurt you unless I had to.” 

You could pick apart that sentence for a year and still not unpack all the things wrong with what he just said. You want to snap at him, push him off you, but now you know what devil lies under that surface of sticky sweetness. 

“Stop apologizing,” you force a smile, “You’ve been under a lot of stress these last few days, and I shouldn’t have even said the things I said. You’ve been good to me Minho, let’s just put it behind us,” you lie to the best of your ability. 

“I don't deserve you,” he brushes some hair out of your face and kisses you softly. You try not to think about Hyunjins lips on you just moments ago. “Christopher will be here around one or two in the afternoon tomorrow with your dresses, wear something pretty for me, yeah?” 

You nod and smile as Hyunjin walks back into the room, a bag of his personal effects over his shoulder. 

“Thank you for everything ___, I owe you,” he smiles and pats your shoulder as he and Minho make their way out the door. You lock it behind them then turn to face the house you’ve been living in for the last few months. You’re alone again. 

You couldn’t sleep if you wanted to, so you decide to go strip Hyunjins bed and toss the sheets in the wash. When you pick up the pillow to remove the case you see a folded piece of paper underneath. You recognize the sheet from his sketchbook and frantically unfold it. 

It’s a sketch of you, with a note.

This one is my favorite so far. You’re the good in this shit show we’re stuck in, don’t ever forget that beautiful. Love, Hyunjin.

Endnotes:

1. Taglist: @katieraven @linocz @screamobubbles @hpnsfwaddict @simpforleeknaur @the-sweetest-rosie @hyunjinhoexxx @aeri-skzver @mbioooo0000 @seungminindabuilding @moni-logues @shioriyametho - if your @ is in bold then I couldn’t tag you for whatever reason - if you need to adjust settings go do the thang or if I need to do something let me know (I am not technologically competent).

2. Eeek! Part two. I am always so nervous to do multi-chap fics bc I worry people won’t like the direction I’m going and that it will effect my decisions lol also I just typically like working with smaller worlds BUT this fic has thus far been a fun little ride, so I hope you all like it. More to come soon, and as always here’s your virtual smooch😘

[darkdemeter]

BOW BETWEEN MY LEGS

⚤ Vampire King!Bucky Barnes x Vampire (Queen)!Female Reader 18+ themes and smut minors dni, consumption of blood, depictions and mention of gore, violence and death, unprotected vaginal sex, female oral receiving, dom x sub (light switch) dynamic, this fic contains some sexism/misogynist themes, usage of the name "pet", I think that's it. ✎ 5.4k What lies between a woman's legs is as powerful as you can grasp the idea that you can use it to your benefit. Like any man, no male vampire can resist such a sweet and enticing prize. In your stirred want for power that you see is rightfully yours, can you turn the throne in your favour and force the dark majesty who turned you to his knees?

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

The first kill is always the messiest. 

It’s a floating rumour among the commoners and courts that you’ve murdered ten king-husband’s on the night of your wedding. This is the eleventh. Each one with a throat torn and ripped open, guts assembled as a strangling corset around the waist and his heart missing… supposedly eaten. The maids would lay awake all night, pale and sickly as they listened to the darkened hymn of your giggles in the chamber above, followed by the drawled, pleasured moans of a consort receiving her master’s reward upon the very bloodstained sheets of her impure marital bed. Compliant to his schemes, wedded to his sensuous appetite and solely ordained to share his bed.

But now you hunger for the power he has taken for himself. Every kingdom he has come to rule over was because of you. You seduced your way through the courts and harems of kings, enslaved yourself to their foolish and mortal desires - pathetic wants of the flesh that left you unsated - and then presented yourself at the altar many a time to pledge your undying love. 

You have a treasure trove of gold and gems, accessories presented in proposal coffers and made in falsely forged promises of eternity. The only eternity was this one, with your master. The only one that kept you for himself, who adored and praised every inch of your body with awarded pleasures. He, who scorned and scarred you in passionate agony whenever you disobeyed him. 

This sudden whim of yours to act out disobedience is one he will tolerate no longer. A pet off its leash, a naughty and spiteful creature who’s collar he will reshackle a hundred times over to strangle some belonging sense into you. A correctional statement is what is needed. And you have forced his hand to command it so. 

Limbs of misty silk crawl along the floor, free to flow from the tapering veil of your gown where your breasts lift in a form meant to flaunt your provocative nature. From the golden rim of your goblet, you savour the taste of the tainted wine your kind dine to drink. 

A crimson smear paints a glistening spot on your lips and your tongue laps to suckle on the sustaining juices. The night is cool but it’s barely felt on your skin anymore. The moon, full and pale, casts a halo so bright that it bathes your form as you stand in the balcony’s doorway.

The fluttery garb of your gown falters down the slope of your shoulders, loosening at its silken belt to reveal your nakedness to the gust of wind. It is one pulled stronger to sweep over the ocean like a hurricane, through the coastal region where you had set your sight upon to conquer; to claim. But it seems not for long. Like everything you have, that you are, he wants. 

The wind has a voice, low and hollow like a haunting whisper. He appears in the chambers in a whirling spire of blackened mist, his body taking presence as a physical manifestation before your very stance. He looms as a tall silhouette that drowns out the moonlight, showering you beneath his powerful aura. You recall a time, before this stroke of independence, when you would sink to your very knees before him, eager to sate his carnal desires in the bloodied parlor of your slain king and promised love. To be commended for your work in succeeding his reign further over the kingdoms. To have the fanged venom of his undead disease riddle and writhe within your already alive corpse, to relive the sublime surrender in the midst of your orgasmic pleasure; one he ruthlessly denied you until you proved your loyalty to him. His darling pet, so sweet and so obedient to him. So pathetically wanting of all he would give you. 

Your lips pull to form a thin smirk of revile, his deadly glare condemning your lack of sincerity towards him. Within the intense luminance of his blue, ocean eyes, he undresses you with his gaze. 

Further adding to your insult, you act as though to bow before him, only to turn away as your shoulder addresses him coldly. “So, you’ve finally come to applaud my efforts, my liege?” 

His body stiffens, shoulders molded harshly into a damning intensity. “Is that how you dare speak to me?”

His head shifts on a sharpened axis to look at you, to follow your leisurely movements. Your bare feet pad along with a skinned, muffled pound as if weightless to this world. The thin body of your goblet stays between the bed of your fingers, tilting back and forth lazily. You tire of his growled threats. At least, you thought you did. You always do enjoy the roughened, dark demeanor of his commanding tone. 

With a sensual, teasing hum, you retort back, “It is.”

Beneath the baritone drum of another growl, beastly and dangerous, you continue in your saunter. Your eyes linger on the drapings of the stained bed, a grotesque display of a night creature’s artwork. His blood is no virgin’s, but it would do. The allure of such a pure taste drove you insanely blissed. What you would do for some in your goblet instead.

As if to see the nature of your grim, inner turmoil, your prior master moves towards you with a silent ease. Unheard but he is sensed.

His body stands close now, gracing the curve of your shoulder. He has this way that makes you feel alive again, like that virtuous, naive bride. The way his hand felt against you that first night, serpentine and slithering up to knead at your untouched breasts, squeezing them in his clawed grasp only to then wind around the column of your neck. 

“Turn to me,” he beckons you with a voice soothing and deep. Indeed, his hand is still as intoxicating. Your eyes fill with a heaviness and you turn to face him. He tips your chin to his desired angle and he leans his lips down to ghost over yours. 

“Open…”

Much like your first feeding, such a surreal and visceral hunger you’d felt in that time, long ago, the moment your lips lock together his tongue forces through the pass of yours, driving them further open. You moan highly and tilt back on your heel only for his hands to catch you, dragging your hips to meet his that desperately roll, arching them to spread to his welcome again. Goblet of blood abandoned with a cluttering fall, your arms find purchase as they always have around his shoulders, your nails scratch a trail that marks your claim. 

The lengthy tendril of his tongue shapeshifts with the disconnecting growth of his jaw, gums extending forward, allowing his mouth and gullet to expand and pour forth a pitcher of blood into your mingling kiss. You greedily lap with your tongue at the addictive flavour of virgin’s blood he graciously delivers to you. You almost falter into his hold completely, barely able to keep yourself upright and his arms circle around your waist, pulling you tight against him as he deepened the kiss. 

You purr into the cavernous depth of his mouth and he groans, not yet letting you go when he feels you begin to pull away with the large form of his palm pressing to the back of your head. No, there is still more to give you. There is still more blood to offer you, to feed you with. You must be starving, his dear and lost little pet. Most likely alone in the company of your bed, yearning for him.

His hips continue to grind against your core, eliciting that dark excitement he strives to rekindle within you, lustful in his advancement to retake you. 

He withdraws from the kiss, his tongue slowly licking over the sated roof of your mouth and over the purse of your top lip. 

“Be a good pet now and come back to me,” he purrs with a deepened rumble, smirking. 

You tut at him with a scolding glare as you immediately swat at his wandering hands that grope you and he releases you with a hiss. His intention to seduce you with the potent feed was close to breaking you, you may admit — invading your mind like a perving perfume  — but he would have to do better than that to lure you back into his dark embrace. He would have to offer something more than just blood and sex.

What you want is what was rightfully owed to you. 

You’ve wandered from his reach and your spine rings with that delectable sense that his blackened soul reaches out to drag you back into his grasp. To feel the deepening desire of his want for you. To know that he lusts for you after all this time. 

It’s empowering. 

And it is power you will use to your advantage. 

“Pet.” He warns you with a low tone of voice like a wrathful hum of thunder. You mock him back with a slight tilt of your chin, “My King.” You bare a crimson-stained smile of teeth and elongated fangs as you move your fingers sensuously slow over your lips to wipe the gathered dabbing of blood away. 

Your voice is a sunken purr, a provoking line delivered with a silken and soft cadence that hints at your powerful sensuality, given the way you see the azure bloom in his eyes brighten. 

The way he obviously stirs in the deep recess where his soul should be, where a man’s blood should run hot and heart beats fast. When your eyes only drift further down do you catch the heavy weight of his cock straining against his garments. Vampires may no longer be that of the living, but there are phantom semblances their bodies still cling to. An attachment of one’s life before. 

And the imposing stature of his cock standing erect, the one and very same you’ve trained yourself earnestly for millennia to take every inch of, is one of those semblances he’s clung onto all this time. 

He sneers with a beveled glare, “Cease this becoming of your petty nature and surrender yourself to me. I created you. You serve me.”

“That was when you took advantage of a silly, girl commoner who hadn’t an ounce of status in her life before.” Your objection is sharp to cut in. You come to stand before him, your hand moving to curl at the aroused pitch between his legs, smirking when he groans. “Since then I’ve acquired the taste of power… and I want more.”

He shakes his head with a bared snarl. “You wouldn’t know what to do with such power if you had it.” His hand snatches hold of your wrist and pulls you to press against him, earning a hitched gasp from you. “You're still just a silly woman whose place is better served beneath me.”

“Is that what you want to believe now that you see me retake everything from you?”

His eyes diverge from their scornful path, flickering down to gaze at the sinful way your lips move, allured by the empty promise of meeting them with his own in another heated kiss. And then you’re gone. Like a flame snuffed out by a sweeping draft, each withdrawing step you take away from him, your hips sway with a delightful bounce. 

When he turns to face you, you’re suddenly taking action to seat yourself on the luxurious lounge of his deceased majesty’s chaise. 

“You think I’m threatened by you?”

Your posture leans back, the draw of your silken dressing gown is draped loosely, falling down your shoulders and yielding quite easily to show your body. “I know you are.”

His words come out as a thick rasp. “Why are you doing this?” 

“You mean other than to cause you pain? Anguish?” Your head tosses back with a cruel, viscous laugh that bounces off the chamber’s stone walls. “I never meant to be cruel, but you left me no choice, my love. I do it because I want to see the turmoil in your eyes as you watch everything I have given you slip away; I want to see in your eyes the realisation that without me… you would have nothing.”

“A woman in power is dangerous,” he drawls, hand running over the stubble of his jaw slowly. 

Again, you cut in objectively. Your shoulders rise and drop with a huff, rumpling the folded brim of your robe to flatly dip lower over your breasts. “A woman in power is something you desire but not dare admit lest your own power be challenged. It’s why you’ve not taken me as your queen.”

“Ah,” he huffs in curt reply. The sound is dryly cynical, abhording the admittance in your statement. It’s his turn to favour feigned ignorance behind such a haughty announced noise, to hide the truth you already know too well. 

“As if I’d any intention of elevating your station within my court. Surely none would then suspect the favouritism I harbour for you already, what with the reserving of my bed for you alone… the personal feedings…”

He dares to make a mocking spectacle of his generosity. 

Beneath the snide of a coiled hiss, you say coldly, “It is a king’s duty to uphold the well being of his subjects and his realm. A good king deals with… the reservation of his bed and his personal feedings with a humble nod and smile. A bad king… tsk tsk,” you shake your head with the piercing click of your tongue. “That is certainly how a revolt occurs within the court.”

It wasn’t your fault that you craved more monogamous partnership from your king. Had you not worked yourself, bent yourself over and backwards to give him all you had? Every night you’d moan through your screams as he stretched you open, rawly taking you on the spear of his length until you cried a veiny river of tears. Bliss was it not as painful? 

To his every wish, you fulfilled it. Every dynasty he sought to rule over you set yourself upon it. The ladies you slaughtered, the ragged and alluring woman you portrayed yourself to be to ensnare the honour of mortal kings or the seductive muse within his lordship’s harem. The sting of tears on your wedding day shed not in your joy to spend your days beside your sire, but because furthermore, you realise you remain a puppet on her strings; at the tethered whim of a master. 

He scoffs at the notion that anyone in his court would dare rise up against him. More so he leers at you with this tainted ire, a darkened aura that compels you to obey his command. “You act as though I have not granted your endless desires. What could I possibly have denied you so that turned you against me?”

“Besides the still indebted orgasms?”

At that, he visibly stiffens at the burly muscle of his shoulders. The hardness causes his paled complexion to ripple, writhing with a course of venomous sinew and veins that runs through him. 

King John by no means would have meant you good but at least you would have had power. Something every commonor vied for. The lidded underbelly of your eyes raise to squint narrowly at your dark liege. Your body contorts to sit upright, leaning forward in a way that is rigged. Fragmented drapes of hair fall forward with a framed depiction over your brow. “All my life I have been at the whim of someone else. It’s my turn now.”

“And if I refuse to grant you what you want, pet?”

“Don’t you dare deny me!” The whites of your eyes become drowned with scarlet as a flare of gold takes over your irises. Your voice seethes with a venomous hiss. “I was meant as your consort! I am owed this, Buchanan. There is a debt to be paid.”

He tuts you with a coy raise of his brow and smirk on his lips. He has you riled, just as he wants you. He walks to you with a leisured step each announcing his powerful authority. His clawed thumb and forefinger take hold of your chin to tilt it up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“I should have known you’d take to power once you had a taste. You wouldn’t remain that humble, silent woman in my court.”

Your throat rolls with a thick swallow, eyes pouncing with that scarlet aura. “I developed under your command, did I not? I thrived and did all you asked of me. So long as I’m given what is rightfully mine, I shall remain at your side.”

“You turned into a right bitch is what you developed into,” he snorts. When the wavering kink in his brow twitches, it hints that he sees no humour pass through you. Your hardened eyes are sternly upon him, the scarlet hue fading and the golden rings dim back into the coloured irises. 

“What is to happen if I refuse, Y/N?”

Reforming the delicate etiquette of your hair, fashioning it orderly as you rise from your seat, the robe dismantles its remaining hold around you. Your breasts allure him with a dangerous game as he stares fondly, the blackened shade of his pupils blown wide in his stare. You fix with effort the twisting etch of a smirk onto your lips. 

Quickly, you arch your head forward and lick a glistening streak up the bared scape of his chest, the muscles constrict tightly, alerted. Aroused. 

“Then coming here for me was pointless.”

Who are you to tell him that anything he does is pointless? How dare you call into question his pride? 

The assaulting bite between the clench of his teeth is revolting, a seething sentiment that you have sored him - wounded his ego by notching that sneaky, clever little blade you call wit into the unbeating deadness of his heart. 

Your naked form drifts past him and towards the bed with an elegant saunter and hips that sway with a pronounced accent, the beautiful locks of your hair that mist and ghost your features as a veil bounce as you move. His eyes follow you as slow moving orbs that reverb with a shaken essence, watching you slope in your descent to sit at the bed’s end. 

Around you, the world is taken by a facade as the air bends back and forth, the moonlight flittering through it like a sudden and exploding burst of starlight. No longer does he stand in the trespass of the murdered king but instead his own throne room, alone besides you and him. 

You’re no longer seated on the filth of a stranger man’s bed but instead, astride his grand and looming throne. Even for him, he knows his breath would have hitched in his lungs at the sight before him. Never before has he seen anything more dominating. Sinfully divine. 

Exotic. 

Coy, you adjust yourself in a way to purposefully allure to the form of your breasts pushing together, crossing one leg over the other to hide the glisten of your cunt from him and the regal possession of power you exude. 

“You mean to tell me you’ve never wondered what I’d look like, seated on your throne, you kneeling before me…” 

Even the beginnings of your twisted mingle between lustful fantasy and vie for power, you visibly shift. “…Your lips tasting me — devouring me — as I moan and arch myself like… this?”

