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changbunnies · 1 year ago

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Scent Of You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin

♡ Genre: dubcon, little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, vague allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.8k (oops)

♡ Summary: In which a sweet, naive bunny hybrid nicknamed 'little red' becomes lost in the forest at night, and finds herself face to face with the big, bad wolves her grandmother always warned her about.

♡ Warnings: uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration before it devolves into smut, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There lol

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): dubcon, pet names (though mostly as a title- such as bunny, little red, and sweetheart), the word slut is used a few times, gendered language such as "dirty girl", scent stuff lol, dom/sub dynamics (dom!chan, sub!reader, allusions to switch!bin), a lot of kissing, size difference, size kink (i'm sorry if you're tall just pretend ur small and they're huge because ur a rabbit and they're a wolf fsdgsdf), oral (m + f rec), spitroasting, some manhandling, some banter and mild rivalry between bin and chan, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms and multiple creampies

♡ Notes: so i intended to take a small break from writing after finishing crave but inspo struck me as i was trying to fall asleep and i NEEDED to write it so i literally shot up and wrote all of this in one sitting in a cold sweat fsdgdsf so here we are, one last surprise upload before my break <3 it's easily the most self indulgent fic i've written to date dfdgh bunny is my fave petname and this is basically just my excuse to be called bunny in a wolf binchan sandwich lmao this is not as proofread as my other stuff given how quickly i wrote it, and it's my first time writing a threesome, but i hope you enjoy! edit: there is now a sequel you can read here !

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

"Please, take care sweetheart. Don't stay out too long," your grandmother warns with a tender kiss to your forehead as you prepare to head out for the day, pulling the hood of your long, red cape up over your head, tucking in your hair and covering your lopped ears.

"I know, grandmother, I know! I'll be back before you know it, I promise," you assure her with a smile, hooking your twine basket into your arm, empty and ready to be filled with treats of the forest.

Your grandmother heaves a soft sigh, as she falls back against the bed, and you give her hand a reassuring squeeze and a soft goodbye before you make your way out of your quaint cottage, a long line of intimidating, tall standing trees before you. Grandmother always worries for your safety, as the woods aren't entirely safe for a rabbit like yourself, but so long as the sun hangs bright in the sky, you'd be perfectly fine.

Really, it's only at night that the woods near your home become truly dangerous, as all manner of nocturnal predators leave their dens in search of their next meal. For a rabbit such as yourself, lingering in the woods at night is assuredly a death sentence; your diminutive stature and weak limbs would cause you to easily fall victim to the beasts that stalk through the forest with the moon's aid.

The only thing on your side would be your speed, but even then it's no guarantee of safety once a predator has you in their sights. And so your grandmother always instilled a proper fear of the dark within you, in the hope that you'd never find yourself in a situation in which you'd have to flee in the first place.

Entering the forest brings with it countless anxieties for your species, but it's not like you can simply not go. The gifts of nature are what sustains you, and you have to enter the woods, even live near them, if you want to have food in your tummy and herbal medicines on your shelves.

As such, you are always very conscious of the amount of time you spend in the forest, only ever entering when the sun is brightly illuminating your surroundings, always careful and alert as you gather what you need. You observe the sun's position in the sky, use it to determine how much time you have left before it begins to set, always heading back well before it starts to sink behind the trees.

And you'd never stay longer than necessary, especially not when you have grandmother waiting at home praying for your safe return! But well.. grandmother is quite ill these days, and you spent more time than you usually would gathering the berries and leaves you’ll need to make her sweet, healing brews of tea.

Soon enough, winter's chill would cause all the greenery to frost and wither, and you wanted to stock up now to ensure you had enough to last 'til the end of the season. It was for grandmother's health! Surely she'd understand and forgive you if you stayed out just a little longer than usual.

But as dusk started to settle over the trees, and you realized how precious few moments of sunlight you had left to make it home with, panic began to accumulate in the pit of your stomach. You tried your best to take deep breaths, to not allow your heart to race– as long as you remained calm, you could get back before dark, you were sure of it.

The more the sun sank however, the more you lost your clarity; you found yourself stumbling in circles, the encroaching dark causing the forest to become unrecognizable, leading you blindly in circles. You'd long since lost sight of the path you always followed home, and the moon and stars, which were normally such a beautiful sight, now came with a sense of foreboding.

It was dark, you were lost, and grandmother was now all alone, probably worrying herself half to death wondering where you could be and if you're even still alive. You continue blindly weaving your way through the trees, just praying that you're moving in the direction of home; you can't afford to hide away and wait until morning, not when a beast could be around any corner.

Using your speed to your advantage, you dart past a near endless sea of trees, praying, praying, and praying the clearing will come into view and you’ll see your cottage in the middle, with orange light from the fire peeking through the windows and smoke billowing from the chimney.

Suddenly you stop, entire body freezing as your hair stands on end, nose twitching as an unfamiliar scent fills your nostrils; someone is near– someone that you should avoid at all costs. It’s so heavy, overwhelming beyond comprehension– the scent of the forest itself is still identifiable, but mixed now with something akin to leather, black coffee, and hot iron.

The scent is actually quite pleasant, so that's not what causes you to freeze; it’s the unfamiliarity that is the true root of the problem, evoking a deep rooted, innate fear response. You know all the “safe” smells– that of other prey animals such as yourself, for instance, are recognizable, comforting, and bring about a sense of calm.

To be met with the unfamiliar is to be met with danger; it means that whatever is near is something you’ve never encountered during your safe treks through the forest, it means that a predator likely has you in their sights. And as grandmother has told you, if you smell them it’s already too late– they’ve found you.

“Now, now, what do we have here?” A deep voice calls, hidden from your sight. Your heart erupts in an erratic rhythm, a chill running down your spine as your eyes desperately search the darkness for the source of the voice. And there, you finally see it– or rather, him. A man, standing much, much taller and bulkier than you, sharp fangs exposed with his smile, fangs that you are sure will be used to rip you apart.

You see pointed ears and dusky blue-silver fur, a long tail that swishes with intrigue and delight, a fur coat with the arms cut off, an exposed chest laden with scars both fresh and faded. He’s a wolf, you realize with dread, the thing you were taught to fear most of all.

You unconsciously take a step back as he approaches, the moonlight illuminating him in a way that evokes both fear and reverence; as beautiful as he is dangerous. “What’s a little thing like you doing in the forest at night, hmm? Don’t you know it isn’t safe, little red?” he says with a sickeningly sweet smile, referencing the caped hood you’re wearing, a gift from your grandmother meant to keep you safe from men like him.

You clutch your basket tighter as your legs begin to tremble, lowering your head and pulling your hood down further, trying your best to ensure your ears and other features are completely covered. He probably knows by smell alone you’re a prey animal, but you vainly hope he’ll let you go if he doesn’t realize you’re a rabbit– a stupid hope, but it’s the only one you have.