The incline of your spine forces your breasts to bounce a little that has Buchanan’s eyes taken completely by the blackness, barely able to find the shade of blue within them as he stalks towards you before he stops, hesitant. 

“Or like this?” You gasp aloud, acting as if you can already feel him deep inside you, shifting yourself into a new position but still keeping your legs relatively closed, concealing just how needy you are for him. 

The pleasurable doting of his tongue parting your soft, delicate lips and dancing through the velvet slick of your cunt until he strikes that spot inside of you that has you pleasantly writhing. The sweet, succulent bloom to suffuse you once more. 

His lips part with a trembling swallow, sucking desperately to air he longer feels — no longer needs. What he does need is you.

“Dragă…” His chest falls with an empty excuse and his voice quivers, on the verge of his breaking point. His final resolve of control is crumbling and it’s yielding to you. 

His eyes behold you with a level of admiration you have naught but seen since your awakening. A greatness of marvel flashing in the clearer shine of his bright blue eyes, gleefully serene and covered by a dark delight. 

He commits the sight of you on his throne to memory, searing it to his mind before the facade can falter, disbanding his newly found obsession. 

With one single step towards you, your lips tighten into a coy purse. You roll your hips to shift your leg off the other and lean back, promising him a glean if he but steps closer; if he submits to you. 

He takes another step forward, followed by another and so on until he stands there, moving to lean over you like the darkness of the towers that loomed high above you so long ago. The dreamy capture of something so grand and powerful. 

But he’s stopped suddenly. The gracious perch of your foot hinders him, keeping him like a dog on a leash. A low growl reverberates off his tongue, snide and recoiling. Your throat chokes around a single-noted chuckle as you then push him back with the offending bareness of your foot, smirking when you see realisation come upon his brow like an ill fitted crown. He slowly, and with no power to compel otherwise, he begins to fall to his knees. 

With a tone curt with authority and spread of your legs to reveal your glistening core, you command, “Bow between my legs.”

A tart sound is a delicious poison on his tongue. You wish to devour it like the sweetness of blood. 

He gives in just as his knees brace him.

“I’ll do anything for you, my temptress,” he sighs, lips grazing the skin of your inner thigh with a savouring curse, “that and more, just please—”

You snatch hold of his jaw. An action he has done to you many times before, a physical measure of ceasing control over you, but now the game has changed, and he is at your whim now.

He is at your control now. He is your puppet to work on the strings, plucking and pulling tighter and tighter until he can naught but never escape your web. 

“You want this?” You ask him with a voice silken and ominously tender. He nods, his stubbled jaw tensing in your iron grasp. 

“You want me?” Again, he nods, his throat agape with an audible hiss. “Yes.”

That isn’t good enough for you. His eyes swell with a darkened glaze, the gentle melded ring lining the rim of his waterline as he pants like a starved beast. Your hand drifts back to wrangle him at the locks of his dark hair, scolding him harshly when he tried to plant his head between your thighs. His fangs bare with a strained growl.

You snarl beneath the shadow of a glare, “Then give me what is mine.”

“My Queen…”

You let out a small, toying coo and release him. His head immediately bows and his tongue on your delicate pearl has your spine arched beautifully, a moan once buried so deep down brought to the surface. You ease yourself with a roll of your hips and his hands find purchase there, holding you to him as he feverishly devours your cunt. He groans, bloodthirsty, he moans, entranced and drunken off your taste. His lips fold around your, drinking you in and his tongue teases your clit in long strokes and teasing dabs with its poised tip. 

Each languid motion makes your cold skin vibrate and the deadened core inside you churn with the pleasurable abyss. Your song of moans fills his ears with a beautiful orchestra, far more alluring than any creature he’s ever known. 

He pulls you forward to force his tongue deep inside you, invading the sanctum of your lower lips that ooze with your slick. You cannot help but chuckle, the sound a low and beating echo. How hungry he is to forfeit half his claim, a divide in his power in order to appease you. 

Whether he admits it now or later, he would have nothing without you. 

His tongue penetrates you with a sharpened edge that feels as though he cuts you internally, pulling forth a pleasured whine from you and your lower back rises higher. He growls at the sound, so beautiful and harmonic, laced with sensual want. You gasp and mewl, mortal breath having no place in your lungs but the root of it still remains just as the flow to his cock does. 

The glamourous vow of your lustful inhales and blissful exhales, all in whining tandem to succeed your euphoria; that is your treacherous semblance. 

Your hands tug and rake at the scalp of his head, ringing tightly to him as your legs quiver against him, curling. Your moans grow louder, become sired lyrics that break into a shattering as his tongue strikes you inward like lightning touching ground. Your world becomes hollow for a moment and instead of the purity of white to cover your vision, you’re thrusted into a blur of murky black. Spirals of dripping red bleed into view, slowed entirely into a near status of stillness, the buzzing hum of something baritone fades just as quickly as it’s heard. 

Unlike the winery of finer bloods, meant to be sipped and savoured, he displays a ravenous appetite for the spoils of your release. He groans between the tremble of your thighs that lock him there, tongue pulling and stroking in longer caresses against your hot, constricting walls.

Upon the retreat of his mouth against your hot, tempered core, you miss the connection of his lips on you. How you could have him between your thighs for milenia. But there is plenty of time for that, the thought brings a smirk to grace the twisted lines of your lips. 

He kisses with a darker tender to your thighs, each one a defined print on your skin. His tongue occasionally sweeps over your clit, eliciting an excited drawl from you and a shudder of your hips that causes him to smirk himself. 

His eyes gaze at you with a prowling nature. It is one that hunts you. 

You bask in the way he stares at you, with admiration and aroused ire. You love it to a sickening degree that would put the most spiteful spirits to shame. 

“Shall I grant you another, my Queen?” he asks, words mumbled between a humming crawl of a moan and his lips being fused to your cunt. With a confirming nod, you make an audible sound. 

“Yes… you have plenty still to give me.”

“Then I will begin here.”

In sync with the movement of his lips taking hold around you, his long fingers work to push aside your glistening folds. His claws rip and shred, almost tugging something inside of you as if to beckon you. Your gasps of pleased alarm become worn and ragged, cut into shortened tufts for phantom breath. His tongue and thumb roll with a teasing circlet over your clit, going slow then faster, and then slower again. 

He has you cumming again and choking on a moan before you realise it, before you can enjoy the climax of its build and you’re dragged back into the void of that pleasure. Each orgasm he pulls from you is a sin forgiven and there are many he atones for. But those are just from his mouth and fingers alone. 

By the time he’s delivered unto you several releases, he stands and looks down at you. A stunning corpse that writhes, smoothed to the silken drapes of the delicate fabrics. Was there truly anything more sweeter than to see you undone by your lust?

He’s always found you endearing. When he’d find you dryly dragging and rolling your hips into the silky pillows of his bed, thrashing violently in need of him. How he’d come to your aid swiftly, smothering you in his dark embrace — his shadow — so comforting and powerful and he would pound with such aggression into you that you could barely contain your screams. 

You too remember with a certain fondness, a noted sadness of those times. Even now, you reminisce as he turns you, priming you to the angle which he could sink himself to his large entirety. Propped up, his hands cover the globes of your arse, marvelling with a loosened chuckle.

“I’ve missed you, dragă,” he purrs with a touch of edge to his voice. 

“You’d better,” you retort. Another chuckle rumbled within his chest, tickling your spine as he grinds his navel into the small of your back, smearing your juices along his girthy shaft. 

His hips shove with a sturdy gate and he sighs aloud. Your body welcomes the intrusion that comes into you, splitting you apart so deliciously it borders on the stray of agony. A favourite addiction, a blended mix between the beauty of pain and the horror of something good. 

His pace is set ruthlessly and he anchors his weight so that he has you, pounding into you viciously. The sound of your skin slapping together in a brutal meeting pulls a string of moans between the two of you to share, each one underlined by a whispered praise. 

“So—nhhg… good.”

“A-ah, missed this—” His hips thrust harder against you as his hands grope at you with possessive need. His weight shoves you deep into the mattress, the boards of a mortal bed made of wood and luxury sheets creak and squeal and rumple with tiring energy. 

But you are not yet done. Not by any means. For many days and nights you could go on like this, lost in the intoxication of each other’s touch, fingers crawling and tongues tasting all sorts of sours and sweets. 

Your bodies locked in an intimate stronghold, devoted to defiling the other. It can happen. It has happened, the old fashioned term calling such devious occasions mating balls. 

You moan with a stutter, calling his name as your fingers claw and rip the sheets apart. His fangs scratch the nape of your neck, stirring within you those feelings you tried to keep down. The resurface of a pleading pet who understood her place beneath him.

You are his pet. You are his queen. A unique combination, a passive yet resistive opposite to his dance. 

He pushes a hand firmly to the crest of your belly, feeling the bulge that flexes there, slinking in and out with rapid succession. His lips turn into a deformed and fanged grin. 

“You enjoying my cock? Hm? You missed me, didn’t you?”

You nod with a curt hiss, arching until your hips meet his next thrust. “Yes…”

“We’re good for one another.”

“Y-yes…”

“I’m going to give you another.”

“Yes!”

He knows that tone. That impatient drawl that teeters on the verge of a scream he hears in his dreams with a smile. On his cock, your walls tighten around him like a vice, claiming him to remain buried deep inside you as you revel in his essence. His lips lay a cascade of worshipping kisses to your skin, chilling you as you near the void’s embrace; ready to become one with it — with him again. 

“Will you be my Queen and consort?”

“Yes!” You choke out a sob just as your walls grip around him and are flooded by the final orgasm that is owed to you, his cock faring no better before he spills his seed inside of you, swelling you with his claim. A claim that only a king has over his queen. Your body is pulled flush to his, where vampyric skins meet, laying against each other like two tombstones bound in eternal, undying unity. Much like how you will be seated on his throne, he seats you atop his cock, his arms caging you in the confinement you once discovered imprisoned you.

Now he makes you feel whole again. He treasures you with praises, vowing between each blooded kiss and forceful thrust of his hips, that you are now his equal.

Indeed, you have made your king bow between your legs. Right where he belongs. 

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Decided to try out a bit of a new formatting.

[peachessndreamss]

Filled With Grace

Summery : High Septon Aemond request a private audience with a hight born lady the night before her wedding.

Characters : High Septon! Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Warnings : Dub Con, power imbalance, coercion, heavy religious themes & behaviors, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, unprotected p in v sex, corruption, loss of virginity, dacryhilia (if you squint), alcohol consumption, cannon divergent

Word count : 8 k

A/N : No one asked for this but it happened, also sorry in advance, sorry for what? sorry for everything. While English is my first language I'm also profoundly dyslexic, I've done my best to minimise spelling and grammar issues but I'm there still are plenty.

When Aemond Targaryen lost his eye he thought the worst of it was the scar but it turned out in the days and weeks after the incident, the cost kept mounting. Finding his father couldn’t look at him had been hard to take and they no longer spent the evenings together reading the histories, studying the great campaigns of ancient kings and speaking high Valeryian. 

The last time his father truly looked at him was the night he sat the boy Aemond down and told him he was going into the service of the Seven. With his injury he could no longer be trusted to defend his brother’s weaker side in battle or in Kingship, and so it had been decided by the small council that he would be handed over to the Septons and be trained in the Faith. He was sent across the city and into the tall towers of Baelor's Great Sept. 

When he wasn’t in training, or studying he would sit by the window and stare back across to the Red Keep, where his family continued to live their lives without him. 

In the early days there was heartbreak, longing and grief, as Aemond spent more time at the Sept the pain turned to anger, his heart hardened and his soul blackened. Still as studious as ever he studied hard, learnt the words and the rituals and felt nothing. 

At the age of 20 he moved back across the city, back into the Red Keep as the self-styled High Septon of the Red Keep. Despite his outward devotion to the Faith he opted to keep the name his family had given him, he believed his injury and his family’s reaction had stolen enough from him but they would not take his name.  

In the 7 years that followed his return Aemond had manoeuvred himself from returning outcast to centre of all courtly life. His mother, who ruled in his sickly fathers place, relied on him constantly, looking to him for guidance in both spiritual and worldly matters and while he didn’t sit on the Small Council nothing happened in the room that he wasn’t already aware of.

He was the beating heart and soul of the Red Keep, the spiritual leader who blessed and condemned as he saw fit. He quickly learned his religious titles protected him from suspicion, so when a body turned up in the Red Keep with a broken neck or floating in the bay he was above reproach, regardless of any known animosities or feuds. He learnt being irreproachable had many benefits and he began to explore the possibilities now open to him. 

Aemond was 23 years old the first time he'd had a high born maiden come to him before her wedding night, the first time had been less about the pleasures of the flesh and more about pushing the boundaries of the Lady who’d come to him as a willing sacrifice. The first time taught him that silence could be bought with loyalty and the promise of absolution, and if those two things weren’t enough, he always had fear. 

Aemond occupied the highest tower of the Red Keep, three floors of round rooms stacked one on top the other. The lowest level was his Sept where the faithful came for his blessings, confession, where his mother lit candles and prayed and where she would ask him to translate the signs and symbols she saw everywhere and claimed were messages from the Gods. 

The second floor were his audience rooms, official rooms where he might entertain visiting Septon’s or Lords who felt themselves in particular need of spiritual guidance. 

The highest level was Aemond’s personal chambers, kept in semi-darkness at all times, the stone walls were dressed in rich tapestries and the large bed hung with blood red curtains. This was his innermost sanctum, the space that bore witness to Aemond’s true self and was the place he brought the high born Lady’s before their wedding day. 

Tonight the room was set for such an event. The fire was burning in the hearth but all other lights had been extinguished. Goblets of deep red wine were sitting on the table, as well as a plate of sweets and cakes, in case she had a sweet tooth. Aemond knew the Lady who'd be visiting tonight, she'd been fostered at the Red Keep since her 12th name day and had grown up under the watchful eye of queen Alicent. Tomorrow she would marry Lord Tullly and the day after she would leave the Red Keep forever to take up her new role as lady of Riverrun, but tonight she belonged to him. 

The knock on her chamber door was quiet but unmistakable, it helped that the lady had been waiting for it. Sitting at her dressing table, her back ramrod straight while trying to make sense of her flickering reflection in the warped surface of the mirror. Tomorrow was her wedding day, but tonight she had an audience with High Septon Aemond.

When she had first come to the Red Keep she had been under the protection of Queen Alicent, who she had followed around like a lost lamb until she was 15 and had been passed into the service of her daughter,  Helaena, who she had served as a handmaiden while she waited for her father to broker a good enough marriage deal. 

The deal had now been struck, the payments made and contracts for lands, livestock and men signed and sealed. All that was left was the wedding and due to her close status to the royal family, no expense was spared, her wedding gown had been trimmed with silver and gold threads and beaded with thousands of tiny river pearls. She had wept the first time she’d seen it from the sheer beauty of the garment and after that moment she had willed every day to pass faster so she could wear it.

The High Septon of the Red Keep called all high born brides to his tower the night before their weddings, and while the reason was never overtly discussed, the older ladies of the Red Keep would share knowing looks and speak in innuendo around the younger ladies, lording their superior knowledge and understanding over the young and naive. 

But she had found by listening carefully both to the older women of the court and the giggling gossip of the serving women she’d come to the conclusion that she would be expected to give a private confession to the High Septon. Confession was usually a fairly private matter, with all people of all status expected to unburden themselves to their Septons but without further clarity she was left wondering what made these pre-wedding confessions something so hushed up and rarely talked of. 

“Enter” she called softly, turning from her reflection toward the door. 

A small serving girl stepped into the room, dressed in the same drab dress as all the other serving women and her hair covered with a square of the same fabric, she looked as indistinct as any other of the small folk serving in the Red Keep. 

“High Septon Aemond ‘as asked to see you, milady,” the serving girl said softly, her eyes cast downward as she spoke, “I'm t’take you to ‘im,”. 

The lady nodded and stood from the stool at her dressing table, she had known the summons were coming and so she’d not undressed from that night's celebration dinner. She was still wearing a deep blue silk gown, edged with silver threads and her hair was still twisted in its elaborate crown braid that had taken over an hour to arrange. 

While the dress and the hair were elaborate, they were still modest enough for the act of contrition she assumed she was going too. 

The serving girl stepped back and turned, moving silently down the corridor and the lady followed, wishing her own steps were as silent as they moved through the dark building, even in her silk slippers she could hear her footsteps and the swish of the fabric of her dress. 

Despite living in the red keep for almost 10 years she could count on one hand the amount of times she'd been in the same room as Aemond Targaryen, he didn't waste his time on high born ladies under normal circumstances. The only women he ever seemed to speak with were his mother and his sister, she couldn’t be sure she’s ever even met his gaze, let alone have spoken with him.

At the foot of the high tower the serving girl opened a heavy door and led them up a tightly twisting set of stairs. They passed two doors on the twisting staircase before they reached the top and the final door. The serving girl knocked twice before melting back into the darkness of the stairwell. 

A voice from within bid her enter and with trembling hands she pushed open the door and stepped over the threshold. 

The room was so dark it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, still barely able to make out the shapes in the darkness but a rustle of fabric and a small movement drew her eye and from the blackness he appeared. 

He didn’t wear Septon’s robes, instead he dressed every inch the royal son he was, in tight black trousers and a black high collared tunic, he was covered from neck to toe in tight black fabric that looked as close to his body as his own skin. His silver hair was tied back from his face and he wore a patch over his ruined eye. His good eye fixed on her, the indigo of it lost in the darkness so that it appeared to be a blackhole instead. 

“My Lady,” he greeted, bowing deeply before straightening up and fixing his gaze on her face. 

“Your Royal Highness,” she replied, dipping her knees in a curtsey, averting her eyes from his face, “I am your servant,” she added. 

He moved toward her, his steps slow and deliberate, immediately the image of a stalking predator came to mind and her heartbeat quickened. 

“Will you sit?” he asked, indicating the two chairs set close to the fire, a low table between them holding two filled wine goblets and a plate of small fruit tarts, the exact same that would be served at her wedding banquet tomorrow. 

“If it pleases,” she replied, moving toward the chairs and stepping into the circle of flickering light cast by the fire. 

“It does,” Aemond replied, taking the seat nearest to where he was standing and furthest from the light. He relaxed deeply into the seat, crossing one ankle over the other knee, one of his long arms stretching away from his body and toward the table, the tips of his fingers caressing the thin stem of the wine glass. 

She followed his lead and sat, keeping her back straight and tall, crossing her feet at the ankles under the full skirts of her dress and letting her legs fall together against the arm of the chair in the way she'd been taught since she was old enough to sit in the company of others. 

“Eat and drink, if you like,” Aemond said softly, despite the softness in his tone the invitation felt dangerous. 

But she had been raised in the Queen’s household and had impeccable manners, she offered him a small smile and thanked him before lifting the goblet to her lips and taking a small sip. The wine was rich and strong, the scent of it alone causing her head to spin. 

Aemond never took his eye from her, taking in the details of this high lady who he planned to bring so low. He noted the gloss on her lips from the wine, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she fought to master her heartbeat and the wide eyed look of fear on her pretty face which went straight between his thighs and caused his cock to strain against his trousers. 

“Do you know why you’re here my Lady?” Aemond asked after she’d shakily returned the wine glass to the table.

“For confession?” she replied, her eyes flicking toward his face for a second before looking away again after meeting his burning gaze. 

“To confess,” Aemond agreed, “and to meet with god,” he added softly, running his long fingers up the stem of the wine glass and cupping the curve of the bowl before bringing it to his mouth and taking a drink.

Aemond took a slow drink, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip before taking a shallow breath and placing the goblet back down on the table. The silence in the room was heavy, it deafened and roared at the same time and she was acutely aware of the sounds of her breathing and pounding heart.

“My Lady, the hour is late,” Aemond spoke, “why are you still dressed for banqueting?” 

She glanced down at herself, the silver beads and stitching of the deep blue dress caught in the flickering fire light and she could feel every place the fabric touched her body. 

“I didn’t want to be in a state of undress when you called for me, my Prince,” she replied. 

Aemond chuckled softly, “So you knew you’d be summoned to me tonight?” he mused, “and how did you know?”. 

In that moment she could have bitten her own tongue off to avoid saying anything further, how could she tell the truth without causing trouble for herself and the other ladies in waiting, gossip was considered below them, despite the fact that it made up a good majority of their days. 

“It’s known,” she started before her voice stalled, she squirmed in her seat under the heat of his gaze, “that’s to say, some of the other ladies who’ve been married have mentioned they had a private audience with you,”.

Aemond nodded, while he outwardly gave no sign, he was privately elated, the more that people whispered and told stories of him the more they would fear him and the more power he would have over them. He would have to try and learn the details of the gossip and whispers, and if necessary change the narrative. 

“I trust that what passes between us tonight will stay between us?” he asked, taking another drink, enjoying the rich and heady taste. 

“Of course my Prince,” she agreed readily and he nodded. 

A silence fell between them again, if she strained her ears she could just hear the sounds of the city, as distant as a dream from the covered windows. She dragged her attention back to the man in the room and she looked at him from under her lashes, not wanting to get caught staring. The flickering firelight cast his features in strong relief, his jaw and cheekbones looked like twin blades edging his face. 

“In the eyes of the Gods,” Aemond started, his indigo eye fixed on the fire, “we’re born naked, we live naked and we die naked. They see and hear all of our sins, even the sins we never speak of, or act on, they know them and they judge us for them. We are never beyond the sight of the Gods,”. 

“Of course, High Septon Aemond,” she replied, choosing to use his religious title as she felt the subtle change in him as he went from prince entertaining a guest to High Septon preparing for holy work. 

“And while they sit in judgement of us, I have the power to forgive sins, to wipe clean the slate of any man or woman who is willing to ask for forgiveness,”. 

Aemond turned his eye to her, catching her watching him, his gaze burning. 

“My Lady,” Aemond turned his face from the fire toward her, “are you willing to ask for forgiveness tonight? To confess your sins and be cleansed?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I will,”.

He took a deep breath and nodded, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. 

“Then stand, my Lady, and you will confess as the God’s see you,” he paused for a tense second, “naked,”. 

A chill ran up her spine despite the heat of the fire. Although she had expected to be called to him she had not known what he would want when she was there, she’d had no idea he’d expect her to undress, and if he expected that what else might he expect? 

“My Prince, this gown is difficult to remove,” she spoke quickly, her heart thumping in her chest, “I’m sure the God’s will understand if I remain clothed,”. 

“Stand,” Aemond commanded, and as if touched by a white hot poker she jumped from the seat and stood like marble, her eyes fixed on the prince. 

“Gowns can be removed, repaired if necessary,” he said as he stood and stalked toward her, pulling a small blade from a concealed pocket at his hip, “your confession will not be complete unless you are as you were born,”. 

He moved toward her and with a single strong shove he pushed the heavy chair she’d been sitting in out of the way and brought himself behind her. His breath was warm on the back of her neck, his left hand caressed her left arm. 

“Please, my Prince,” she whispered as she sensed the movement of the right hand which held the blade. 

He took a steadying breath before sliding the blade beneath the silk ribbon that held the back of the dress closed, with only a little pressure the blade slipped through each twist of silver silk and the dress began to open, exposing the bright white shift underneath. She had made a small sound of protest but had gone silent. While the blade never touched the thin fabric of her shift she could feel the coolness of the metal and imagine the sharpness of the blade. 

The prince dropped the blade and used both his hands to pull the gown wider and push it off her shoulders, the weight of the skirt and the beading of the bodice dragged it down, slipping down her arms and off her hands. It landed in a pool of deep, glittering blue around her calves. 

“Better,” Aemond breathed, stepping back a little and admiring her trembling body. 

“If it pleases you,” she had to fight to keep her voice calm, tears pricked at her eyes and burned in the back of her throat. 

Perhaps this would be as far as he took it, perhaps this was bear enough for him. Perhaps she could confess in her underclothes and be gone, but she only believed this for a second as she felt him take two strong handfuls of the neck of her shift and rip them viciously apart. 

The soft fabric gave easily and ripped clearly down the middle, exposing her back and buttocks to him, again he gave the garment a soft shove over her shoulders and watched as it fell around her legs, landing on top of her gown like a blanket of snow. 

“Oh it pleases me a great deal,” he said, stepping around her, caressing her arm as he came to stand in front of her, letting his eye travel up and down her body.

He took hold of her hand and lifted it before giving her a gentle tug, unable to disobey, she stepped forward out of the mess of fabric and further into the golden light of the fire. The only thing she wore now were the soft silk slippers. 

Aemond studied her, the curve of her hips and buttocks, the softness of her stomach, the swell of her breasts that were topped with nipples several shades darker than her skin. As he watched gooseflesh crawled across her body, tightening her nipples into tight little points that he longed to reach out and pinch. SHe kept her face turned down and Aemond was transfixed by the curve of her cheek and the spiky shadows of her eyelashes. 

She felt as if his gaze was burning and freezing her at the same time, every part of her body was exposed to him and he looked at her without shame. No man had ever seen her in such a state. She had been taught her nakedness was for her husband and for him alone but now she was being looked on by her High Septon, her prince, and his eyes were devouring her body, claiming something that shouldn’t belong to him. 

“You are the Maiden incarnate,” he whispered as he dropped her hand and brought his fingertips to her chin. Lifting her head so he could look at her face. Though she still fought them she couldn’t help the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes or the tremble in her bottom lip. 

“You might look like Her,” he started, his eye flicking to a small image of the Maiden he kept by the fire before returning his gaze to her, “but you are only human and therefore a sinner,” Aemond added with a sigh, as if disappointed to remember the woman before him was human and not divine, “so kneel,”. 

“My Prince?” she questioned, the humiliation was already beyond what she thought she could survive but apparently he had more in his heart. 

“Confession is given on your knees,” he explained calmly, “and so you must kneel,” he moved his hand from her chin to her shoulder, where he applied gentle pressure. 

She allowed her knees to bend and buckle beneath her, dropping onto the thick carpet. Aemond felt his cock throb as her breasts bounced with the impact, he fought the intense and dark urge to force his cock into her mouth, instead he took a deep breath and placed his hand on the top of her head. 

“Under the watchful eye of the seven, I hear your confession,”. 

Aemond spoke the words he learned as a boy during his time in the High Sept. Confession had already fascinated him as a child and he’d hardly dared believe that people would willingly tell him the darkest secrets of their hearts. 

“Under the watchful eye of the Seven, I give my confession,” she choked out, words she’d learnt as a small child and said hundreds of times in her life before now, but never like this. 

“I, I confess to having cruel thoughts about others,” her voice cracked as she repeated another line she’s said a hundred times before to Septon after Septon. Aemond, with his eye closed and his hand still resting on the top of her head nodded. 

“Go on,”. 

“And I’ve told lies,” 

“And, and, and,” she stumbled over her words, “I confess to having impure thoughts about men at court,”. 

Aemond felt a throb between his thighs, this is what he’d been hoping for. 

“What thoughts my lady?”. 

“Thoughts of what it would be like to couple with them,”. 

Aemond nodded benevolently and opened his eye, his gaze soft and loving as he watched the woman on her knees. 

“That’s to be expected, as a bride in waiting,”. 

“This is my confession,” she whispered. 

The tears in her eyes blurred her vision but she nodded, her resolve strengthened now she’d done what he’d asked. Aemond nodded again and closed his eye, turning his face upward and addressing the air above their heads. 

“The watchful eye of the Seven have heard your confession and I, High Septon Aemond Targaryen of the Red Keep, forgive your sins,”. 

She gave out a shuddering breath as a tear slowly tracked down her cheek. She had survived, she had done as she was told and she was forgiven her sins. 

His hand moved from the top of her head and he offered it to her, she took it and allowed him to support her back to her feet. She couldn't look at his face but instead her eyes focused on the floor at his feet. Again he moved his fingertips to her chin and lifted her face. 

“You did very well my Lady,” he said softly as he stroked his finger down the curve of her cheek. Despite the warmth from the fire his fingers were like ice on her skin, “and now, you will take God inside you,”. 

Her brows furrowed in confusion as a chill ran down her spine. Surely he couldn’t be talking about bedding her? Looking at her naked body was one thing but to give her maidenhead to him the night before her wedding was unthinkable but before she could voice any resistance he gently took her hand and led her toward the bed. 

She moved as he directed her, unwilling but unable to resist him. The bed loomed, dark and foreboding in the centre of the room, she’d been able to ignore it up until now. As they moved closer she noticed the hangings and the coverings were a deep blood red, edged with black. 

Aemond brought them to the foot of the bed, placing her so the back of her knees knocked against the bedframe and the plush bed sheets brushed against the bare backs of her thighs. 

Aemond stroked her cheek again before brushing the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. 

“You've got nothing to be scared of my Lady, don't you want to know the Gods in the most intimate way possible?”. 

“Please my Lord,” she whispered, “l mean, I- I mean, my Prince,Your Highness, please,” she stumbled over her words, them coming out in a confused rush. 

“Don't worry about titles now, Maiden,” he whispered, leaning his face close to her, letting his lips brush against her cheek, “tonight you can call me God,”.

She turned her head to look in his face, catching sight of one beautiful indigo eye before his lips crashed into hers in a bruising kiss. One of Aemond’s hands slipped up her back and held her at the base of her skull as the other wrapped around her naked waist, his cold hand resting on the small of her back. He pulled her tighter to his body, feeling the hard press of her soft skin through the leather and linen of his clothes. 

Aemond licked his tongue along the line of her lips, desperate to taste her mouth, would the richness of the wine still linger on her tongue or would he be able to taste her fear? He broke away from her kiss and gazed down at her, noticing the tears in her pretty eyes and the wobble of her soft bottom lip. 

“Give yourself to me,” he whispered, “submit to me, and be filled with grace,”. 

She whimpered softly, a single tear slipping down her cheek. She felt nothing but fear, a clawing, ripping terror that started in her guts and filled every inch of her, she felt as if she opened her mouth to speak pitch black tar would come bubbling out of her throat.

There was immediate fear, what Aemond could do to her if she didn't give him what he wanted and there was the future fear, of the following night and her new husband finding her no longer the maiden he'd been promised. 

Despite the fear, Aemond's words awakened something else inside her, a pinprick of excitement in the doom, a flickering flame of need in the darkness of terror. Aemond’s grip on the back of her head tightened, her eyes focused on his face again, she found him beautiful and terrible. 

“Submit,” he said again softly before touching a kiss to her still closed mouth, “submit,” he breathed again, the sound barely audible above the thumping of the blood in her ears.

The quiet word sounded like a prayer, even though he held all the power in the few seconds after the soft plea had fallen from his lips she felt completely in control, she could deny him and walk away without further incident but she didn’t want to. She wanted to submit, she needed to give herself to him, her body and soul demanded it of her. 

“I submit, my Prince,” she replied, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. 

Aemond brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her again, there was less aggression now and when he tightened his hold on her body there was a thrill of pleasure, like a seam of gold in the bedrock of her terror. 

He ran his tongue along her lips again and this time she parted her mouth and felt his tongue slip against hers instantly. Without thought she felt herself grip at the arm he had wrapped around her body, her fingers gripping vivaciously at the sleeve of his coat, feeling the strong and lean arm under the fabric.

As her fingers gripped him Aemond groaned into her mouth, feeling his cock throbbing against the lacing of his breeches, the press of her soft body was no longer enough, he needed to take her. 

He broke away from her mouth, his gaze focusing on her heaving breasts and the saliva coating her lips. His own heart was pounding and he felt like the room was spinning around him and she was the only steady point. 

“Lie down,” he instructed. 

She obeyed without hesitation, needing to do nothing but let herself drop down onto the mattress and lay her head back on the plush coverlet. Aemond’s gaze moved up and down her body, from the silk slippers still covering her feet, up her shapely legs to their apex where her sex was hidden by a thatch of curly hair. Further up her stomach to her breasts and their aching hard nipples, her throat and the curve of her jaw all the way to the top of her head where the crown of hair was coming loose. 

Aemond moved directly between her legs, he bent and wrapped his hands behind her knees, yanking her forward so her bottom rested just at the edge of the bed. He kept her knees lifted and pushed her thighs high and further apart. Splitting open the lips of her cunt, exposing the glistening folds of her womanhood. 

She was totally transfixed by him, and from her position below him light cast his features in even sharper relief. It was easy to believe that he was a God, surely no mere mortal could look like him. 

As he stared between her legs he made a groaning sound from deep in his chest. 

“Hold your legs, Maiden,” he said softly. 

She replaced his hands with her own, keeping her sex exposed to him. There was an ache between her legs now that seemed to start somewhere deep within her lower belly and her body was acting and reacting in ways she'd never experienced before. Aemond's hands went to the laces at the front of his breeches, working quickly to loosen them and allow him to free his cock. 

With a soft moan he pulled the hard muscle free, squeezing it at the root and watching as a bead of pearly white fluid appeared at the tip. 

He stepped forward, pressing the length of his shaft between the soaked lips of her cunt, smearing himself in her arousal. She gasped at the contact, having never felt anything between her legs apart from her own fingers before this moment. 

His cock was hot, smooth and hard as he moved it between her lips and she felt her whole body awaken at the feeling of the blunt head of his cock touching the hardened pearl between her legs. 

Aemond watched with fascination as she reacted to his ministrations on her body. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell into a pretty O shape, Aemond felt his cock pulse with desire and he longed to see how many more reactions he could draw out of her untouched body. 

The two of them were now soaked in her arousal, the hair between her legs glistening with wetness in the flickering fire light.Aemond took a steadying breath as he angled his cock at her tight entrance. 

“Be filled with grace,” his voice was like a prayer as he finally pressed forward and pushed inside her. 

She gasped at the sudden feeling of stretching and pressure, it was nothing like she'd felt before and in a flash the arousal seemed to disappear and the fear was back, gripping her like a vice and making it hard to breathe. 

“Don't fight,” Aemond hissed, “submit,”. 

She took a steadying breath, her eyes fixed on his face as he stared between their body’s, at the place the two of them were becoming one. After the initial pain and resistance she found her body wanting to welcome him, she found her cunt pulling at him hungrily and willingly changing to accept him inside her. 

Once Aemond was resting deeply inside her he gave a shuddering breath. He couldn't hear anything but the pounding of blood in his ears and he could see nothing but the place where their bodies were joined. 