“Poor thing, don’t be scared. You got lost, didn’t you, little red?” With each step towards you he takes, you take another step back, until your back meets that of a thick tree, the erratic rhythm of your heart building to a speed you thought otherwise impossible.

“Tell me– where did you come from?” The wolf asks with an intimidating smile full of fang, “I recognize you from somewhere. Where was it I’ve smelled you before..?”

With nowhere to go, caged against the tree as the wolf closes in, all you can do is tremble as you watch him sniff the air, licking his lips as if tasting your scent. Most prey animals are generally the same, but there’s only one place he’s gotten the scent of sugar and cream from..

“Ah, I know,” he says suddenly, smile growing wider as he speaks, “That little cottage in the clearing– that’s it, isn’t it? That’s your home?” You swallow as you timidly nod, your nerves much too frayed to attempt to lie– you’ve never been a good liar anyways, your grandmother having raised you to be honest and good.

“You’re quite far from home, little red. But I can help you,” he offers, but you know better than to trust a wolf– they’re liars, all of them. “N-No, I.. I can get there by myself,” you say, finally finding your voice (shaky and timid though it may be.)

The man hums, seemingly amused by your brave display; he knows how scared you are, can quite literally taste it, but he has to commend you for trying, at least. “I’m not sure that’s true. Do you know which way home is?”

“W-Well, uhm, I.. I– I, I don’t–” you stutter and fumble, and he chuckles, a smug look of “thought-so” clear on his face as he grins at you. His hand finds your cheek, and you look up at him with glassy, teary eyes, heart thumping out of control as he strokes your skin with his thumb.

He smiles sweetly, almost boyishly– a look that would be endearing if he wasn’t a wolf, and you weren’t afraid for your life. His clawed hand travels from your cheek to the top of your hood, and you quickly reach your hands up to clutch the fabric, keeping it fully tugged down in a vain attempt to continue to hide your identity.

The wolf laughs, clearly amused at your reaction. “Come now, little red, show me what sort of ears you’re hiding under there,” he coos and you shake your head, eyes squeezing shut and knuckles turning white as you desperately cling to your hood.

At this point it probably no longer matters what you are exactly– no matter the answer, it’s clear the wolf before your eyes has plans for you that won’t go unfulfilled. But still, your survival instincts are in overdrive, and you can’t help but try your best to protect yourself, even if the endeavor proves to be worthless.

He tugs at your hood, not yet trying to fully pull it off, but rather playing with you– he could easily pull it off in one quick swipe, his claws could tear the fabric to ribbons, but he chooses to instead have his fun, watch you panic and struggle with the hood in your tiny hands.

You look at him, unfallen tears blurring your vision; you don’t know what else to do. Grandmother always said if you found yourself cornered by wolves, your only option would be to run and pray for the best, but is that really the best you can do? And while you’re fast, wolves are faster– you’re sure the man would be able to catch up with you easily, especially given that the moon is his ally and he is likely extremely familiar with the deep woods.

Further still, he clearly stated he knows your home; even if you escape, he knows exactly where to go to find you. It fills you with dread, knowing that even if you do make it home, your grandmother would be there too; and you’d never forgive yourself if something bad happened to her because of you.

It’s an impossible choice you are being dealt– surrender to your fate now, or try your best to flee and risk dragging your precious grandmother down with you. But as he finally tugs down your hood, your white, snow-like lopped ears are fully exposed, and the wolf’s fangs shine as he gleefully smiles, you find yourself unconsciously making a choice– you run, as fast as your legs will carry you.

The cape gets caught and snags on stray branches from the myriad trees, tearing as you continue to run, adrenaline coursing through your veins, chest aching from the erratic, forcefully thumping of your heart, breath coming out quick and harsh.

You barely make it 10 feet ahead through the trees before you’re crashing into something, the sudden impact causing you to let out an involuntary shout as you stumble back and fall ungracefully on your backside. Looking up, tears fall from your eyes when you realize it’s another wolf– shorter than the one who’d cornered you previously, but bulkier, with fur as dark as obsidian and a scent that matches it.

You suspect that he was there the entire time, and you just didn’t notice due to the panicked focus you held on getting away from the blue-silver wolf. “Where do you think you're going, little red?” the new wolf speaks, affirming your fears; he was there for the entire exchange, witness to the moniker you’d been given and now using it for himself.

“Oh Changbin, you caught her,” you hear the previous wolf say from somewhere behind you, leaves and twigs snapping beneath his feet as he approaches your spot on the ground. “Course,” the dark wolf evidently named Changbin speaks, kneeling down to look directly in your teary eyes, “I’d never let such a sweet little thing get away from us.”

He reaches to the side of your body, where your twine basket has fallen from your arms and spilled its contents, all the berries and leaves you gathered now decorating the dirt. “Hmm, most of these are herbal. What a sweet girl you are, gathering until late into the night! Your grandmother must be proud of you, hmm?” Changbin smiles, looking up to the previous wolf once he stands again, your basket in his hands, “Don’t you think so, Chan-hyung?”

The blue-silver wolf that the dark wolf calls Chan hums in agreement, once again calling you a “sweet thing.” Chan offers you a hand to help you stand, and you hesitate, swallowing as your eyes dart nervously between them. Their eyes on you make you nervous beyond just the predator-prey relationship you share; they’re both so impossibly ethereal in the light of the moon, and it makes you wonder if all wolves are such divine creatures.

Maybe that’s why the rest of the forest view them reverently; beautiful, powerful, utterly intimidating in all aspects– they offer no choice from a rabbit such as yourself but submission simply from presence alone. “What’s your name, little red?” is Chan’s next question, and again, you find yourself unable to lie; against your own sense of self-preservation, you tell him your name.

He hums, repeating your name as if testing the way it falls from his tongue before diverting back to his nickname for you. “Let’s make a deal, little red,” the wolf says, still holding out his hand, waiting for you to take it. You finally do so cautiously, letting Chan help you to your feet, your legs still trembling but not yet buckling in the face of fear.

“W-What kind of deal?” you ask hesitantly, looking between the two wolves who smile and lick their lips, tongues ghosting over their fangs as they do. Beautiful, powerful, intimidating, your mind repeats.

“We want to play with you,” Chan says smoothly, the answer coming natural to him, “play with us for a little while, and then we’ll take you home. We promise.” You look at the other, younger wolf who nods, backing the sentiment of his superior.

Here you are, confronted in the deepest reaches of the forest by two wolves, and instead of devouring you they just want to “play”..? What does playing entail with them? You’re not sure how much you truly want to know, but the promise of home dangling in front of you makes you consider their offer despite how foolish it may be.

“You’re not.. tricking me, are you?” you ask, voice small, full of naivety and hope. “Of course not, sweetheart, we would never,” Changbin affirms, even going so far as to pick up the spilled contents of your basket and nestle them carefully back inside– a promise that by the time you’re done “playing”, you’ll be reunited with your sickly grandmother and able to care for her again.