“We are one, Maiden,” he said softly, looking up at her face and finding her watching him, a single tear escaping her eyes as he pushed another inch forward, finding her body yielding and vice-like in its grip. 

“Don't weep,” he said, reaching forward and wiping the tear away from her eyes, “you are one with the Gods now,”.

Aemond gathered the tear on his thumb and brought the drop of liquid to his mouth, sucking it off the tip of his thumb. He brought his wet thumb down between their bodies and brushed it against the swollen pearl that peeked out from between her soaked lips. He could feel the tight channel of her cunt squeezing around him at the contact and a small moan slipped between her soft lips. 

Slowly he began to move his hips in a slow, grinding motion. He wanted to stay as deeply rooted within her body as he could but he desperately wanted to bring her pleasure. To share with her the religious experience he was chasing. He ground his hips forward and used his thumb to swipe and stroke at her pearl.

Her whole body was on fire, every part of her mind, her body and her soul was suddenly awakened with pleasure. She moaned and immediately felt a deep shame at the sound. Aemond could sense the sudden shift in her and he looked at her face. 

“Don't hide your sounds, my Maiden, they are prayers and I want to hear them,”. 

After that, any sense of shame melted away, how could there be shame between them now? He had heard her confession and now he shared her body. There was no longer space for shame. The pleasure began to build and a deep groan moved through her body and filled the room as she gave into the pleasure. 

Aemond changed from grinding to short, sharp thrusts, pistoning his hips and moving his cock in and out, the movements made easy by the arousal that slicked between their legs, spreading over her thighs. Her eyes widened and the grip behind her knees tightened as the pleasure inside her reached a fever pitch. She moaned loudly, thrashing her head against the bed, her eyes closing tightly. 

“Submit to it, Maiden,” Aemond moaned as he felt her body tightening around him, “submit and feel God,”. 

With his words she gave her body and mind over to the sensations, the knot that tightened within her belly and the tingling in her fingers and toes, every inch of her skin felt tight and hot and then suddenly, like a dam breaking, there was nothing but bliss. 

The muscles of her stomach  and thighs clenching, the tightening being echoed by the gripping tightness of her cunt around Aemond’s cock. Her blood felt like it was on fire as it raced around her body, burning her alive. Time seemed to stop and her body no longer felt physical, she had passed beyond physical and was now made of stars. 

Aemond followed her into bliss with a deep groan and a final deep and shuddering thrust, pressing himself as deep inside her as possible before spilling his seed. 

Panting and trembling, Aemond leaned forward, bringing his body over hers for the first time and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Still dazed she looked at him, through the haze of pleasure he could have been mistaken for an angel, she expected him to kiss her again but instead he straightened up and withdrew from her body. Tucking his wet, soft cock back into his breeches before roughly tightening the laces. 

Aemond went to the door of his chambers and opened them, letting the serving girl who brought her here inside. 

“Take her back to her room, repair her dress and stay with her all night,” he spoke quickly and firmly, the only outward sign of his recent activities was the slightly pink flush to his cheeks and the sweat gathered at his hairline. 

“In the morning, make sure you stay with her,” he added, glancing back at the woman still naked on his bed, her chest still heaving and her eyes still unfocused. 

“I must go to my Sept,” he finished before moving out of the room and down the winding staircase. 

The serving girl brought a large, soft blanket to the bed and encouraged the lady to sit up, her hair was a mess, half fallen out of its elaborate style. She wrapped the blanket around the lady and drew it closed over her chest. 

“‘ere milady,' she said softly, “so you don’ get cold,”. 

The serving girl gathered up the ruined dress and the slip before returning to the bed and helping her to her feet. The lady was unsteady on her feet and was shocked back to reality by the pain between her legs. 

She brought one hand to her mouth in horror, holding the blanket tightly around her body. 

“What have I done?” She whispered, glancing back at the bed. 

“Come on my lady,” the serving girl said softly, “let's get you back to your rooms,”. 

She followed the serving girl out of the room and down the winding staircase. The stone was icy cold on her silk slippered feet and the chill moved up her legs, quickly turning her whole body to ice. At the bottom of the final turn she stopped outside the door to Aemonds Sept, through the door the sound of his prayers were just audible. She placed her hand on the door, going to push it open but the serving girl placed her hand over the lady's. 

“We must go,” she urged. 

The serving girl led her back to her rooms, managing to avoid any other living being in the red keep. Back in the safety of her rooms she helped the lady into her bed, her naked body slipping between the soft sheets. 

“Sleep, milady,” the serving girl said, “I'll be ‘ere in the morning to help you get ready,”. She closed her eyes and without another thought she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Aemond knelt at his altar all night, the sun was creeping over the city when he finally opened his eye and unclasped his hands. A great deal of his religious devotion was for show, he felt almost nothing for the faith and used it only to manipulate those around him to his will. But after a night with a highborn maiden he often felt the need to unburden his soul. 

He would not attend the wedding of his Maiden and Lord Tully, the ceremony would take place at Baelor's sept and the feast in the great hall. He wouldn't be expected to attend and he assumed his mother would pay him a visit after the festivities to fill him in on his brother's behaviour. He stood slowly from his altar to the Maiden, the candle he'd lit when he'd entered the night before was gutting and spitting as it gave its final flickers before going out, the wick drowning in a pool of its own wax.

Somewhere below the walls of the Red Keep a bell began to toll, waking the city and signalling the start of a new day. Aemond left his Sept, closing the door tightly behind him, he took the winding stairs back to his private rooms. The wine glasses and the plate of sweets were still on the table and the coverlet on the bed was rucked up from his Maidens thrashing and keening. 

He could have knelt at the foot of the bed and placed his face where her arousal had soaked the fabric, he could smell the intimate musk of her body and let him become lost in memories. 

He made to move toward the bed but there was a barely audible knock on the door, Aemond turned toward the door instead and called the visitor in. 

His serving girl stepped into the room and closed the door silently behind herself. She was the only person in the Red Keep Aemond trusted without question. 

“Milady slept fitfully, asked for you when she woke and has now been taken by ‘er mother and sisters to be washed and dressed,” she reported, her eyes focused on her feet. 

“Thank you,” he replied, a cold distance in his voice. 

“If you ‘ave no further need of me, Lord, I’ll be gone,'. 

Aemond nodded and the girl left without another word or sound. Aemond took to his seat beside the fire, he drew a glass of red wine from the decanter on the table and drank deeply, scowling at the flames as they danced in the grate. 

Some hours later the bell in the Great Sept rang out, a loud booming sound that travelled through the hot air across the city and out into the bay beyond. Underneath the tolling bell the bride stood as if made of stone, the only indication she was flesh and blood were the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

The bride groom kept glancing at her nervously, was she weeping with joy? Unlikely he reasoned, was it sadness to be leaving the home she's known most of her life? Or was it fear of the night to come? He'd heard from his older, married brothers that virgin's could be fearful and unwilling on their wedding nights; he hoped he'd give a good showing of himself for her first experience of the marriage bed. After all, he'd never had any complaints before. 

After the sun had set on the heaving city and the wedding feasting and drinking were done the newly weds were finally alone in their bridal chamber. The room was awash with light from torches and a blazing fire, the bed was made up in Tully colours and food and drink set out on a small table by the open window. She waited at the end of the bed for him, sitting with her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes turned down and the skin of her face tight and sore from the tears she’d been unable to stem. 

Her new husband drank deeply from a wine goblet by the window, he was dressed in only his long white linen shirt and black leather riding boots, he drained his goblet and moved toward the bed. He’d decided he needed some extra liquid courage before taking his new wife to bed, he didn’t think he could cope with all the tears without something to help him forget the experience. 

“Lie back, wife,” he said, his voice thick with drink, “we’ll soon  have this done with,”. 

Across the Red Keep Aemond sat alone in his chambers, he’d removed the patch from his ruined eye and the sapphire caught the flickering light from the fire, he stared at the flames as they twisted and licked around one another. Separate tongues of flame merging into a single burning light before breaking apart again and reaching desperately for cool air being drawn down the chimney.

The door to his room opened without warning, he turned his eye toward the darkened doorway and watched his mother enter. Her cheeks were flushed red with the wine she’d taken at the feast and her usually impeccable hair was looking dishevelled from dancing. 

“Nice wedding?” Aemond asked as she sat heavily in the chair beside him and sighed deeply. 

“Lovely,” Alicent mused with a smile, “the bride wouldn’t stop crying but she always was a miserable little thing,”. 

Alicent looked over at her son, her smile was indulgent as she studied his profile. 

“You should have been there,” she said softly. 

Aemond gave a small shake of his head. 

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,”. 

“What would be inappropriate about you attending the wedding of members of the court?” Alicent argued. 

Aemond, not in the mood to argue with his mother remained silent and returned his attention to the flames, tomorrow he would hold a service of devotion for his family and the small council and afterward he might entertain the master of coin to see what he could learn about the plans to deal with the civil unrest that was coming from Dorne. 

“Anyway, I thought you’d like to know that Lord Beesbury has announced his plans to wed the Moreland girl before her next name day,”. 

“The Moreland girl?” Aemond asked, turning his attention back to his mother.

“Another one of your sister's handmaids, the one with the golden hair and the crooked smile, she’s sweet enough but I feel for her marrying an old dog like Beesbury,” Alicent replied before lapsing into silence. The memory of her own marriage announcement brought sharply to the forefront of her mind. 

Aemond’s fingers twitched against his knee, he knew the girl by sight and seemed to remember that despite the crookedness of her smile she showed it off willingly and often. He could help but wonder if she’d smile for him as he took her apart piece by piece. 

“Before her next name day, you said?”. 

“Hmm? Yes, about 3 months from now,” Alicent said, her mind now firmly fixed on the past. 

Aemond nodded his head and drummed his fingers faster on his knee, not long to wait. 

[llamagoddessofficial]

A (late) birthday present for the coolest lady in the universe, @aka-indulgence , featuring her two favourite omnics. Because if anyone on this earth deserves to be squashed between two handsome robots, its her

---

“Human.” Zenyatta’s voice was... different.

You blinked, pulled out of your reverie. Ugh, you had just managed to stop thinking about how cold the monastery floor was under your butt. The omnics around you were meditating, as they often were; unimpeded by heat or cold, they sat dressed in only loose Shambali robes with their meditation balls floating effortlessly in front of them, utterly impervious to the snow piling onto the monastery roof above them or the icy chills that occasionally swept through the wide stone rooms.

Not like you. Even wrapped up in the only hoodie and coat you had bought with you, you were freezing.

You looked over at Zenyatta, sat right beside you, as he often was. Your knees were almost touching. Mondatta often joked that the two of you were ‘partners in crime’, a moniker that you were more than happy to adopt. Though out of the two of you, Zenyatta was by far the most criminal. 

Zen’s voice... it had a lilt to it you hadn’t heard before. Something almost careful - like he was worried about how you’d react to his words.

“Yeah?” He was actually sitting, too. Not just floating a few inches above the ground. He was looking right at you, cute head turned a little to the side. His constant expression was as sweet and gentle as ever, regardless of how he really felt.

“Are you alright?” 

Your brows furrowed. “O-of course?”

“You’re shaking.” He moved his hands from upturned in his lap, to flat on his knees. “You have been, for several minutes.”

You always appreciated how much Zenyatta emphasised his physical movements. It almost felt like he was doing it specifically to make life easier for you; he was always nodding, gesticulating with his hands, letting out affirmative hums and sighs, anything that would clue you in to his current thoughts. As if pantomiming human expressions for your benefit.

“I’m sorry. Is it making it hard for you to concentrate on meditating?”

“You’re cold. Aren’t you?”

You were embarrassed. Everyone around you at that moment literally didn’t feel the cold. The Shambali Monastery accepted human visitors throughout the year, but in winter, hardly anyone wanted to make the trek - and you were currently the only human in the entire building.

“A-a little.”

...

Zenyatta slumped. “We forgot you get cold. It’s the middle of winter in a mountain monastery. How could we forget you would get cold?”

You let out a tiny laugh. “I’m ok. Really.” 

A deep and reverberated voice, right behind you. 

“You’re cold?”

You jumped, at the sound. Holy shit Ramattra was literally just in the spot directly behind you. You looked over your shoulder at him - he was sitting cross legged, casual, as if he had been there the whole time. He definitely hadn’t been there when you sat down earlier. How did he move so quietly, when he was so huge? Those dark eye slits were watching you so very intently.

“H-how did you...?”

“You are.” Ramattra didn’t let up. He leant forward, it felt as if he was staring into your soul. “You’re quivering.”

His tone made you shudder. Even though Ramattra spoke far more softly with you now than he initially did when you first met, it was still often hard to tell whether or not he was upset. He definitely didn't make the same effort Zenyatta did to show you how he felt. “You surprised me.”

“Human,” Zenyatta’s voice was delicate. “Do you need to take a break?”

“I-I’m good.” You forced yourself to smile despite the two omnics insistently closing in on you. “I mean... yes, I am cold. But it’s just temperature. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I really think you should take a break.” He sounded insistent.

“I’m fine. Really.”

Zenyatta turned to look at Ramattra. They held eye contact.

... Zenyatta nodded.

When Ramattra stood up, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was just going to find a new spot. He stepped forward, probably to go past you.

... He leant down and picked you up. 

You yelped, suddenly snapped out of your cold-induced stupor, as you were swept clear off the ground by arms that clearly carried you with absolutely zero effort - he scooped you up like you weighed about as much as an empty cardboard box, hefting you up into a secure grip against his massive chest and beginning to walk. Zenyatta stood too.

If it were anyone else you would’ve started kicking your legs, shouting, freaking out. But it was Ramattra. It really wasn’t fair that you had two omnics here that you were crushing on... you absolutely couldn’t move, your body had seized up, flustered beyond belief. Your face and ears were pounding, so you just immediately clung onto him.

“P-put me down!” you squeaked.

His response was a chuckle. He moved so fluidly, so casually, carrying you out of the main room. “This is your own fault, human. We gave you a chance to take a break willingly.”

Your heart was hammering. “That doesn’t mean you can just - ”

“This isn’t a conversation.”

Ramattra eventually came to a room you recognised - your room. Considering you were one of very few members of the monastery that actually needed to sleep, you had been given somewhere private to rest your head whenever required. Ramattra pushed the door open with his foot, allowing it to swing shut behind him.

“O-ok, I get it, I need to rest.” You felt dizzy. “Put me down now.”

“Hm... no.” Ramattra sat, still holding you tightly. “I don’t think I will.”

“Huh? G-get - ”

That’s when you felt it, bleeding through your clothes. Warmth. Instinctively, you inhaled - Ramattra was hot to the touch. Heat was emanating from within the very metal he was made of. Every part of him was hot, like a hot water bottle, it was as if you’d stumbled in from an icy storm and come home to an open fire. You immediately stopped flapping and just curled into him.

“You’re so warm?” you blurted.

“Omnics can raise and lower their body temperature at will." He settled, seemingly getting comfortable. "Now relax. No need to be foolish.”

Zenyatta re-appeared, closing your room door behind you. He was holding something. By the time you figured out what it was, it was already being tucked around you; a thick down blanket.

Woah. Going from freezing to this was amazing. Tingles spread across your back and chest... you let out a shaky sigh of delight. 

You didn’t catch the look that Ramattra and Zenyatta cast between each other. 

“Human,” Zenyatta hummed, sitting down beside Ramattra. “might I have your hands, for a moment?”

You were confused, but absolutely utterly pacified by the heat, you offered your palms to him. Zenyatta reached out, and wrapped his metal digits carefully around your distinctly soft and fleshy ones. 

... They were hot too - you gasped. You felt Ramattra’s chuckle through his chest. It was like your very own personalised hand warmers, how long had the two of them been able to do this? Heating their bodies? Zen’s hands immediately flushed out the horrible numbness you’d grown accustomed to over the course of the day. 

Everything was warm... finally, you were warm. Inside and out.

Your head rocked, cuddling against Ramattra’s chest. You couldn’t help but hum in delight.

“Is that better?” Zenyatta brushed his thumbs over your knuckles, but eventually let your hands go. Entire body sufficiently restored to a comfortable temperature, you could do nothing but enjoy the sensation. 

“Mhm,” your response was grumbly and relaxed and tiny, face against Ram’s sternum, feeling the warmth leaking into your skin. One large hand gave you a gentle squeeze.

Ramattra’s tone was the softest you’d ever heard it. “Am I forgiven for kidnapping you?”

“I guess.”

“I have spoken to Master Mondatta.” Zenyatta said. “Someone else will take care of your chores today.”

... Huh? Your eyes suddenly opened (you hadn’t even noticed you’d shut them), you sat up. “W-wait. I can’t just bunk off,”

Ramattra’s grip, though gentle, was ironclad. “We insist.”

“But that’s so rude!” 

Ramattra was having none of it. He pulled the blanket tighter around you, restricting your movements and preventing you from wiggling free. “No struggling. You’re staying right here.”

“It’s a matter of your health.” Zenyatta pointed at you disapprovingly. “And you have no right to fight it. You brought this upon yourself - you delayed in informing us of your discomfort. We must make sure you are adequately warm for the rest of the day. Frostbite is a very real concern for you, at this altitude.”

“You’re not letting me go?”

“Absolutely not,” Ramattra hummed.