“You just smell so sweet,” Chan says, his clawed fingers once again tracing over your cheek, “and we’ve always wanted to play with a sweet little bunny like you.” You nervously exhale the breath you unconsciously held when his hand traced your skin, searching his eyes for any sort of deceit.

If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely confident in your ability to tell if the wolves are lying to you– they’re masters of manipulation, after all; lying is second nature to them. Still, you want to trust them– trust that after you play with them for a little while, they’ll keep their promise of taking you home with your basket in your arms and everything you need to get through the winter.

“If you really promise, then.. I’ll play with you,” you answer, and the wolves both smile eagerly, with the elder wolf taking you in his arms, swiftly lifting you up off your feet. You squeak in surprise, instinctively clutching tightly to his fur coat, scared of being dropped.

“Let’s go have some fun then,” Chan grins at you, making sure his hold on you is secure before he starts to move, “but not here. The floor here’s too dirty for you, isn’t it?” It’s a rhetorical question in which he expects no answer; instead he starts winding through the trees quickly, a destination clearly in mind.

You vaguely see the other wolf trailing behind before you squeeze your eyes shut, the blur of trees and wind whipping through your hair and past your ears making you dizzy as you’re carried further and further into the forest, likely towards its center. It takes you a few moments to open your eyes once you’ve realized you’re no longer moving at high speeds; Chan, who still has you in his arms, is now walking at a leisurely place through what you assume is his den.

The smell of other wolves is distinct but distant– evidently, the three of you are the only ones home for the night. It makes you breathe a small sigh of relief to know the rest of his pack is absent, attending to their own matters. It makes you feel safer, somehow; as if you’re not literally inside a wolf's den, at the mercy of whatever it is the two before you want with you.

Eventually you are carried into a bedroom– one that smells more of Chan than the other wolf, which leads you to believe this is his room specifically. Changbin doesn’t seem to mind that the “playing” will take place here, a smile still clear on his face as he shuts the door behind himself, locking the door behind him as Chan sets you on his rather large bed.

Your ears lie flat against your head, your nerves eating away at you as you fiddle with your hands. You watch them both carefully, taking note of where Changbin sets down your basket before he meets you and Chan at the bed.

The two of them standing over you makes you feel impossibly small, affirms how much better they are than you in every evolutionary aspect; speed, strength, size– they have it all. And you, one measly little rabbit with no significant qualities in comparison to them, who has no choice but to put her life in their hands if she wants to survive. How unfair.

“Tell me, little red,” Chan starts as he sits next to you on his bed, one large hand enough to cup your entire face and direct your complete attention towards him, “are bunnies as slutty as they say?” Your eyes widen as you gulp in shock, having not expected such a forward, explicit question.

“Yeah, I’m curious,” Changbin follows up, sitting firmly on your other side, caging you in between the both of them, “they don’t say ‘fucking like rabbits’ for no reason, right? So what are you? A slut?”

“I-I’m not!” you sputter out; it’s true that rabbits have a reputation for promiscuity but you live a rather sheltered life with your grandmother– you hardly even know other rabbits your age, much less male rabbits. That being said, you have been a little.. intense during your heats– but you rode those out with toys, not with the help of men.

And you don’t think there’s any shame in promiscuity, but that’s simply not the life you lead; you live modestly, simply taking care of your grandmother to the best of your ability. You barely even have time to masturbate these days– fucking is entirely out of the realm of possibility, as busy as you are.

“But you’ve taken cock before?” Changbin asks from behind you rather shamelessly, and Chan looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer with a cocked brow. “W-Well, yes, but–” you start and Chan is smiling again, another happy hum leaving his lips. ..Does your virginity status really matter here..?

Your eyes widen again when the reality of what you’ve agreed to clicks, and Chan chuckles at your delayed reaction. “You’re not very smart, are you, bunny? But that’s okay– you don’t need to be smart to have fun, isn’t that right?”

Changbin is the next to speak, his hot breath coming out against one of your lopped ears, his hands tracing your hips, “Mhm, sweet, dumb bunnies are cute, don’t you think? I bet they have lots of fun,”

It’s vaguely condescending, how they speak of you– sweet and dumb, as if your intelligence pales next to theirs, as if you are an object designed for their pleasure and no other. And somehow, it adds to the tremble in your legs, your breath hitching when Chan squeezes your cheeks between his fingers and thumb, forcing your mouth to open.

You overtly whine, the wolf’s obscenely long tongue sliding into your mouth, exploring with another eager hum, his fangs catching on your lip with each kiss. As he kisses you, his fingers tug at the knot of your caped hood, leaving the task of discarding it to the other wolf once the knot is undone.

Goosebumps once again rise on your skin, with Changbin kissing and licking your neck after your cape has been tossed aside, deeply inhaling your scent as Chan continues to abuse your lips with his tongue and teeth. “Chan-hyung wasn’t kidding when he said you smell so sweet,” he whispers against your skin as he continues to trail his kisses down towards your shoulder, “it’s intoxicating.”

It’s shameless and almost embarrassing, the way arousal pools in your underwear despite all preconceived notions of how a rabbit should behave in the face of a predatory animal; but the more they kiss and lick, the more fear ebbs away, and becomes replaced by pleasure and yearning.

It’s been so long since you last felt the touch of someone else, having been stricken to solitary heats since becoming your grandmother’s carer. It almost humiliates you to admit how good their touch feels on your burning skin.

They can quite literally feel your body release its tension, Changbin’s strong arms being the ones to hold you up as you melt into their touch, and the smell of your leaking arousal obviously doesn’t go undetected by either of their noses. Chan pulls away from your lips, a smirk visible on his features when you open your eyes to look at him. “What a dirty girl you are, excited already,” he says, another whine escaping you not only from his words, but from the feeling of Changbin’s teeth grazing your neck.

Chan, who could quite easily rip your dress from your body, instead opts to tug the fabric away much more carefully than you’d have anticipated– perhaps they really mean to return you home after this? Changbin, whose torso was substantially more covered than his elder’s, removes his top, leaving you to feel his bare, muscular chest against your now exposed back.

He wastes no time in latching back to your neck, licking, sucking, teeth grazing the skin, but not biting down– whether to spare you the shame of returning home with the clear mark of a predator, or because he doesn’t have permission from lead of the pack however, is unclear.

Your breasts, which you’ve always considered quite full despite your diminutive frame, easily fit within Chan’s large palms. Their ability to not only make you feel, but look small leaves you dizzy. You should be afraid of how they eclipse your frame with their size, but instead you find it exciting, your brain unraveling everything you’ve been taught about self-preservation in favor of experiencing utmost pleasure from two hulking wolves.

Shame, it seems, has entirely left you, as slick leaks from you easily, drenching your underwear with each touch from their rough hands. Chan’s fingers play with your sensitive nipples, pulling and tugging until you’re writhing against Changbin’s body, who has his own hands tracing your hips and thighs, pressing lingering kisses to any patch of skin he can reach.

Chan lowers himself to take one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it as his hand continues to play with the other. Meanwhile, Changbin’s hand slinks around, brushing over your stomach before his hand dips between your legs, rubbing your heat over your soaked underwear.

“Fuck, this messy for us already? You have to feel her, hyung, touch her pussy,” Changbin speaking such filthy words right next to your ear makes you shudder, a whimper leaving from deep in your throat when Chan obliges, his hand quick to replace the younger wolf’s.

Instead of touching you over your clothes however, he opts to completely tear them from your body, in stark contrast to how he treated your dress– you suppose the underwear is less important to remain intact, or maybe he just can’t help it after having gotten this far?

“Oh, look at that Binnie, you’re right,” Chan grins as his fingers rub along your folds, spreading the slick around to create even more of a mess between your legs, “You’re such a dirty bunny underneath, hmm?”

Your face burns red, another whine escaping as shame finally returns to you, your hands reaching to cover your face. The pair of them coo, finding the display cute, whilst simultaneously making their cocks throb– what a treat, to have found a bunny that is both incredibly sweet and effortlessly sexy all at once.

Chan pushes Changbin’s hands away from your body, and quickly turns you around. Your back is now against Chan, and he hooks your legs over his knees, spreading you open for the younger wolf to see. “Let’s give Binnie a look at your dripping pussy, don’t you think he deserves it after being so sweet to you?” More slick dribbles its way out of you, soaking the mattress beneath, a treat for Changbin’s eager eyes.

Peeking between your fingers, you see his dark tail swishing behind him in delight, very clearly excited by the sight he’s met with. “Can I taste her, hyung? I want to so bad,” he asks, licking his lips, his eager, sparkling eyes not leaving you for even a second. “Mm, what do you think, little red? Should we let him have a taste?” Chan asks, and though you can’t see him anymore, you can practically hear the smile in his voice– playful and fun.

You nod quickly, though Chan doesn’t seem content with that response– he tsks, once again grabbing your face and making you twist your neck to look at him. “You gotta use your words, sweetheart, you understand?” You start to simply nod again, but then quickly follow up with a small “yes”, to which the wolf smiles. He diverts your gaze back to Changbin, forcing you to hold the darker wolf’s gaze. “Good bunny, go ahead and tell him, then. Tell him you want him to eat you.”

He can feel your face burn beneath his fingers, and though you can’t see it you’re sure there’s a smug smile gracing his perfect face as he waits for you to properly address Changbin. “I-I.. I want you to eat me, please,” you force yourself to mumble out, not missing the way Changbin’s cock throbs in his torn shorts. With one last lick of his lips, he’s diving between your thighs, looking up at you with a grin, “I’ll devour you, sweetheart.”

You gasp when his tongue licks between your folds, a loud moan unintentionally falling from your lips as he eagerly laps away at you. You can’t help but squirm in Chan’s hold, his legs continuing to hold yours open and preventing them from closing around Changbin’s head.

Changbin moans as he licks and sucks on your clit, as if the act is more pleasurable for him than you; and eventually he alternates between giving his undivided attention to your clit, to sliding his tongue as deep into your hole as it’ll go, letting his nose bump your clit instead.

Chan’s erection digs into your back, sometimes groaning when your squirming and twitching causes friction; but he’s not content to just sit behind you and watch– he wants to add to the fun. So his hands come up to the soft base of your ears, expecting it to be as erogenous of a zone for you as it is for them– and by your reaction, he can tell it is.

Your head falls back against him, and he can just catch a glimpse of your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, mouth hanging open as more moans and desperate whimpers leave you. “You getting close, sweet bunny? You wanna cum?” Chan asks, grinning when you once again quickly nod your head, a near endless stream of whimpery moans leaving you as your high approaches.

“Answer properly,” he reminds you, though his tone isn’t as strict as before– it’s almost playful, amused; he’s having fun. “W-Wanna cum, please, please let– hah– please let me cum,” you beg between harsh breaths, your entire body feeling like a wire on the verge of snapping.

“You heard her Bin, make her cum,” you hear Chan say as he becomes harsher with your ears, his calloused fingers now rubbing in rough circles. Your entire body jolts and convulses as the wire finally snaps, cry after cry of white pleasure spilling from your lips as you release on Changbin’s waiting tongue. He hums as he licks up all you offer him, not separating himself from his spot between your legs until he’s sure he’s got it all and you’re shuddering from the overstimulation.

Changbin takes your face in his hands, pulling you just slightly away from Chan as he drags you into a kiss, his tongue shoving its way into your mouth. Your taste is all over his tongue, his mouth stealing away all the breath you’ve just barely managed to breathe into your lungs after the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes are hazy when he pulls away, fogged over by lust and needs for the wolves you are sandwiched between.

You just barely register Changbin looking past you to Chan, as if asking what to do next; though the exchange is silent, it seems like Changbin knows exactly where to go from here after receiving a certain look– have they done this before, you wonder?

Changbin scoots back just a bit before grabbing your legs, unhooking them from Chan’s knees before he’s pulling you down, closer to him. You gasp, your head falling straight onto Chan’s lap– well, more accurately to one of his thighs, before he’s closing his legs to act as a pillow for you.

His cock, though still obscured by the fabric of his shorts, is right next to your face and impressive in its size, just as Changbin’s is. The two of them, in almost practiced unison, pull down their shorts, though the task is harder for Chan, who has your head resting on his lap. He still manages well enough, and you’re met with the sight of his hard, leaking cock right in front of your eyes, almost close enough to touch your cheek.

You look up at Chan, who looks down to meet your gaze with a grin. “Hope you’re ready, bunny,” is all the warning you get before you’re flipped around to your front, another squeak of surprise as you’re manhandled to your knees, bent to where Changbin wants you, with your face still squarely in Chan’s lap.

One of Chan’s hands holds his cock at the base while the other reaches under your chin, lifting your face up to look directly at him. “Show me what you can do while you’re taking cock,” he instructs, your body trembling as you feel Changbin’s cock rub between your folds, slicking himself up.

You whine when his cock presses against your hole, Changbin’s hands holding your hips up while Chan’s guide you to take his leaking cock into your mouth. You never imagined you’d be in a scenario where you’re taking in the cocks of two wolves at once, but you welcome the challenge.

Changbin enters you first, the stretch the most intense you’ve ever taken– you can’t help but gasp, the sting pricking up every inch of your body. Chan, thankfully, doesn’t force you to take him entirely into your mouth in this state– he lets you instead kiss and lick the tip, recognizing your need to adjust to a size you’re entirely unused to taking.