You exhaled through your nose, like a sulking child, but said nothing. 

Zenyatta sounded softer, now, less like he was lecturing you and somewhat more imploring. “I only wish you’d mentioned how cold you were sooner. Most omnics have the ability to warm their core. I could have assisted. Though Brother Ramattra is most likely best for warming you up, considering he possesses more body to warm you with.”

“You are indeed very small,” Ramattra tutted.

You let out a tiny laugh, much to the delight of the two omnics, but the laugh quickly morphed into a yawn. You shivered one more time, but not because you were cold - it felt more like your body was shaking away the last vestiges of cold that’d clung to you through the day. 

With that, your entire being was toasty from the inside out. If you could purr, you would.

You made a contented and comfortable humming sound, relaxing back against Ramattra’s huge chest. Again, you didn’t catch the look they shot between each other. The two omnics knew each other well enough for the slightest glances to say more than hours of conversation could.

“Tired?” Zenyatta asked, gently.

“A... a little.” Your eyes felt heavy. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Because of the cold?”

“Mhm.”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I’m sure Brother Ramattra would be happy to accompany you to bed tonight.”

Ram snapped. “Quiet.”

“... Would you? To keep me warm?” From Ramattra’s chest, you could just about peek up and make ‘eye contact’ with him. “I’d like that a lot.”

Ramattra, strangely, didn’t reply. He just stared down at you, for a few moments, then looked away - lifting his hand to his mouth like he was covering it.

Zenyatta spoke up. “Of course. Either of us would accompany you, if it would make you more comfortable during the night.”

“Both would be nice,” you mumbled.

You were so sleepy now. You yawned one more time. Maybe... maybe you could just skip your chores after all. Mondatta said it was fine, right? You were so tired. And so warm. No one was really checking... you had permission. And two bodyguards to keep you safe. Maybe you should just...

... A few minutes of complete warm bliss passed.

Ramattra’s voice thrummed through you. “... She really is like a little kitten, isn’t she?”

“Indeed. I told you.”

“Did her shaking not bother you? It was adorable. In an infuriating manner.”

“Of course it did. My motors ache from restraining myself. But unlike you, I know to keep my thoughts to myself.”

“Tch.”

“Hm?” you hummed, not at all catching what was being said.

“Nothing.” Ram hummed. “Go to sleep.”

“Mh. Ok.”

[jadeschambers]

CHAPTER 1: Trueform!Sukuna x Isekai!gn!reader

(reader has no gender but has f genitals.)

Parings: Ryomen Sukuna

Tags: Slow burn, eventual Smut, god/godess demigod reader, sukuna needs his own warnings, huge!size kink (that man is like 8 ft tall), mentioned cannibalism, noncon? (just beware, reader ❤️ him/ don’t read if it makes u uncomfy), cunnilingus, breast play. Some cursing n crack. original idea to this series on my page.

intro, II

In Teyvat, an old friend would persist that gods cannot be trusted. Is Sukuna the god that calls your knees to the floor and pulls the praise from your throat? Or is he a temptation of desires from a life you never knew you could have.

given by your enemies; wounds and gashes heavily mar your body. recent battles have not been kind, and sometimes you wonder if victory is worth winning. Sukunas estate was shrouded by an eery silence as the sun settled, and it was almost like it was only just you in the world. “Uraume. Give them a bath and bring them to me after.” Sukuna’s broad back met your gaze as he strode away, his white haired subordinate obeying with no hesitation. “thank you…”

the curse turned, an arrogant smile plastered on his face. “Sukuna, thats Lord Sukuna for you little dove.” it was almost like his arrogance transformed him.

the halls to the bathing chamber looked like it was intricately carved by the hands of a dragon sovereign, and it was admirably distracting. standing by your side as you entered the bathing chamber, uraume held out their hands. they wanted you to strip

“oh uhm— i can bathe myself-“ before you could even finish the robes on your tarnished body slipped off, and lukewarm water stung in the deep gashes decorating your body. “to keep lord Sukuna waiting will not suffice.” they grumbled, trying to scrub you as gently as possible. “h-hey! that hurts!” uraumes hands were not very gentle, but seeing as the dirt floated into the water their roughness was proven to benefit.

warm water was a luxury to commoners back in Teyvat, boiling water naturally was a pain in your ass. but as a well respected demigod, it was something you wouldn’t really have to usually worry about. soft towels were used to dry off your skin, and you were handed a beautiful silk robe.

it looked and felt heavy, and would most likely be hard to fight in, but if you weren’t to except the gifted robe would they see you as ungrateful. “oh.. this is very beautiful; but what if it gets ruined…?” the silk felt so soft rubbing against your hands.

“either way lord sukuna will end up ruining it. except the gift, he is not always this generous.” uraume replied, insisting to help you put it on. their words widened your eyes. what in the celestia were they babbling about? “took ya long enough.” sukunas voice was deep and sensual.

he carried an aura that was definitely unmatched to what i have seen. “thank you for the robe sukuna.. and thank you for letting me stay here.” you whispered, giving him your gratitude. “pull out your weapon.”his chin lifted slightly, and by god did he really look intimidating.

stepping back in hesitation, you began to double think. were you lured into a trap? “w-why? you aren’t going to fight me are you?” your body most definitely could not handle another fight right now, and it honestly felt like you were going to collapse. sukuna looked like a demon, and charging into a fight without knowing your enemies strength is a death wish.

suddenly you found yourself right in front of him, his huge frame towering over you. “w-wait! if we’re going to fight at least let me change robes!” you placed your hands on his chest in defense, and without realizing, Sukuna was sent flying backwards. Uraume stood with their eyes open wide before crouching by their master. it took a few moments to realize what you had done. “oh my archons! im so sorry!” you gasped, immediately running to his side.

Sukuna chuckled as he sat up, his large hands grasping yours. “a strong opponent, how interesting.” he suddenly pinned you beneath him— despite the huge hole in the wall from his body he seemed utterly fine. “just what are you exactly..?” sukuna tilted his head, absolutely infatuated with that innocent look in your eyes.

looking into his eyes felt like he was hypnotizing you, in defense you managed to wiggle out from his grasp. “im really sorry sukuna… you aren’t hurt are you..?” your eyes widened as you noticed the inky black tattoos stretching across his biceps. “non sense.” he shook his head, helping you up before leading you out into the hall. “you must be fatigued, little one.” sukuna smirk faltered as he turned. just what were you? no modern sorcerer in his time could even lay a finger on him, even those who lie in the Gojo and Zenin clan.

before you now were large dark oak double doors, and as sukuna pushed them open he lead you into the room. “rest here, let us resume in the morning.” he sat you down onto the plush bed. “thank you, i really didn’t-“ sukuna placed a hand on your head, preventing you from finishing. “it is nothing on your part. now sleep.”

“We shall turn to Oratrice Mecanique d’Analyse Cardinale to render the final verdict on the charges.” Neuvilettes voice reverberated off the opera houses walls, the audience below held in silence by the anticipation. “hm? this cannot be right..” the dragon muttered under his breathe. noticing the look on Monsieur Neuvilettes face, your mind pondered on what was about to happen. “The hydro archon, guilty.” the Chief of Justice paused, holding his breath. “To be punished via…the death sentence.”

with his words a wave of gasps erupt from the crowd below, and Navia stumbles beside you. “T-This cant be right!” someone shouts below. Furina sat in the opposite gallery, tears streaming down her cheeks. “The death sentence? Thats way too far!” they retort, many beginning to question the laws of justice.

A powerful earthquake suddenly struck the opera house, sending the audience to flee for the exits. “The waters are rising!” they screamed in horror, the stampede panicking for safety, praying to their archon for strength. Suddenly a gaping hole ripped through space in the middle of the opera house, and from the darkness a gargantuan whale leapt forward, weeping.

—

“So we’ve finally met it at last… I understand very well why it has chosen to make an appearance here.” The hole in space began to close as Neuvilette explained his plan. “thanks to childe none of you were eaten?” you asked, tilting your head in worry. “Indeed, but it still traverses in the Primordial Sea, it is not from here.”

Neuvilette placed a hand on your shoulder, a foreign glint in his eyes. “I am not a fully fledged dragon, which means i need your help defeating it.” now standing in front of you both of his hands gripped your shoulders. “b-but what about the oratrice..?! and Lady Furina?” you stuttered, eyes frantically searching the room. “We will worry about the trivial matters once we return.” Neuvilette assured, yet something felt off.

As you battled, many gashes were torn in your skin, making you wince. “Are you alright?!” Neuvilette yelled through the loud crashing waves, trying to reach you, only for the unknown entity to crash into the waters, its mouth wide open.

it was going to swallow you, and it was already too late. snapping its jaws shut, the sickening clench of the whales bones grinding together. the very last thing you saw before your vision turned black was the dragon sovereign running towards your limp body.

tumblr deleted the draft to this two fuckifn times but i honestly like mashing up different worlds like this c:

tags : @maskedpacific @kbirdieee2540

art credit to nachikusan, decay_int, woshihedawei all on X

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 5

I have no restraint. I have NO restraint. I HAVE NO RESTRAINT!!! So guess who starting writing a SEQUEL to this because she was feeling too sad to write Sweet Home Indiana? Yup! I would apologize, but this story is too cute for words.

We have a mild panic attack about the ending of the chapter from Steve, Eddie's plan, and Steve accepting an offer that made mostly in jest, but also in deep earnest.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TAG LIST IS CLOSED!!!

But if the people on my list that haven't interacted on my stuff lately don't reply by Sunday slots may open up. So don't despair just yet if you want to be on the list and can't.

****

Steve banged his head on his locker in frustration. Why did he do that? Why did he tell Eddie he was interested in boys, too? Why did he trust the other boy to have his back? Especially when no one else seemed to.

He sighed.

He wrenched open his locker and a little pink heart fluttered to the floor. He frowned as he picked it up.

They weren’t going to hand out the hearts until Valentine’s Day so what was this then?

-Stevie

I like the way you’re kind even when it doesn’t benefit you.

Kas

Steve blinked down at the little heart in confusion. It wasn’t the exactly the same color as the hearts they were going to give out for the holiday. But it was close. He rubbed his thumb over the sender’s name.

Kas.

He knew it wasn’t a real name, having recently poured over the yearbook. So it had to be a reference to something, but what he didn’t know. He stuck it in his jacket pocket and grabbed what he needed for his next class, vowing to worry about it later.

As he sat in his chemistry class waiting for it to start he pulled it out of his pocket to look at it again. The pen was red ink and bold. Steve found himself smiling at the strange little pink heart.

Suddenly it was ripped out of his hand.

His head snapped up to see Tommy H. standing there with it in his hand. “Someone is sending Harrington Valentine’s hearts?”

“Give it back, Tommy,” Steve growled. “It’s none of your business. Not anymore.”

Tommy looked him in the eye before tossing it to the ground and walking off. “Whatever.”

Steve bent over to pick it up.

“Some girl named Kassy or whatever,” Tommy was telling Nicole. “Could be anyone from the younger grades.”

“I suppose so,” she said, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “But anyone with sense would know he’s the plague now.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Just because he refuses to suck either of you two off doesn’t mean he’s still not the hottest guy in school.”

Tommy rounded on her and called her a bitch.

She just scoffed and swung back around just as the teacher walked into the room. The tardy bell rang and he called the class to order, effectively squashing all gossip.

Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. He might feel a bit bitter that it was her party that Nancy threw their relationship in his face at, but it wasn’t her fault his girlfriend had gotten so pissed drunk that she lost her ironclad control. And right now he was feeling especially grateful to her for that comment.

He managed to get through his class just from riding that high alone.

His last class was algebra and it really should have been made illegal by now. The way the numbers and letters seemed to float off of the page as he struggled to parse their meaning. He just had to pass one quarter of this shit and he could graduate.

So he put his head down to learn and just suffer through it.

After school, he got to his locker and knelt down to open it.

Again a pink heart fluttered out of it. But this time it had a couple of friends. Steve stuck them in his jacket pocket again and exchanged books. He grabbed his English and history homework so that he could get them done for tomorrow.

He opened the back door of his car and threw in his backpack. He went to open his door when Eddie was suddenly at his side.

He leaned up against the door, preventing Steve from opening it.

“So the king swings for both teams?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve looked around, but they were alone for the most part, so he just shrugged. “Some guys are hot and for some reason I can’t fathom, I trust you not have it all over the school by lunch tomorrow.”

Eddie chuckled and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I wouldn’t do that to ya.”

“Yeah and why would that be?” Steve asked turning around and sticking his hands in his front pockets.

“That would be because it would be hypocritical of me to go spreading around the school someone likes guys,” he said, bumping their shoulders together.

Steve looked at him for a long time before he nodded. “You know by now I don’t put much stock into rumors. I did that once and got my shit rocked for it. Lesson learned, man.”

“I heard about the infamous Byers left hook,” Eddie agreed. “That was some pretty major shit rocking.”

The jock rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure he was my first concussion.”

The older boy looked up at the sky as he thought about it and then nodded. “Billy Hargrove would be round two, I’m assuming?”

Steve nodded and then threw his head back. “This year has gone from bad to worse and I’m barely keeping my head above water.”

Eddie hummed his agreement. It really has seemed like Steve couldn’t catch a break. “I feel that. I’m really struggling this year. Last year I didn’t graduate because I so focused on getting out of here, making it with my music that I forgot the promise I made to my mom that I would. Graduate I mean. But this year is just hell.”

“That sucks, Eds,” he agreed.

“You think you’re going to graduate?”

“God, I hope so,” Steve murmured, collapsing against the side of his car. “I just want to get out of this town.”

Eddie chuckled and shook his head. “Where would you even go, man?”

“I’d pick a direction and just drive for as long as I could,” he admitted softly. “I just need to be as far away from this place as I can.”

The metalhead nodded. “If we both graduate we should hop into my van and just run for the coast.”

Steve smiled fondly. “I think I’d like that.”

Eddie pushed himself off the car and then waved Steve goodbye.

The younger boy got into his car with a sigh of relief. Not only did Eddie promise not to out him, he came out to Steve, too. Now it was mutually assured destruction.

Steve smiled and started the car for home. Maybe this year was starting to get a little better.

****

Eddie shoved his hands in his back pockets as he made his way to his van. He didn’t know what possessed him to ask Steve to runaway with him or what possessed Steve to agree but it left a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest.

He hauled himself into the van and sat there for a moment just thinking about it. Of course that meant graduating himself, so he would have to focus on that. His van roared to life and he drove off.

It took him a couple of tries but he finally found the construction paper he needed. He had even found some black construction paper that he was going to use to make little paper bats to tape on the inside of his locker to make it less miserable.

Especially as he was told he couldn’t have his metal band posters up in there. They were too “evil” and “Satanic” and he should be more “Christ like” as if they were epitome of Christian virtue with all the hate they had for anyone not like them.

But Eddie got down to work and started making as many pink hearts as he could. He had thought briefly about adding a couple of red hearts in the mix, but he thought that was a step too far. He didn’t want to get Steve’s hopes up that he had multiple crushes on him if that wasn’t true.

He still planned on giving Steve his one red heart that he had bought. That wasn’t in question. He had already filled it out and returned it to the great big baskets that had been in the main hall.

It simply read:

Stevie,

You make being in this town worth living in,

Love,

Kas

He let out a slow shuddering breath. That was one of the scariest things he had to do since choosing to live with an uncle he had only met twice his entire life over being in the system. He knew his life was infinitely greater being with Uncle Wayne and he hoped this would yield a similar result.

Because he had made a promise and with all signs pointing toward Steve at least being receptive to a date, he had to shoot his shot and hope for the best.

He had made roughly fifty or so of the pink hearts and set about dividing them into four piles. With Jeff, Gareth, and Brian offering to help with the friendship hearts he wanted to make sure everyone got a few of them. Plus it made it easier to come up with things. Because even if they came up with similar ideas, they at least would be phrased slightly different so Steve wouldn’t figure it out.

He also had the idea of using pseudonyms so that it wasn’t all anonymous and initials, though there would some of those too.

But it was time for band practice, so he gathered up his things and the hearts and trotted off to his van, a wave and goodbye to Wayne on his way out.

****

Steve finally opened the other three hearts. Two were anonymous but the third surprisingly was from Tina.

It read it in the tiniest print that was still legible:

Steve,

I know we’re supposed to turn these in or whatever,

But I just wanted to say you’re still A-OK in my book.

-Tina

He blushed. That was nice of her and after she stuck up for him in chemistry, he was feeling a little better about himself.

The other two were just as sweet if a tad unusual in their delivery. The first one said:

Steve,

I’m sorry you lost your crown,

you kept the bullies from being their worst selves.

And the other read:

Steve,

You are a good dude.

Sorry people are shit right now.

Steve shook his head. They were well-tended, he had no doubt but they were odd. Like they were trying to find something nice to say and didn’t know how to word it.

Which, fair.

He knew he had a hard time coming up with complements for the twenty girls he’d picked out for his little project. He had to make sure the message wasn’t creepy or would come across as stalker-y.

He smiled down at the messages. He pulled out a little notebook that he had used to collect all the little things that the kids had given him over the past couple years and put the hearts on their own little page. He carefully put the book back, hidden between two textbooks from his freshman year.

“Steven!” his mom called. “We’re home!”

“Coming, Mom!” he cried, hurrying down the stairs.