They both praise you, though Changbin’s voice is significantly more strained and breathy as he continues his slow push inside your tight heat. Your nails dig into Chan’s thighs for support, and he doesn’t scold you for taking pauses in giving him attention, instead just watching as you squeeze your eyes shut and do your best to control your heavy breathing.

“Big stretch, isn’t it bun?” Chan ends up asking, which causes you to nod with teary eyes. “‘s so big,” you exhale, and Changbin whines from behind you– you wonder if he likes hearing how big he is? You can also hear the loud swishing of his tail, almost like a whip with how quick it snaps from side to side; it’s an undeniable truth that Changbin has been very, very excited to play with you the entire night.

Changbin hisses once he’s fully aside, while Chan takes this time to rub your back in a soothing gesture you wouldn’t typically expect from a wolf. You look up at him, eyes full of equal parts gratitude and lust, and he simply smiles, hunching his back down to meet your lips in a kiss.

“Not fair, I wanna kiss her too–” Changbin protests from behind you and Chan scoffs when he pulls away from your lips. “Your dick is literally inside her Bin, shut the fuck up,” he says and to your surprise, you giggle– Changbin is kind of cute, isn’t he? At least, in a weird, wolfy sort of way.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asks, and you can almost hear the playful sort of pout in his voice. “S-Sorry, didn’t mean to,” you mumble, hoping you didn’t offend him. You take a cautious peek at him from over your shoulder, relieved to find that he’s actually smiling once he stops his dramatic pouting. Cute, you think again, but he doesn’t let you feel that way for long.

He pulls out to the tip and presses back inside in one, swift motion, causing a moan to erupt from you as your nails once again dig into Chan’s skin. “Won’t be laughing by the time I’m done with you, bunny,” Changbin says as he repeats the motion, and it takes everything in you to not utterly collapse onto Chan’s lap.

He hits your spot every time, and you swear you can feel it all the way in your stomach– but Chan doesn’t let you stay idle in your pleasure for very long. “C’mon, sweet bunny, you know what to do,” he says, his hand under your chin directing you back to his own neglected length.

Unable to control yourself much after Changbin starts picking up his pace, you simply open your mouth and stick out your tongue, allowing Chan to enter your mouth however much he wishes to, completely handing your control to him. Changbin’s thrusts cause you to take more of Chan into your mouth than you’d initially take all at once, and it causes Chan to curse, his cock hitting the back of your throat within seconds of entering your mouth.

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to well with tears, and then for those tears to cascade down your cheeks, trying your best not to choke and gag as Changbin, voluntarily or otherwise, forces you to take more and more of Chan’s cock down your throat. You can hardly even breathe between the pleasure of Changbin drilling you from behind and Chan’s cock obstructing your primary airway, but it makes you dizzy in the best way possible.

You feel floaty, every cell in your body knowing nothing but intense pleasure. Chan strokes your head, sometimes petting your ears for that extra burst of pleasure that makes you clench tighter and causes Changbin to curse from behind you each and every time.

Changbin, who is observing the way his cock looks sliding in and out of your tiny hole, gets a flash of inspiration when he looks at your cute, fluffy cottontail. Experimentally, he takes it into his hands, rubbing your tail between his fingers, and you keen, a shiver traveling throughout your entire body.

“Oh, you like that?” he asks, a bit smug as he continues to rub and gently tug at your tail, a loud whine escaping you that is muffled only by the cock lodged in your mouth. Chan can see your eyes rolling back, and decides to double the pleasure, not letting his hands leave your ears for even a second.

Your noises tumble freely now, quick and constant, rising in volume despite how muffled they are. It’s overwhelming being played with like this, but it feels so fucking good you’d never think to complain– you may become addicted to this sensation when it’s all said and done.

You’re so wet and warm, and now squeezing impossibly tight– Changbin isn’t going to last, and you can feel him throbbing and twitching as his pace begins to stutter. “Shit- fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he whines, letting go of your hip with his other hand to reach under you and find your clit with his fingers. “Cum with me, pretty bunny, c’mon, I know you’re close too,” he says, quickly rubbing your clit between two of his fingers.

Chan guides your head off of him, letting you suck in the breath you desperately need before he’s lifting you up just enough to meet his lips, capturing your moans with his mouth. You cum again with a succession of loud whimpers, your hands squeezing at Chan’s body desperately. “Oh my god, yes, ‘m cumming, c-cumming–” Changbin gasps, his cum shooting inside you in quick spurts, his bottom lip tucked between his sharp teeth as he groans.

Chan lets you fall back to his lap, breathless and almost entirely spent, with Changbin breathing heavily behind you. He pulls out when he finally starts to soften, and you glance behind you the best you can to see him pouting at his elder again.

“You did that to make me jealous!” he accuses Chan in reference to kissing you, and the other wolf simply shrugs with a smirk. “I can kiss you too, Binnie,” you mumble, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.

He whines again, and you realize it’s the first time you’re actually using one of their names. “You should’ve said my name while cumming, bunny,” he grunts as he scoops you up, pulling you back to his chest. “I don’t think she could’ve–” Chan starts to interject, laughing when Changbin glares at him, capturing your lips in a possessive kiss.

They’re not actually fighting over you, but you find the dynamic fun– maybe that’s why they like to share; and you don’t think you’ve ever felt this desired before. Changbin’s tail is swishing again as he kisses you, and you giggle when you hear it– he’s like a puppy, you think; eager, and easily excitable, with a hint of jealousy that makes him fun to tease.

When he pulls away, he looks at Chan and then back at you, “Can you handle one more, sweetheart? Channie-hyung still needs a turn with you.”

“I can take it, I’m a good bunny,” you affirm and they both grin, Chan reaching out to you and pulling you away from Changbin’s arms, into his own. “Such a good girl,” he hums as he lays you down on the mattress, taking his place between your legs while Changbin lays down next to you, rubbing his hand over your soft tummy.

Changbin’s cum is leaking steadily out of you, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind the mess it’s making on his mattress– you've made your own mess of his bed too, after all. He instead uses his fingers to gather up what has leaked and spread it over his own length, using it as lubrication for his own push inside of you.

Changbin presses kisses to your heated cheeks, licking away the tears that fall as Chan starts to push his cock inside you. Chan, who has been entirely composed up to this point, finally breaks just a bit– enough for his breath to start coming out harsher as you feel him twitch and throb inside you.

His tail doesn’t swish as fast and erratically as Changbin’s but it is nonetheless moving happily side to side, a clear indicator that you’re actually affecting him, and he’s not all confidence and smug charisma. “Can I play with you while Channie-hyung fucks you, bunny?” Changbin asks, his hand creeping up to your chest, smiling when you quickly nod at him.

Chan should scold you for not answering properly, but he’s focusing on his own pleasure now– taking your legs into his hands and holding them open while he fucks in and out of you. Changbin plays with your nipples, his hand taking turns between them while the other is used to keep himself propped up to watch.

“You’re making him feel good, can you tell?” he asks, and you look at Chan, who has sweat trailing down his brow and his plump bottom lip sucked between his teeth, face scrunched in pleasure. It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you turn back to Changbin, a small pout on your lips.

“I-I wish I–” a deep breathy moan interrupts your dialogue as Chan hits your spot, but you continue, “I wish I could’ve s-seen you too.” You bet he looked absolutely divine, just as Chan does. Changbin groans, your sentiment evidently having an affect on him.

“God, you’re the fucking sweetest, bunny,” he tells you, leaning forward to kiss you some more, his tongue once again shoving it’s way into your mouth. You tangle your fingers in Changbin’s curly hair as he kisses you, and he whines when you unintentionally tug during a particularly harsh thrust from Chan.

Changbin simply watches your face in awe for a moment when you pull away to breathe and let yourself fall back against the mattress, finding you incredibly cute, beautiful even, even with your hair a mess and drenched in sweat. “B-Binnie, Channie, think ‘m gonna cum again–” you whine, eyes rolling back once more when it causes Chan’s thrusts to become harsher.

“Yeah? Gonna cum again, slutty bunny?” Changbin smiles, egging you on with his voice. You nod quickly, pleas starting to fall from your lips effortlessly, “I-I can, right? Been a good girl, a good bunny? Good bunnies can cum?”

They both smile, endless encouragement leaving them such as “yes pretty, go ahead and cum for us,” and “good bunny, good girl, cum sweetheat.” Changbin pulls you back to his lips as you cum, wanting to kiss you as you cum since he missed the chance earlier, and he eagerly swallows your noises, his fingers finding your clit once more to drag out your orgasm.

Chan as well starts to become louder, his grunts becoming more successive with each thrust, not losing speed even as his hips start to lose their rhythm. He grabs your face and tears you away from Changbin, kissing you in a display that is either meant to make Changbin jealous again, or is simply for his own pleasure.

Or maybe it serves both purposes at once, because as Changbin whines in protest, you can feel Chan smirk against your lips before he’s losing himself again. His groans are muffled against you as his hips stutter once, twice more before he’s spilling inside you, ropes and ropes of cum filling you to the brim.

You reach out to Changbin’s hand, squeezing it in a gesture that is meant to stop his jealousy, and he smiles at you, calling you a “sweet little thing” once more, giving you a peck to your forehead. Your eyes close, not opening even as Chan softens and slips out of you, exhaustion having clearly seeped into every molecule of your body.

“Poor thing’s tired,” you vaguely hear Changbin say as he wipes the sweat off your brow. Chan responds, though it’s hard to make out what he says as you unconsciously slip into sleep, unable to prevent it with how heavy your entire body has become, rest quickly claiming you.

The sound of birds loudly chirping wakes you, and you blink slowly awake, eyes straining as you realize you’re in the sunlight. You sit up quickly, looking down at yourself and then your surroundings; you’re out of the forest proper, in the clearing where your home sits quaintly in the middle. You're dressed back in your prior clothing and with your hood over your ears– barring the underwear you lost.

You’d think last night was a dream if it wasn’t for the fact that you could feel yourself bare underneath your dress; so they really upheld their promise and brought you back home..? You see your basket, sitting neatly in arm’s reach, a small note resting atop the berries and leaves you gathered yesterday that simply reads, “Last night was fun, wasn’t it, little red? Come play with us again sometime,” with a cutely drawn heart at the end, signed ‘Binnie and Channie.’

#skz x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #changbin smut #werewolf au #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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staylovesmiley · 2 months ago

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Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 5

˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; In a world where Humans and Hybrids should be living as equals, Hybrids are still viewed as being closer to their animalistic side than their humanistic. Deep in the woods lives a band of misfit hybrids who reject these societal views and keep to themselves, choosing to live away from humans. What happens when the youngest of this rogue group meets a lost Human girl, befriending her after an incident where he must rely on her for help?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; hybrid!au, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime fruits basket~

In the coming days you would find flowers for you laying on your side of the bed waiting for you every afternoon.

Sometimes there were the same as the first, others they would be different, but the amount of flowers seemed to grow day by day until that morning you were woken up to the sight of a little bouquet tied with twine set on the bedside table. Jeongin was still sound asleep as you usually woke before him to help Minho with breakfast. Confusion laced itself through your half awake state and you reached over to shake the fox awake gently. “Innie- Jeongin wake up.” The hybrid startled, bolting up as if he were expecting there to be an emergency, looking over you frantically. “Wha- is everything okay, pretty?” He saw that you were in fact okay and calmed down, though confusion replaced his panic quickly. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you I just…wanted to thank you for the flowers but really you didn’t have to go out so early to get them just so I’d wake up to see them.”

Now the hybrid was even more confused. He had noticed the vase on the dresser seemed to acquire new flowers each day but he had always assumed it had been you trying to brighten up the room and not that you were under the impression he had been the one bringing them to you. “Flowers? I didn’t get you flowers- I’ve been here since we went to bed last night…”

You frowned, even more confused than the hybrid. “But if you aren’t leaving them then who is…” the fox felt his jaw clench, an ugly little thing called jealousy once again possessing him as he cursed himself for not thinking of bringing you flowers first. Now if he were do so it would only be a mere imitation of the original and wouldn’t be as special, and he wanted to be special. “I’m sorry I woke you, innie…try and get some more rest before breakfast, okay?” He nodded, a pout still on his lips until you leaned down to place a gentle kiss to his temple and he melted instantly. Fighting the urge to pull you back against him and not allow you to leave he let himself fall back into a slumbering state as you got up and padded your way to the kitchen to meet the cat hybrid, bouquet carefully placed inside the vase with the rest of the flowers you had received over the course of the week.

The rest of the day the question lingered in your mind, even now as you stood side by side with Minho in the kitchen baking bread to go with the roast he had prepared for dinner.

The cat could tell something was weighing on you from the way your eyes seemed unfocused as you kneaded the dough in front of you. “What’s got you all lost in thought, pretty?” His words startled you, causing you to pause and look up at him. “How did you-“ Minho laughed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t snap you out of it you’d over knead that loaf and it would be a dense as a rock.” He teased, causing you to scoff playfully. “Yeah? Well maybe I like eating rocks.” You joked as you reached up to swipe a line of flour along his cheek. The cat smirked, shaking his head as he quickly landed a sharp slap upon your left asscheek. You gasped loudly before erupting into a fit of laughter.

Playing around like this had become commonplace for the two of you during prep for meal times. It made the whole process move a little slower but it always brightened your moods so much to the point that no one seemed to complain if dinner was late by a few minutes or if they had to sit around the kitchen island and watch the two of you goofing around while adding the finishing touches to their breakfasts. Food made with love and happiness tasted better anyways, they say.