****

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: Closed

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[whaleofatjme1920]

Kinktober Day 1: Exorcisms [Slender Man X GN!Reader]

Warnings: Mind control, size difference, dubious consent, MINORS DNI

AN: Went in a slightly different direction than what I originally envisioned but that's ok.

Reblogs are appreciated

Kinktober Masterlist

They’ve always said that he manages to invade your mind like a virus, and once he takes hold, that he’s impossible to actually weed out. No force on heaven, or on earth could call him back to hell once he’s set his sightless gaze on you. To earn his favor it to earn a kiss from death itself. 

You hold your breath as his long, slender fingers spread your legs further and further apart. 

It’s all part of the deal, he whispers. His voice is low and rasps like a campfire in deep autumn. That’s right, it’s all part of the deal. Knowledge that you’re so hungry for in your arcane craft that you’d give yourself to him. 

“That’s too much,” you whisper back. Your heart is beating, pounding, like a little rabbit being chased by a wolf. He spreads your legs further and further. The part of you he wants to open with those same slender fingers much like he’s parting the petals of a flower. He chuckles deeply in your ear, faceless visage turning to that of a wolf’s grin in your mind’s eye as he pries you further, and further open. 

He laughs again. Clearly, he’s taunting you. Static fills your head as his tendrils curl around your body. They slink up and down your thighs and press into your flesh. They want to devour you whole. You don’t know the meaning of those words. 

Your breath hitches as you feel him prick you. The head of his cock is round, not too sharp, but similar to a tentacle. It tapers bigger and bigger, stuffing you further and further. Tears prick your eyes as your muscles contract and you attempt to squeeze around him in an attempt to find your bearings. “Wait-”

No. 

Deeper and deeper he pushes inside of you, groaning lowly at how your small human body contorts around him. And once he hilts inside of you, the static grows stronger. Buzzing like a thousand tiny knives prick, prod and poke every part of you, no corner of your mind is spared. A soft moan escapes your lips as he starts to thrust, uncaring if you feel good or not. You grip back, nails digging into the floor before you reach to find his arm. His suit feels… almost out of place. It’s like a crude attempt at showing any sign of humanity, knowing he’s anything but. 

His low voice continues to groan and creak in your ear as he thrusts harder. Slow, deep, and deeper, he makes your eyes roll upwards. You can feel a tight coil form in your stomach, even though it’s overwhelming. You almost swear you hear him swear his ecstasy, but the static grows deeper in your head. “Fuck..!” You hiss as his tendrils and his long, clawed fingers hold you apart, wide and vulnerable for him. Sweat beads on your forehead as you feel the entity invade you entirely. He continues to fill you. His thrusts, still slow and powerful, bloom a warmth as he stuffs the most of himself into you. “A-Are you..?”

Shut up.

His claws dig into you. He groans again. Harder this time, the sound of skin on skin. Your moaning. His desire to be full inside of you. He watches as your eyes roll upwards and his influence entirely takes over. Your body stops curling in on itself, and you become soft and pliable. You’re in the arms of what might be a god, completely at his will. Your mind turns to mush as his power takes hold of you. The wolf’s jaws in your head flick their tongue out around your brain, curling, licking, and finally devouring. Your back arches and your body loosens just a bit to take him just a little more. Your mind isn’t your own. His warmth continues to fill you as you take him. 

Take it, he growls, take it and every last drop I have to offer you. Do it with a smile. 

You feel like you’re floating. Your body isn’t yours at this moment, but you reap the benefits of being fucked by a god. 

The static lessens in your head ever so slightly to give you control of your facial expressions. You glance back and upwards, your head craning to see just a glimpse of him. He’s paler than the moon, his face featureless, but you can tell he’s feeling a deep pleasure from using your body for his gain. And just like he asked, you smile. Tears prick in your eyes from how overstimulating he is, drunk from sex in your gaze, but you smile for him just because he asked. 

And you swear you see it as he finishes inside of you, the ghost of a smile in the wolf’s jaws imprinted in your mind. 

The virus has taken hold, and you did it with a smile. 

[f3mme-f4tale]

which witch

part one

word count: 4k potential warnings: potential depictions of violence, sexual content, fingering (r! receiving) adult themes (explicit language), tension, angst, world building, more to come... pairing: rebel!ellie x princess!reader (categorized within the knight!ellie aesthetic)

authors note: there are some influences from game of thrones! :))

A cloud of gray smoke lingered above the vine-infested concrete walls of the booming city, machinery roaring to life and wildering conversations floating in the thick air. A war was looming over the Sovereign City, an invading force from the south eagerly plowing through the skin-biting tundra. The hundreds of guilds within the city's walls fed the economy, although some whisper that underground trading of magic folk is what really fuels the financial state. A spy for the rebellion circled the local market, running her hands over the bruised fruit and eyeing the common folk cautiously, trying her best to go undetected. The city center was preparing for the Sun Festival, ironic given the smog that shielded nearly all sunlight.  

A local fruit stand was at the center of the market, an older gentleman staffing the exotic fruit from outside the city walls. Bright, intricate starfruit and jelly-filled strawberry papayas littered the concrete mosaic ground. A small goat with a blue bell was tied haphazardly to a post, the yarn fraying with every slight tug from the animal. A group of children dressed in muted shades of brown and green played a game of dice on the other side of the courtyard, daring each other to steal blackberries. The butcher’s son was pushing a small wagon of discarded meat and small fish bones towards an alley, likely to discard the leftovers.  

The spy was adorned in local fabrics, muted mismatched stitching holding together a quilt-like material that resembled a shawl. Her deep maple hair cascaded down her neck with a simple silver pin holding some pieces out of her face. Her fingertips were stained with nightshade, her left-hand concealing a small dagger. The weapon was known for immediately striking down any foe, its metal laced with poison. Magic folk and creatures were no exception, despite their enchantments. An abstract fox decorated the handle, a symbol of the rebellion against the empire. On her hip was a small satchel containing various assortments of herbs, sliced plum mushrooms, and powdered oleander seeds. Being a spy, a magic one at that, had its benefits.  

The spy detected a woman pocketing something from a guard across the courtyard. She watched her scurry away down an alley, not before stealing a fig from one of the stands. With the day being as slow as it had been, she reasoned that any mischief became her mischief. As she made her way towards where the other woman went, her grip tightened on the weapon. Upon turning down the alley, she seemingly vanished. It was not often that the spy’s prey escaped her sight, not since she was a child at least. At the last possible moment, a speck of red disappeared through a doorway fifty feet in front of her. Swallowing a sigh, she followed. 

Inside was a desolate old factory, broken machinery sprawled across the floor and spray paint covering the walls. Sigils were marked on the concrete ground – emblems and allegories from The Blackmoor Book. She questioned how someone within the walls could have such knowledge, risking the high court finding such symbolism.  

What was this place?  

  She did not dwindle on this apprehension long, sinking into the shadows and scanning the place for that woman. A crackly, high-pitched laugh erupted from the other side of the room. Before thinking twice, the spy was across the room in mere seconds, her knife pressed firmly against the mystery woman’s throat, as if in reflex.  

“Ya know for as skilled as you are, I figured you’d recognize me,” the woman pestered, her dialect thick. The spy could place the voice, but the face was distant from her mind. The blade stayed against her throat, the pressure never wavering.  

“Ellie,” she cooed, “it’s me.”  

There was nothing I could do. My feet were lodged between the large stones that decorated the bottom of the fast river, the murky sand blinding my vision and setting my lungs on fire. I was becoming weak, fighting a losing battle with the force of the water. I wanted to give up, to let the depths swallow me whole and my mind run blank. My fingers just barely reached the surface, scratching at the sliver of life that was never fully mine. The anxiety was bubbling up from my stomach and began to make me tremble with complete fear; I wasn’t getting out of this.  

Once, when I was young, I would swim in streams and small rivers just like this one. Uncle would be back at the village, father out with the council. My older foster brother would often join me, teaching me how to catch the fish and which plants could be used for medicine. When it was a quiet day, we would read books to the frogs and small insects. Now, at the precipice of death, I can only focus on the day he showed me how to fashion an arrowhead. On how his fingers made sharp movements and the glimmer in his eyes was its purest. He was the mouth of God; I took his words as religion. But he wasn’t there.  

My arms grew numb, my body losing sensation. This was it. This was how I was finally going. I screamed against the current and inhaled the river. As my vision darkened and I began to accept defeat, I remembered the reason I was trying to traverse across in the first place; the heaviness of the guilt weighing me down. I made a promise, I swore to him. They were going to die, and it was all my fault. It was a mistake to think I could perform this journey alone, inexperienced.  

And then I could breathe again. My fingers dug at my chest, eagerly gasping for air. My eyes burned from the sunlight, my right ankle adorning a jagged cut from the rock that once imprisoned me. My savior hovered above me, breathing just as heavily as I was. Where did they come from?  

“T-thank you,” I managed to get out once the anxiety subsided, my throat still burning.  

Hesitantly, I glanced up in their direction. They were drenched in luminance, a godliness highlighting their physique, black paint dancing across their nose. Meeting their enticing eyes, I realized I recognized them. A local girl a year older than me from the village, her hair tied tight against her head and half of her body soaking wet. She offered me a curt nod, adjusting the straps on her satchel and securing a few stray pieces of hair. The outfit she wore was jarring, nothing like the large tunics the women wore at home. The breeches and sleek overcoat were skin-tight, a throwing knife strapped securely to her thigh. She did not say anything back, leaving me as fast as she appeared.  

“Dina,” Ellie mumbled, her voice rough against the soothing nature of Dina’s. Her eyes scanned the other's face, the memories of her childhood friend rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The same black paint was decorated across her nose, symbolizing her coven. Ellie let her guard down, the blade dropping to her side. The sigils made sense then – she grew up in the same village beyond this city within the Withering Woods, learned from the same potions master, and drank the same Mistmoor river water. Their village Jackson’s Crossing, surrounded by the White Mountains and often disregarded on official cartographer maps, was a cloister of small families from varied ethnicities. 

Dina’s fingers were also stained a dark purple – evidence of witchcraft. The last time they had seen each other was years prior, back when Ellie was recruited to fight against the tyranny of the High Ruler, who came into power with varying degrees of support from the public. The last she heard of Dina was that she had joined a coven, practicing magic in secret.  

She had grown a lot since their last encounter, her scarlet hair now many inches longer and herself several inches taller. They spared each other the formalities in catching up, Ellie reaching for the item Dina snatched from the unsuspecting general just beyond the door. She let her, Ellie’s mind working through possibilities as she brought the ring of keys closer. She should have known; such an item was predictable. Although, what did Dina need them for?  

“Trying to sneak someone out of the dungeons, hmm?” she finally spoke, placing her dagger back into the depths of her clothing. Dina smiled at Ellie again, raising her eyebrows and letting her face do the talking. “Ah, well, sneaking into prison seems more your speed anyways.” 

“The council has been very unyielding in my request for an audience,” she began, walking a few steps away from Ellie. “So, I’ve had to find my own ways.” 

“Why do you wish to speak to them?” Ellie questioned, puzzled as to what her companion could want with them. Dina’s gaze meant nothing but trickery, her smile growing wider and wider. Whatever her intentions, Ellie considered leeching on, her own assignment from the Rebellion creating a need to be inside those palace walls – although for a quite different reason.

“Remember Jesse?” she smirks, running a hand through her locks. Ellie snorts at this – because of course she remembers Jesse, how could she not? They were practically joined at the hip before Ellie left Jackson. 

“He’s gotta learn to keep his mouth shut in front of the guards. He’s so pretty, but he can be pretty thick headed sometimes,” Dina scolds, shaking her head. “So, naturally, they’ve finally decided to sentence him after years of causing mayhem.”  

“Well, I want in,” Ellie says coldly, adjusting with the fabric that covers her shoulder. Dina squints at her friend, questioning her motivations. “I’ve got orders to relocate a member of the royal family, per the Rebellion's bequest.” 

-

Deep viridian ivy covers the cobblestones and beige pillars of the courtyard, dark shadows stretching up the walls. Rain litters the ground, the damp air an inviting aroma. Billowing clouds darken the sky, the thunder a welcoming presence. 

You’re sitting at a desk, candlelight framing your face as you attempt to read the book in your hands. It’s no use however, as your mind is swirling with a million different thoughts. The betrayal of your father cuts deep; all that remains is the stark reality of your pain. You trace the outline of the candle's flame with trembling fingers, its flickering dance mirroring your thundering heartbeat. 

A knock at the door interrupts your spiral, haphazardly setting down your book and the weight of the chair creaking as you stand. A woman is on the other side, her curly black hair cascading down her back. The servant's uniform does her no justice, her figure cloaked in a tunic two sizes too big. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the intruder at such a late hour. 

“Yes?” you ask, voice wavering slightly. You know she can see the dismay in your face, your eyes all too forgiving. You instinctively hunch your shoulders, nails pushing into the meat of your palm, knuckles turning white.

“Lord David sent me to draw you a bath, my lady. He wants you to be clean and fresh for your engagement tomorrow,” she responds, bowing her head. She holds clean linens and a sponge in her hand, a slight look of sorrow crossing her face that you almost miss. You step aside begrudgingly, letting her through. 

Large buckets of water make their rounds over the fire as the servant works to untie the laces of your bodice, making quick work of the material. The cool air filtering through the partially opened window makes your skin grow cold, the woman helping you out your chemise, body bare to her wandering gaze. Her hands were warm, a stir emerging within your gut. You always disliked having other people bath you, yet you found yourself straightening your back, showing off. She made eye contact with you, half slitted pupils devouring your form. You welcomed this, using your left hand to remove a pin that was keeping your braids in place. She steps behind you to begin dumping the contents of the bucket into a metal tub. 

And then suddenly the servant is several inches away, hands agonizingly tracing your shoulders, her breath hot on your neck. She places a small kiss just underneath your ear, a shudder escaping your lips as you tentatively close your eyes. You’d never had someone approach you this way, not unless you count the several forty-something year old male suitors that you had declined since you turned sixteen years ago.

The servant uses one hand to pull your hair over to one shoulder as the other palms your bare stomach. You suck in a breath, not pushing her away. You knew this was wrong, save for the fact that she was another woman. What would your father say? What would the maids whisper to each other when they thought no one was looking?

Despite protests shouting against your very core, you remained still, leaning into her frame. You could feel her breasts pressing into your back, her right hand dancing dangerously close to the space between your legs. Her left hand dragged across your chest, fingers grazing and pulling. When her right hand plunged into your slick, you leaned your head back against her shoulder. 

“Lay down, my lady,” she murmured, gently moving your already wrecked body towards the bed in the corner. You obliged, sitting on the edge. She pushed you down, immediately dropping down to her knees. You were new to this, not even daring to touch yourself. Her mouth felt foreign on your pelvis, but you bucked up into her face regardless. 

Her tongue slid across you, pink bud becoming raw from the friction. When she pushed two fingers inside of you, a borderline scream escaped your delicate lips. The swell of your breasts bounced as she began to pick up her pace, rocking your body against the frame of the bed and adding another slender digit. Her tongue continues its assault on your clit, forcing you to take it, to take all of it. 

It’s over before you realize, her face covered in you. You pull her up by the collar of her uniform, forcing her lips against yours. She’s taken aback at first, but then melts into the embrace. She’s sticking her tongue into your mouth, the taste of you invading and arousing. 

“As much as I’d love to continue Princess,” the woman says suddenly, breaking the kiss. “I did come here to bathe you.” You nod, suddenly extremely aware of your surroundings and how easily you folded under her touch – a woman’s touch. 

As she dumped another bucket of hot water into the metal tub, you gazed off absentmindedly. Her coarse fingers work through your locks, detangling the pieces that frame your face.

“You’re so beautiful, but you have to keep him happy. He gets bored easily.”

You glance over at her, noticing the way the fireplace behind her makes her skin glow. 

“I don’t want you to end up, well, like the others,” she sighs, moving to grab a rag to clean your skin with. You were so used to the mindless handling of your body that sometimes you forgot how vulnerable you could be. 

“W-what others?” you croaked, tension once again creeping up your spine and through your fingers. You felt her movements stiffen, realizing she spoke out of turn. 

“Oh, I shouldn’t, it’s all hearsay. I apologize, my lady,” she replies, her actions becoming more disorderly. You watch her closely, her sudden discomfort adding another layer of unease to the already heavy atmosphere. Despite her attempt to backtrack, your curiosity is piqued, and you press further.

"No, please, tell me," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, torn between loyalty to her lord and a desire to warn you. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

"There have been others before you," she begins, her words careful and measured. "Women who were... chosen, like you." Your heart pounds in your chest, the implications of her words sinking in. You swallow hard, pushing down the rising sense of dread threatening to overwhelm you.

"What happened to them?" you ask, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed. She hesitates again, her gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes.

"They... disappeared," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. "Some say that he grows tired of his playthings, discarding them when they no longer amuse him, banished to distant lands never to return. Others whisper darker tales of rituals and… well," she clarifies, her hands shaking as she runs her nimble fingers through your hair once more. 

You struggle to process the implications of her revelation, the realization dawning on you with sickening clarity. "You mean... they're dead?" you whisper, the words feeling foreign and surreal on your tongue. You turn to her fully, putting on a show of false confidence. “This is my home. He can’t frighten me.”