The cat gave you a look, attempting to be stern but it didn’t fool you as he had been laughing along with you just seconds earlier. “Come on, out with it. What’s on your mind?” You sighed, calming down as you carefully broke the dough in front of you into three equal pieces and set two aside and you worked to roll the third into a long rope like shape. “I’ve been getting flowers every day for a week now…and I just assumed it was Innie leaving them for me. But this morning when I woke up there was a whole bouquet and so whoever it was would have had to get up either late last night or extremely early this morning to pick them for me…” Minho motioned for you to continue, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips but he wanted you to finish before saying his piece. “I woke Jeongin up to thank him for going through all the trouble but he swears it wasn’t him…he looked as confused as I was if not more- I just don’t know who else would be leaving them for me…”

The cat grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched you take the now three rope like forms of dough and lay them side by side before braiding them together carefully. “I know who it is.” Your actions paused, curiosity piqued and you resumed your braiding before asking him. “Well- who is it?” “It’s Chan-hyung.”

Your head turned to look the older in the eyes so fast that your neck felt sore, the expression on your face full of shock and disbelief causing the cat hybrid to chuckle. “So shocking? He’s been watching you closely since you arrived here. He wasn’t sure how to get your attention, he’s still a bit hesitant to approach you.” You swallowed hard, still unable to fully believe Minho’s words. “But- Chan doesn’t like me…I’m sure he’s only letting me stay so that Jeongin doesn’t run away-“ your words caused the cat to double over with his laughter, shaking his head. “Oh our clueless, pretty little human- if you don’t believe me why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Your eyes widened as you watched him regain his composure and grab the bread pan for both of your loaves. “That’s beautiful, by the way. You’ll have to show me how to do that.”

You beamed at the praise, temporarily forgetting the conversation about your flowers having come from the wolf hybrid you were sure couldn’t care less as to whether you were dead or alive. As you watched the cat hybrid place the bread into the oven you heard a low growl coming from behind you. “What the fuck, Jeongin-“ Minho had turned around after shutting the oven door and his expression was one of concern and shock causing you to turn around and see your beloved fox hybrid glaring daggers at the older hybrid with his canines bared to him. “Mine.” He growled out, voice much deeper than you had ever heard from the youngest member of the house and your blood ran cold at the terrifying sight of him. “I-Innie?” Your voice was timid and he nodded towards Minho. “He put his hands on my pretty.” Your expression softened slightly and looked at Minho with confusion before remembering your interaction from earlier. There must have been a mark from the flower he had on his hands when he had slapped you playfully. “Oh Innie, we were just playing arou-“ before you could finish your sentence the younger had pounced on you, knocking you off your balance and you both came crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

Everything moved so quickly you barely had time to process what was happening you felt the sharp sting of the fox’s canines digging into the spot between your neck and shoulder. You let out a little yelp in pain, eyes screwed shut as your hands balled into fists gripping onto Jeongin’s sweater. “Yang Jeongin get off of her!” Minho shouted to the younger hybrid but when he took a step forward it only served to make him bite down a tad bit harder and you let out a little whimper. “Fuck-“ you heard someone from behind you but you didn’t recognize the voice. Suddenly Jeongin’s teeth loosened their grip and he was pulled back from you and held in Seungmin’s strong embrace as he thrashed violently. Minho was there in a second, pressing a dish towel against the wound on your neck. “Get yourself in check, kit. Pretty isn’t built like a hybrid and you have to be gentle with her.” The cat scolded as Seungmin pulled the fox hybrid back towards his room.

You felt dazed, letting Minho scoop you up and carry you over to the couch where he proceeded to patch you up. “I’m sorry about him, pretty…he- honestly I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You shook your head, smiling weakly as he pulled back from applying a bandage over the bite mark. “I’m okay, it startled me more than anything I think…I should go talk to him-“ Slowly you stood and Minho’s hand shot out to wrap around your wrist, a look full of concern painting his beautiful face. “I’ll be okay, Min. He won’t hurt me.” The cat scoffed, motioning from the kitchen floor that was still stained with drops of your blood to your bandaged neck. You shook your head, gently removing his hand and making your way to your shared room with the youngest hybrid.

You gave a little knock before entering, seeing Jeongin curled up on the bed as Seungmin stood above him very clearly scolding him as Minho had earlier. Upon your entrance the beagle hybrid silenced himself and gave you a look full of mixed emotions you couldn’t exactly read before brushing past you with a soft. “Be careful.” Whispered your way and then you were left alone with the youngest.

“Innie…” immediately he cut you off, sitting up and allowing you to see the wet tear tracks that stained his red cheeks. “Oh god you’re okay- pretty I’m s-so sorry-“ seeing his distressed state you were quickly at his side, petting his hair as you attempted to soothe him. “Yes, I’m okay. But Jeongin-“ he pouted up at you, clearly expecting another tongue lashing. Instead you kept your words soft but your tone still held a sternness to it that let him know you were being serious. “You do not own me…no one does. I care for you dearly but you absolutely cannot act out like this every time I interact with someone else in a way you don’t like.” His pout deepened into a frown and he nodded so fast you feared he may injure his neck. “I won’t- I promise…I’m so sorry-“ You gave him a soft smile, pushing the hair that fell over his forehead back to give him a gentle kiss to the flushed skin there. “You are forgiven, but this will not happen again or I will go and room with someone else.” His eyes widened and a whimper escaped him before his arms wrapped around your waist as he clung to you desperately. “Not again, I’ll be good I promise.” His words caused you to frown and you shook your head as you continued to comb your fingers through his hair and give light scratches to his ears. “You’re always good, my Mr. fox…” he relaxed at your words, body going lax against you and after a while you heard soft snores coming from him. Poor thing, you thought to yourself, he got himself so worked up he exhausted himself. You carefully tucked him into bed and before leaving the room you glanced over at the vase full of flowers and sighed. You may regret this later, but you needed to hear it from the source yourself.

You found yourself standing in front of the door at the back of the cabin, hand poised in front of the wood but you were frozen stiff with hesitance. Your nerves were standing on end and you took several deep breaths before giving a few soft knocks to the door. Briefly you contemplated running away but before you could decide the door opened to reveal a very shocked looking wolf hybrid. “Oh- it’s you.” He said, voice void of emotion as ever and it caused you to wince slightly. “Um- hi, Chan…I just- well, Minho said that you’ve uhh…” you swallowed the lump in your throat, hoping it would allow your words to come out smoother. “Minho told me it’s been you leaving me flowers every day….is that true?”