“Of course, my lady. Forgive me.”

You nod, still reeling from her earlier words. As she finishes bathing you, you're left alone with your thoughts once more. The warmth of the water does little to soothe the chill in your bones, the weight of impending responsibilities pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

“Will I see you again?” You mumble, eyes pleading with the woman as she’s half way out of your chamber, a robe now draped around your figure. A frown catches her lips, a sigh is all the answer you need.

“I’m afraid not,” she finally answers, yet doesn’t move from her place at the door. You feel your stomach drop, reaching out to catch her lips in a kiss once more. This one is less aggressive, a plea for more. She cups your cheek softly, kissing you back. “It’s not safe. We live in a world where desires are often sacrificed for duty.”

As she finally steps away, you watch her silhouette fade into the dimly lit corridor beyond your chamber. A sense of loss washes over you, as you're left in the silence of your chambers. The flames of the candles flicker ominously, casting dancing shadows on the walls. You try to shake off the unease settling in your chest, but the seed of doubt planted by the woman’s words grows with each passing moment.

You know you should rest, to prepare yourself for the challenges that lie ahead, but sleep eludes you. Instead, you find yourself pacing the room, the echoes of your footsteps mingling with the whispers of your own fears.

This union is a death sentence, a promise made to satisfy your fathers requests. Your older sister was the next in line to rule, your brother already married off to a Duchess in the East. You would never sit on the throne; the pressure of said title always out of reach but forever a taunt. You could taste the longing for power – a snake wrapping around your heart, squeezing. 

By marrying Lord David, you help ease the emerging tensions between the East and South kingdoms within the empire. It had long been kept secret that you were a bastard, a lie living a life of luxury. Guilt ate away at you from every inch of your skin, your real mother a ghost of your past. Of course, maids and servants talked. That said, the effort to uphold the ruler's dignity and honor reigned supreme; Those who were caught gossiping would meet a punishment worse than castration. 

You understand the importance of maintaining stability within the empire, of ensuring peace between rival factions. But on the other hand, there's the gnawing fear that grips you, the fear of being trapped in a loveless marriage, of becoming just another casualty in the game of power and ambition.

You remember the stories you heard as a child, tales of kings and queens whose lives were dictated by duty rather than desire. You used to dream of a different fate for yourself, of finding love and happiness on your own terms. But now, as the reality of your situation sinks in, those dreams seem like distant echoes of a naive past.

Tomorrow, you will be betrothed to a man you hardly know; a union forged by politics and alliances. When morning comes, you will rise with a sense of resignation, steeling yourself for the path laid out before you.

-

Dawn breaks upon a canvas of melancholy, the sky adorned in swathes of slate-hued clouds. You dress in a gown of regal elegance, each layer of silk and lace feeling like a shroud closing in around you. Your reflection in the mirror is a stranger's face, masked behind a facade of composure that belies the turmoil within. As you fasten the intricate clasps of your necklace – a delicate chain of platinum interwoven with strands of glistening rhodonite and sunstone – you can't help but wonder if you're adorning yourself for a wedding or a funeral.

Downstairs, guests mingle in clusters of polished nobility. Their smiles are as artificial as the flowers adorning the tables, masking the alliances and rivalries that simmer beneath the surface. You navigate the crowd with practiced grace, exchanging pleasantries and feigned enthusiasm.

In the grand hall, where sunlight filters through stained glass, illuminating the opulence of the surroundings, you stand amidst a sea of faces, each one a mask concealing clandestine desires. At the center of it all stands Lord David, a towering figure of authority and ambition. His gaze finds yours across the room, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he turns to greet another guest. 

His eyes, like shards of obsidian, pierce through the veneer of social niceties. As he acknowledges your presence with a nod of his head, you offer a polite smile, concealing the turmoil churning within your breast. His lips curve in response, but there is a hardness in his gaze. With unspoken haste, the sea of guests transitioned into the next room, organizing into rows. 

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of color upon the assembled guests. The delicate lace of your veil cascaded like a waterfall around you, framing your face in a halo of soft radiance. Lord David, regal and imposing, awaited you at the altar. 

As you drew near, the murmurs of the crowd fell silent, and all that remained was the steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. With each step, you felt the weight of expectation pressing down upon you, the gravity of the moment settling like a cloak upon your shoulders.

At last, you stood face to face with Lord David, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped his in yours. The officiant's voice filled the air, the solemn words of the vows binding you together. His grip tightened at your wrists, thumb pressing into your pressure point. You fought against the sinking feeling in your chest, the fear washing over your features. 

Concealed behind a pillar, at the room's farthest edge, stood a guest with a blade, its hilt adorned with an abstract fox; A silent sentinel amidst the opulent chaos. Their gaze, like a river's current, flows over your form, lingering on each curve and contour with a cautious reverence. The bodice of the gown hugs your frame, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist before giving way to a voluminous skirt that pools around your feet in a sea of soft fabric. Layers upon layers of tulle and organza lend an air of weightless beauty to the ensemble, each fold and pleat catching the light in a mesmerizing dance.

The spy stole a final glance at the princess, and for a brief moment, she could've sworn she saw a glimmer of fear entrenched in your gaze. Rancorously, Ellie envisioned taking a blade to Lord David's throat and smiling as the congealed mess of his arteries betrayed him. She shoved the wrinkled piece of parchment into the confines of her satchel. Her mission began.

Secure the youngest daughter of the sovereign. 

taglist: @seraphicsentences @onlinelesbo @yumimak @elliewilliamsblunt @bready101

[chernabogs]

Belladonna, Forget-me-not, Hyssop, dwarf sunflower 🌻

ouagh thank you for sending a request <3 check out the list here! <3

Inc: Lilia (both present and general), Reader, Silver, Sebek mention WC: 3.5k Warnings: War mention, arson, crimes committed during war time (all my homies hate Silver Owls). Lilia cussing, as he should. Flowers: Belladonna (a confession given without words aka we are pining mentally in the club), Forget me not (the one thing I remembered and how it brought me back to you), Hyssop (one last walk through a house—sort of), Sunflower, dwarf (how many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?). Some flexibility with these. Summary: A trinket he had forgotten pulls him down a path of memories that he wishes he could forget.

There’s a sunflower in the garden this year. 

He thinks it’s quite curious when he first sees the bud, its petals still closed tight as though afraid to enter the world. He’s standing outside of the front door of his cottage with a mug in hand as he gives it a scrutinizing look. The silence of the forest surrounding his home lets him focus ample attention on how this oddity came to be. Silver has run to town and won’t be back until the evening, aiding Sebek in purchasing school supplies for the coming year, and Malleus is likely packing in his eagerness to get out of the palace for another ten months. 

It’s just Lilia, his mug, and the sunflower. 

“Shy, are we?” He murmurs in amusement as he raises the mug to his lips before they twist to a wry grimace. Perhaps being alone is not good for him—he’s beginning to speak to his gardens like an old man already. 

He wisely turns heel and re-enters the cottage as he downs the bitter coffee before discarding the mug in the sink. He’ll wash the dishes before Silver gets home, only because he knows the boy will do it all himself if he doesn’t, which would do nothing but make Lilia feel guilty. Silver insists it’s fine, he’s happy to help his father—but it shouldn’t be that way. His brow furrows in dissatisfaction as he weaves through the cottage's halls to arrive at his bedroom.

Contrary to his room at NRC, this one is so barren it looks downright unoccupied, like no one has ever lived in it to begin with. Lilia had moved most of his valuables with him when he had received notice of his pending enrolment alongside Malleus. This at least makes sorting out what he’s to wear today much easier as he pulls open the closet to peer inside. His fingers dance along the various fabrics as he hums, and haws, and already knows he’s going to wear the same outfit he wears essentially every day.

Lilia Vanrouge has become a man of consistency—another factor that serves to paint him as ‘old’. 

“Decrepit, even,” he grumbles to himself as he tosses his clothes onto the bed. Perhaps he can spice it up a bit to combat these self-perpetuated accusations through the application of an accessory. The thought pleases him enough to make him reach for the top shelf of his closet, his hand hitting against objects and shoving things around in his bid to grab something useful. Maybe he would have benefited from just floating up to see what he needed to get, because his hand soon hits an item that topples off the shelf and nearly clocks him in the face.

“Shit!” He snarls as he moves back. The box clatters to the floor by his foot with a loud rattle, causing him to glare down at it accusingly. His eyes narrow as another low curse slips out and he fumbles to pick the box up. 

It’s made of carved wood—oak, by the weight of it. Each etching along the sides paints a tale that draws Lilia to a stop as he turns it over in his hands. A figure perched on a tree branch with another sitting beneath, a blade and wood in hand. The two figures are next in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. Then they are standing beside each other by a body of water; the carving here is detailed enough that he can see apprehension in one’s gaze and sternness in the others. 

The final carving is incomplete, only because a blackened char mark has burnt the wood to an unusable state. 

Ah.

He remembers why he didn’t take this to NRC. He remembers why he had it shoved in the back of the closet like something rotten, something meant to be concealed. He feels his mood darken as he turns the box over again. Each nick, each mark, tells a tale of something that stirs a burning shame in his gut. His hands tighten enough that he hears the wood creaking under his strength before they relax once more. 

Then, he pauses. Silver won’t be back until far later in the day. He has nothing to do but wash a mug that now sits fermenting in his sink. Beyond this, he’ll simply be wandering from room to room in his cottage like a ghost, perhaps cutting some firewood, perhaps seeing if the bloody quails that have been tormenting his vegetable gardens are back. 

Lilia moves until the back of his knees hit his bed and he sits down, cradling the box more gently now. A sudden urge—a bit of masochistic curiosity—tugs at his heart as his lips curl into a sneer. His thumb brushes against the carving of the figure crouching in the tree. 

Well, if he needs a good way to kill an hour or so. 

“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

The memory begins as it always did any time that he did this. He’s just over 300 years old, his hair long and his body perched on the branches of a tree. He forgot that if he’s personally in the memory, his magic has a habit of tossing him headfirst directly into his body again. The scent of pine overwhelms him as he looks across a Briar Valley that once was just as full of life as he. Green, as far as the eye can see, and the songs of birds that have since gone extinct filling the warm air. 

He shifts on the branch and closes his eyes for a moment as he drinks it all in. Things long since gone, things he wishes he could experience just one more time in his current life. He almost loses himself in the memory—a dangerous risk—before he hears the faint sound of scraping from beneath where he’s perched.

Lilia’s eyes snap open and his gaze travels down to see a figure with a cloak sitting against the pine tree, their hood pulled up as their hands expertly carve a piece of wood with their blade. He can’t quite tell what it is they’re making—and truthfully, he’s long since forgotten. 

But the sound of their voice as they hum an old folk song he hasn’t heard since the war times makes him tense all the same. 

You.

Fuck.

The uncomfortableness of the situation, the realization that perhaps doing this was a mistake on his part, makes him shift back on the branch. This is enough to make a few twigs snap and force your attention to jerk upwards to where he lay. His red gaze locks onto yours as every sound in the forest falls silent and all he knows is the confusion in your eyes. 

“How long have you been up there?” You blurt out, your voice sounding exactly how he hears it in his dreams for the past four hundred years. A strangled sound leaves his throat, and with all of the energy he can muster, Lilia jerks himself free of the memory. 

_________________________________________________________

He stutters for air as his eyes open once more and he grips the box tight. The carving of his body on the branch overlooking yours at the base is now just a mockery for things he foolishly lost. The only way he can know you now is through the use of magic, and even that cannot return you entirely. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him he was in the memory for fifteen minutes, despite it feeling only like mere seconds. 

He shouldn’t be doing this. He turns the box over in his hand to look at the next carving. The two figures in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. He notes with a bitter amusement that they’re all sunflowers.

The box should go back on the top shelf. He should lock it away again and forget it, leave it for Silver to find only once his father is dead and rotting under the earth. Perhaps the boy can finish what the humans started—burning it to nothing but cinders. 

He shouldn’t be doing this to himself, and yet… 

“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

Lilia finds himself standing in a small cottage eerily reminiscent of his own. He knows a few months have passed since the first encounter by the way there’s snow falling heavily from the skies outside. Briar Valley’s winters are vicious—as untamed as the land itself once had been before metal teeth had torn it apart and left the fae to clean its viscera. His gaze travels to the window nearby to look out at the landscape before it’s drawn upwards to the flowers hanging down from the sill. 

Sunflowers, which look as fresh as the day they were likely picked, paint a cheery picture against the bleak backdrop beyond. 

“I am afraid it isn’t quite perfect, but it should do the trick to warm you up.” Your voice's soft cadence causes his shoulders to tense as he doesn’t turn around to face you. He can hear you humming, the sound of a bowl being set on a nearby table, and the aroma of something so intoxicating it makes his stomach twist in phantom hunger. “Why were you rushing through this blizzard to begin with?”

Lilia blinks as silence falls. You’re waiting for his response. This likely won’t play out unless he gives it.

“Her majesty bid me to deliver a missive to Princess Meleanor.” He murmurs, eyes still fixated on the sunflower. They almost look real to him despite the knowledge that this is nothing but an illusion. He hears you hum in disapproval. You often did that—hummed a lot, laughed a lot.

“Terrible weather to be doing so, but I suppose if it’s urgent, you can’t sit on it. At least have something to eat before you go braving Briar Nation once more.” 

His head turns slightly so that he can catch a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. Your back is to him as you scoop more food into a second bowl. You’re not unique—just another fae in a nation of many—but you stand out to him. Four hundred years later, he still struggles to rationalize why. 

“You must like sunflowers a lot.” He comments abruptly. He didn’t say this in the memory, and he can tell by the way it seems to stutter around him. You still turn and look at him in confusion, however. “You only have sunflowers hanging on your window.”

“Oh!” You seem surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces your face. He wishes he had never seen that again. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

He wants to say something, perhaps ‘I know’, but the memory melts away before the words can leave his tongue.

_________________________________________________________

Lilia tastes copper when his eyes snap to the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes have gone by now—another fifteen in the previous memory. His hands shake slightly as he turns the box over like a man under a compulsion. The carving of two figures by the water seems to be taunting him as his thumb traces across your body. 

He doesn’t even bother speaking the phrase clearly this time. It comes as a mumble, and suddenly he’s falling into darkness again. 

_________________________________________________________

Tension is palpable when Lilia opens his eyes. Although it’s spring, the warmth seems nonexistent in the air as deafening silence fills where he stands. You’re by his side, your arms crossed tight over your chest as you stare at the pond beyond. By your feet, a patch of sunflowers smiles up at the bright skies above.

“How much longer do you think it will last before they wipe it clean?” You ask, your voice containing barely concealed rage as your nails dig into your sleeves. His jaw clenches as he shrugs one shoulder.

“A week. A month. A year. It could be any amount of time. They have new machines that they’ve been using—new means to rip open our nation to reach its heart.” He scoffs and turns sharply. “Fucking humans. Why did they need to come here to begin with? We were fine before they came crawling onto our shores, with their bitching, and moaning, and noxious fucking machines!”

“Lilia.” Your voice is calmer as he feels your hand touch his arm. His fury simmers slightly under this action. “At least we’re gaining some ground against them, right? And they haven’t reached all of Briar Nation yet. I can still provide game and herbs to the neighbouring villages—there’s an abundance surrounding my cottage.” 

Lilia wants to say that’s because all of the animals are being driven deeper into the woods, but he holds his tongue as he meets your steadfast gaze. In the period of time since he’s come to know you, he’s also realized that your stubbornness will have you refuting every claim with an optimistic one of your own. Already you had staunchly refused to leave your cottage despite the looming threat drawing ever so nearby.

“I need to go soon.” He finally sighs as he tears his gaze away from you to the pond again. He hasn’t seen this pond since the war era simply because he knows it was drained for the Silver Owls' use. He hears your own sigh slip out as you remove your hand. The skin that you touched aches in its absence. 

He steals a glance at you and tries to preserve your side-profile in his mind. If he could, he would carve it onto every surface he possessed, marking every line and bump that comprised the masterpiece that is you to his liking. He has already devoted himself by this point to mapping these curves with his fingers under the shadow of Briar Nations endless nights. He has memorized every sound you make, as sweet as any song can be, and which places on your body elicit such music. You had both entered this dance as a means to release stress—but now, four hundred years later, he knows it meant so much more. 

He wants to sweep you in his arms. He wants to pull you to safety, to silence your protests with hushed whispers and utterances of his devotion. He wants to pour his heart into your hands until he’s empty and belonging entirely to you. He is a man who, once he devotes himself to something, gives endlessly until he remains a ghost of who he once was.

He loves you in this moment, where the sun dapples your skin, and he can pretend he’s still in the Briar Nation he knew. So, he breaks conduct again. 

“You should leave.” The memory wavers at his words. In the past, he had simply turned at this point to begin returning to your cottage so that he could ready his travel pack. “You should go to the next village over. Go somewhere safe.”

The memory wavers again, fraying along the edges, and yet still Lilia finds himself persevering. “Please. I don’t want to see what’s going to happen next.” 

You turn to look at him as his vision begins to darken. Your brow furrows, confusion etching your face as the last words you speak feel like a nail in his own coffin. 

“Lilia, this is my home.”  

_________________________________________________________

He doesn’t immediately speak as he comes back again. The clock shows forty-five minutes have passed now, and the lighting in the bedroom he sits in has altered to reflect this. A numbness has crept into his body and settled just below his skin. It fluctuates and writhes like an insect and causes him to shiver as he rotates the box once more.

The last carving is incomplete. The black marks that mar its surface guarantee this. Faintly, he can smell smoke on both the box and his hands as he traces his thumb across this, as well.

It comes back filthy. 

Lilia’s expression schools itself to a blank look as the silence of the empty cottage perpetuates. Only his breathing breaks the still air, stuttering slightly as his lips part. 

“... far cry cradle.” 

_________________________________________________________

Lilia can smell it before he sees it. Wood, smouldering in the unforgiving winter sun, accompanied by something more pungent and feral. He’s already running by the time he snaps into the memory, his feet dragging through heavy snow as he fights against the elements to reach the treeline. He can see dark smoke pluming upwards.

It’s always too late by the time he arrives. 

His steps slow, his feet drawing to a stop as cold snow soaks through his pants. Before him lays a painting of carnage, crafted by human hands, and displayed for the eyes of any fae passing by. Footsteps trample in the aged snow that surrounds the smouldering husk of the structure. Your words regarding your cottage being in a hot spot for game and herbs ring as a mockery now in his ears as he slowly, slowly, inches closer. 

“Hello?” His voice cracks as the words leave him. The forest echoes them back—hello? Hello? Hello?

Stone dust scatters across the white earth as his hand comes to touch the frame you had been so proud of when you had first shown it off. Burnt, with embers still smouldering in the wood. He feels afraid to step further, but he knows that if he doesn’t then he’ll never get the satisfaction of knowing whether you may have survived it or not. 

Lilia passes through the door frame. He looks up to what remains of your roof, to the space where sunflowers once hung, and then just beyond the large wooden table you had carved for yourself as well. A small box sits perfectly on its blackened surface, like it had been placed on display intentionally for his discovery. 

The memory begins to blur at this point. Things that should be there soon bleed into black outlines, dripping down onto the floor with a rhythmic thump. He can see static in what looks like the shape of an arm peeking out from behind the table leg as his stomach twists, and rage begins to flood through his veins in place of blood. A stuttering breath leaves him as the static arm remains still.

He is General Lilia Vanrouge. He is a soldier. He is meant to protect his people, and yet, and yet—

_________________________________________________________

Lilia snaps out of this memory by throwing the box to the floor. It clatters at his outburst before he kicks it viciously into the closet, his breath leaving him in ragged gasps as he does. His mind is a blur as his one hand grips the sheets beneath him and the other grabs his collar, trying to ground him in the moment before the whole world spins out of proportion. 

He is not General Lilia Vanrouge. He is not a soldier. He is not walking into the home of the person he thought he loved, forced to bury what was left of them in a pauper's grave—just another loss in the wartime. 

He is a man, sitting in his cottage, with a son who will be home by evening and a school he needs to pack for. 

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his face into his hands as he shakes himself free of the thoughts. “Fuck... fuck!”

A brief glance at the clock shows an hour has passed by now. His chest feels heavy, and his mind full of cotton as he dresses in a mechanical manner before going about his chores for the day.

By the time Silver returns, he’s fought off the quails, weeded the garden, cut firewood, and cleared the gutters. What he hasn’t done is clean the mug that’s been sitting in the sink since the morning—a task that Silver happily takes on after Lilia looks close to losing it.

If his son notices anything else off about his father, he says nothing about it, but Lilia does note the way Silver seems a bit more talkative than usual this evening. Lilia’s mind continues to replay the memories he experienced in a macabre theatrical viewing as he tries hard to listen to what Silver is saying. Eventually, they both fall silent as Silver washes the mug, along with the dishes from dinner in addition. The sun is beginning to set when he pauses to peer out the window with a curious expression.

“Did you see the sunflower in the garden?” Silver asks, his voice soft as he finishes drying off the mug. Lilia raises an eyebrow as he looks up again.

“What about it?” 

“It opened up.” Silver looks surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces his face. Lilia’s eyes widen as he notes the similarities between the childish joy on his son's face, and that which he once saw on your own.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

[seraphhskies]

the villain - shota aizawa

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Shota Aizawa x Fem. Reader | Smut

Prompt: Roleplay

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight violence if you squint, language

A/N: Ok this one turned out cute I think! Reader has a quirk called Hide, which allows them to turn invisible.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You're pretending to be the villain. How long can you hold out?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“So you think it’s a terrible idea?” You asked, raising a brow at the man in front of you. Shota rolled his eyes, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter in your shared apartment. 

“I never said that.” He stated. “I said, I think it’s a terrible idea unless it’s in an enclosed space.” 

“It can be enclosed!” You exclaimed, grinning widely. You were definitely taking this as a victory. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. 

“And where would that be?” 

You blanked, freezing as you tried to think as quickly as possible. Shota waited patiently, although a smug look began to grow on his face. 

You snapped, tilting your head in another grin. “Your training room should work.”

He hummed, before shrugging in agreement. You nearly squealed, embracing the man in a hug. Really, he was happy to indulge you. It wasn’t like you were the only one benefiting from this, after all. 

And that’s how you ended up in this little… predicament. 

You, stupidly, had thought Shota would go easy on you. The training room was bigger than you thought, set up with places to hide. He wasn’t much for talking, which made this a lot harder.

Heroes liked to monologue, to give speeches about justice, and he was just silently chasing you down. It was exhilarating, though you knew he would catch you eventually. 

You were panting with exertion already, your head beginning to pound from the overuse of your quirk. You peeked out from your hiding place, spotting him directly in the middle and squeaking as his eyes immediately darted to you. 

You ducked, out of his field of view yet again, and activated your quirk. Your invisibility was extremely useful against Shota- who needed to see you in order to stop you. 

A loud snap sounded just above you, your eyes widening as you watched it just barely miss. His binding cloth retreated back into his hand, and you could practically see the gears in his head turning as he tried to guess where you would be. 

You darted off as he looked in an opposite direction, but his head snapped to where the floor was indented with your footprints. Damn training-room floors, you grimaced. You squealed as the cloth shot out towards you once more, dropping to the floor to avoid it. 

In doing so, you stopped focusing on your quirk- now visible. 

“Gotcha.” Shota grinned, like a predator finally catching its prey. His hair began to float, eyes turning a bright red and stopping your quirk. 

Exhaling, trying to ignore the way the sight of him like that made your heart beat faster, you scrambled upwards. Your feet carried you to the left before you thought about it. He was quick, but you were too. 

Before you could get too much farther, he swung the cloth- wrapping it perfectly around your wrist. You struggled as he teasingly reeled you in. An idea hit you, and you almost laughed aloud at the thought. 

“Let go of me, hero!” You cried, struggling harder against the cloth. 

Shota paused, lips twitching as he nearly laughed. Instead, he forced them into a scowl. “No.”

You deadpanned. That was it?

He squinted, unsure of what else to add before he just sighed. Shota, before you could think about it any longer, had your entire body wrapped in the cloth. A slight scream left your mouth as you came whirling toward him, dizzy and wide eyed by the time he had fully pulled you over.

“Your life of crime is over, villain.” Shota said flatly, though he managed to give you his fiercest glare. You appreciated the effort and attempted to put on your best acting face. 

“Please!” You begged, eyes big and watering as you looked at him. “Isn’t there anything I can do to get out of this?” You batted your eyes. 

Shota deadpanned at you, and you were having a hard time fighting back your smile. 

“I can think of one thing.” Was his reply. This time, you could tell he was fighting the eye roll. His face was neutral, although the kiss that he pulled you into was nothing but searing. You smiled into it, lips moving perfectly against his own. 

“I think I understand,” You pretended to sniffle, attempting to frown as he pulled away. 

“Good.” Shota murmured curtly. The cloth around your arms and waist tightened, keeping you bound. 

“I’m going to unwrap you now.” He murmured, closing his eyes briefly as they were dry. Your quirk was restored, but you made no move to get away. “If you attempt to escape,” He glared, lifting his chin. “I won’t go easy on you.”

Oh. 

Those words shot straight to your core. Part of you wanted to run away just to see what would happen, but you stayed still. He withdrew the cloth, and you flexed your arms as they were freed. 

“I understand,” You breathed, sighing happily into the kiss that he pulled you into. You hummed against him, hands coming to his chest. Shota’s grip was on your hips, and he drew small circles on them with his thumbs.

He grew a bit rougher with you, pushing you onto the floor. His teeth nipped at your neck, leaving small purple marks where he sucked on your skin. You were already making sounds for him, little noises that had him struggling to focus. 

“You’re so responsive,” He murmured in your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Your face flushed in embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” You said quickly, but Shota shook his head. 

“Don’t be. I like it.” You were as red as a tomato at his response. Shota was so matter-of-fact when he spoke, and for some reason it never quit catching you off guard. 

He pulled and prodded at your body, taking his time as his hands explored every inch you offered him. A content hum left your mouth as his lips pressed to your neck, leaving soft kisses all the way down to your collarbone. 

Your hands tangled in his hair, the man letting out a low groan when you tugged on it. His eyes opened, a playful glare in them. You gave an innocent smile, sucking in a breath as he unzipped your hero costume. 

He tossed it to the side with little care after peeling it off of you. He was back on top of you then, lips attaching to your breast as you sat up to help him. A soft moan left your mouth, the hand not holding him up trailing down your body. 

You responded in kind, tugging on his shirt to get him to take it off. Reluctantly, he sat up and did as you asked. You watched him like a hawk, not wanting to miss any detail. You tilted your head to the side in a grin when he gave you a chiding look. 

“It’s not polite to stare, y’know.” Shota grumbled. 

You shrugged, raising your eyebrows and eyes flickering to your rather unclothed form. “Is that so?” You teased, leaning back to give him a bit of a show. You spread your legs, giving the most innocent look you could muster. 

You could physically see his resolve crumble, even though the man tried so hard not to let it show on his face. He didn’t respond, but the way he tensed and crawled on top of you was response enough. 

The kiss he pulled you into was burning, all tongue and teeth as he left you gasping for air. You were dripping for him, could feel it even for the half hour that the two of you were chasing one another. 

He gave you a squeeze, mouth on yours as his hand dipped down to your core. He tested how wet you were, and you could feel the way his lips twitched a bit- fighting back a smirk. You repaid the favor by fumbling for his belt, tugging it down. 

You pulled away, struggling to focus when his hand worked his magic. You were biting your lip to hold back moans, although a sigh of relief nearly left you when you finally got his damn pants down.

Shota just watched you, trying not to look entertained. Your eyes were drawn to the way he was already throbbing for you, the tip of his cock a pretty red. You wrapped your hand around the length, stroking him in time to his own pace. 

He shuddered at the first contact, the muscles of his stomach tensing. You moaned as he slipped a finger inside of you, picking up the pace. Your breathing was heavy, face contorting as you struggled to be quiet. 

“Sho,” You panted, a whine escaping you as he inserted another finger. 

“I’m listening.” He teased, through his own half-lidded eyes. 

“Fuck me already.” You pleaded softly, begging him with your eyes. Shota’s posture stiffened, and he groaned before pulling you into a kiss. 

He was quick to oblige, lifting your hips a bit to get a good position. The head of his cock teased through your folds, both of you watching intently as he rubbed against you. 

Almost painfully slowly, he pushed into you. Your hands struggled to find purchase on the floor, mouth dropping open as he finally bottomed out. He began to move after that. The pace he set increased, both of you moaning in unison as he pulled out and pushed back in. 

“Ho-holy shit-” You panted, arching into him. 

He was as much of a mess for you as you were for him, strands of hair hanging in his face as he slammed into you. Shota’s eyes were on you, drawn in by the way your breasts bounced with each thrust. 

“So good,” You whined, far more vocal than he was. 

Spurred by your sounds, a hand moved to your clit. You clenched around him, hips bucking as his pace never slowed. His fingers expertly rolled your clit, and your body trembled beneath him. Your hips bucked against his own, a sinful moan falling from your lips.

Your eyes closed, the pleasure a bit too much. He knew you were getting close- if the way your walls began to flutter around his cock were any indication. He was too, grunting as he practically drilled into you. 

As his pace increased, so did the pace of his fingers, and you were gripping onto the floor like it was a lifeline. The word ‘fuck’ left your lips over and over again, whining and crying out as you felt yourself growing closer and closer. 

“Wanna make you cum, sweetheart.” Shota’s voice was quiet, focused on the task at hand as he watched your face. His own was contorted with desire, the sounds you made just for him were enough to nearly drive him over the edge- but he waited. 

His words did the trick, the rare pet name catching you off guard enough that it had you falling, hurtling over the edge. 

You called his name, cunt clenching around his cock. He kept the pace, working you through your orgasm as he allowed himself to near his own. 

His name was a prayer on your lips, encouraging and loving as you urged him to fall with you. He hissed, hips stuttering as his body twitched. Shota’s grip on your thigh would most definitely leave a bruise, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Still sensitive, you whimpered as he pushed as deep as he could into you. His dick twitched inside of you, the remnants of his orgasm wracking his body. 

After a moment passed, he pulled out of you and you winced. The oversensitivity had you clenching around nothing. 

Exhausted, Shota laid on the floor next to you. Before you could even think to protest at the lack of affection, he pulled you on top of him. You sighed happily, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 

“Definitely a great idea.” You grinned smugly.

[lovers-rck]

summary where you and ellie go to a halloween party and end up in a tiny bathroom with an angel and a sick bunny.

theme friends with benefits

hiiiii this is my comeback to writing. i swear. or not. i don't know. im just happy to be back at this !! anyways enjoy

i don't know why but while writing this i pictured the saltburn costume kind of party (just the aesthetic)

☆

it all started like a month ago, in the halloween party.

"is this okay?" she asks, her hands caressing slightly your breasts over the fabric

you chuckle, embarrassed "yes" you see how ellie's face is covered in a blue and violet light "you can take my band if you want"

"sure" she murmurs, her hands grabbing the "prom queen" band and throwing it off to the floor.

the cold tiles of the wall meet your back, the sudden change of temperature making you shiver. handmade costumes dance on the dance floor, fake blood and poor imitations are present in the night.

upstairs, in a tiny and so-well-decorated bathroom you can hear your own breath get heavier as you feel ellie's fingertips play with your covered breast. she leaves wet kisses in your neck, shy but hungry.

ellie can't decide which was the moment when she realized that something was about to happen. later in the week she would think, ¿was when she catch you looking at her lips? ¿or when you "accidentally" touched her ass while dancing to ABBA? and she would think and think so much that her brain will start deteriorating.

but what she knows now is that she is having the time of her life.

"you have such nice tits" ellie's mouth says before she could stop herself

you laugh, a fake spider web in the wall tickling your face "thanks"

ellie nods and lick your neck, her tongue tasting your salty and perfumed skin. you whimper as she continues assaulting your skin, sucking and kissing and sucking again.

your hand grab her head while you think of for how long you been ignorant of your friend's mouth and her abilities.

your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror, a very stylish spiderman suit and a bloody carrie making out in the tiniest bathroom of all times.

"i think i gave you a hickey" ellie says, a thread of saliva dangling as she moves away, her lips shiny "i can't really see with these lights"

"i'm glad you're so committed to your spider costume that you have to bite me" you joke and she rolls her eyes

"i'm spiderman, not a simple spider you idiot"

you roll your eyes at her. it pass a few seconds until you talk again "do you think it will be weird if i kiss you?"

"don't think so" she says, placing the hair behind her ear "no weirder than giving you a hickey"

"yeah but isn't kissing more intimate?"

"only if you make it more intimate" ellie says as she fix your plastic crown "a lot of friends kiss eachothers"

"yeah?"

she nods

"it's just a kiss" she replies "it doesn't have to mean anything"

you nod "right" you lick your own lips "we can be that type of friends"

"yeah, totally" ellie swallows "we can"

so you kiss her. and it's feels warm and wet.

ellie grabs you by the jaw quickly, taking the power. her grip is strong and the moment you moan in her mouth you want to punch yourself in the face.

"you were dying for me to kiss you huh?" she teases you, her breath hits your wet lips as she speaks

you could feel her confident starting to grow "in your dreams"

"i do other things to you in my dreams"

before you could react, ellie's lips are over yours again. your agitated breath echo in between hungry kisses, floating around the curious hands and hot skin.

but when ellie's hands are in the hem of your shirt, you hear a loud knock on the door.

"i"ll be out in a minute" you shout and push ellie away. she lean back against the sink, agitated.

"she's about to throw up!" a girl yells from the other side of the door "open up now!"

you grimace at ellie and she opens the door.

a plastic feathered angel and a playboy bunny quickly interrupt in the bathroom at the same time as the bunny vomits an almost neon green liquid over the toilet.

"let it all out" the angel says to the bunny "i told you you shouldn't accept tyler's drink from fight club"

ellie raises her eyebrows as she admires the scene, you notice how her lips are swollen and her hair is messy.

"are you going to stand there and watch?" the angel says as she holds the bunny's hair "it's not a fucking show"

"jesus" you say

"uh, sorry" ellie mumbles, awkward "goodbye"

the angel's words of encouragement to her bunny-friend become meaningless once you and ellie leave the bathroom. the loud music hits you one more time as you come back to the dance floor where sweaty bodies glow under the neon lights.