Chan blinked a bit, heat rising to his cheeks and for the first time you noticed how on edge he himself seemed. Shit- Jeongin had told you he was extremely distrusting of humans. What if this whole time he wasn’t being cold but was really scared like how Seungmin was. You cursed yourself for assuming just because he was a wolf that he was to be feared instead of being the fearful one. “Yeah….uh- it was me..” he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, eyes unable to meet yours and you couldn’t help but stare a bit in disbelief. “If it makes you uncomfortable I can stop-“

Chan couldn’t finish his words, the wind having been knocked out of him as your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and your face buried in his chest. “Thank you, really- no one has ever given me flowers before.” This was it, what he had been craving for weeks since you had joined their family. Your smaller frame pressed against his and your scent enveloping him. He knew you as a human couldn’t smell what they did, but the sweetness of your natural scent caused him to feel lightheaded as a hand slowly came to rest on the small of your back and hold you closer to him. “You deserve flowers.” Was all he said, blushing furiously as he stared down at you in disbelief. You giggled, pulling back to look up at him with a bright smile that nearly knocked him off his feet. Never did he think you would look at him so brightly, so unafraid.

Just then he noticed the bandage on your neck and his face fell. “What happened to your neck..?” Your eyes widened, as if you had already forgotten what had happened in the kitchen earlier. “Oh- it’s okay. Jeongin just-“ before you could finish the wolf let out a growl and tried to push past you to where the fox was sleeping in your shared room. “Wait Chan- it’s okay I already talked to him about it everything is fine he’s resting now-“ you wrapped both hands around his bicep and attempted to pull him back towards you and thankfully your pleading seemed to work as the normally so ridged composure he held around you melted away. Chan turned to face you, moving your hair aside to get a closer look at the bandage. “You sure you’re okay..?” His voice was so soft, laced with concern and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded to him. “I’m positive. Please, let’s just drop it?” With a sigh, Chan nodded and instead pulled you back into his embrace. “I’m supposed to keep all of you safe…I’m sorry he hurt you-“

With a light giggle, the one that always seemed to brighten Jeongin’s day, you rested your cheek against his chest and let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in the earthy smell the hybrid held from his patrols. “Really, I’m okay. But thank you for worrying about me…and taking care of me even when I didn’t notice.” The wolf hybrid’s chest swelled with pride and he allowed himself to enjoy your embrace as he gently rubbed your back in slow circles. After a moment you pulled away, the wolf having to fight off a whine at the loss of contact. “I’m gonna go check on dinner…see if Minho needs my help-“

Nodding, Chan watched as you retreated to the kitchen with a soft smile on his blushing face, looking away bashfully only as you turned to give him one last smile before disappearing to help the second oldest finish cooking. Finally, some softness reserved only for himself.

author’s note; I know this is a much shorter chapter than I have been putting out but I wanted to get these plot points out of the way for a special Christmas chapter~~ I wanted to give it its own special chapter and not lump it together with these events so just a smaller update (hopefully you all don’t mind since ch4 was posted last night anyways and you only have to wait a couple of days for ch6) thank you for your continued love and support~ (side note but thank you @chancloud8 for the Minho butt slap scene hehehe)

taglist; (pink users I wasn’t able to tag) @coastinglove @estella-novella @chancloud8 @skzswife @motheraiya55 @zofia515 @skybluelixie @breadedloafs @inaribu00 @silly250 @royal-shinigami @thatgirlangelb @bby-boo4u @emmxxsworld @vampkittenb82 @h0rnyp0t @alisonyus @im-sinking-in-mud @ihrtlix @mrs-hwangh @danixiulin @wolfo2027 @kiaralynn3838 @ateez-atiny380 @daceyena @bookswillfindyouaway @blackcatpandora @popcatx0 @corgilover20 @marshmelonie @sassy-snassy @straykidslover2024

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justhereforsubsevika · 20 days ago

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Part 2 to this.............sort of

this is so gross guys

panty sniffing (SHUSH OKAY), fleshlight grinding, caught sevika, needy sevika, oral fixation sevika, masochism, sadism (established relationship so implied consent!), scissoring, bigclit!sevika, orgasm denial, overstim, squirting........yupyup

... Sub sevika YIPPEE how long has it been since i wrote a proper sub sevi fic guys like 100 years?

THE DIALOGUE MAY BE A BIT CRINGE IM SORRY 😞☝️

Sevika was still needy even after being so humiliated in her meeting, her mouth aching to be filled, her pussy throbbing against her lacy thong. She was hating herself as she dug through the washing basket, trying to find the pair of panties she'd made you ruin the day before. Sevika was groaning as she sifted through the laundry, cheering when she found your messy panties. She looked around the room, as though there was a camera crew waiting at any moment to catch her in her pathetic state, surveying her surroundings to ensure her perverse nature was to be kept a strict secret.

"Fuck sake, seriously whats wrong with me," she murmured, snatching up the fleshlight from the floor, crawling onto the bed. Sevika sunk back into the blankets and pillows, taking time to suck on her fingers, fucking into her own mouth, pretending you were there with her. Her clothes were quickly discarded, leaving her in nothing but a black-lace garter that cut into her meaty thigh and a matching thong. "Mmph, fuck baby.." she grunted, wishing so desperately that you were the one pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples, that you were slapping her breasts, her pussy, for being so filthy.

She deeply inhaled against the crotch of your panties, eyes rolling back, mouth quivering. "Baby, if only you knew what you did to me," she groaned aloud, nuzzling her rounded nose into your mess and wriggling out of her own underwear.

Her tongue lolled against the fabric, Sevika moaning at your taste, pressing her hand flat against her face so she could inhale your scent deeper. She wrapped her lips around the material, sucking at your sticky panties, other hand guiding the fleshlight against her pussy.

She grinded against it, sliding her messy pussy against the ridges, biting down on your panties to muffle her moans. "F-fuck," she stammered, lapping at your underwear and whining desperately at your taste, your scent. Tensing her forearm, she wound her hips against the plastic pussy, focusing her grinding on her clit, crying out when she found a good spot to whine on.

She heard the door to the bedroom open swiftly and she shut her legs, pulling your panties out her mouth, trying to shove them under the pillow. It was too late. You'd seen them, the flashy pink unable to be hidden against the grey sheets. She bit her lip and blushed hard as you leant against the doorframe.

"My my. What do we have here?" You teased, watching her face flush even deeper, her legs trembling. Her garter wrapped tightly around her thigh, her panties carelessly pooled round her ankle, evidence of what she'd been up to coating the replica of your pussy that she clutched in her hand.

"Someone was feeling desperate, weren't they?" You say darkly. As you approach her, she turns her head away from you, bottom lip trapped between her teeth in a pathetic display of shame and embarrassment. You kiss her neck and she sighs, body relaxing as you trace your fingers over her nipples.

"Hurt me.." she groans, pushing her chest up toward you, spreading her legs to give you access to her needy cunt. You giggle at the invitation, harshly groping at her breast before firmly slapping it, making her groan and lurch forward. She grips the sheets either side of her, looking up at you, eyes pleading. Her muscles flex from her intense grip. You love seeing her like this: all muscle, all desperation.

You slap at her again, watching as her breast bounces from your firm hand, revelling in the choked moans she lets out, her eyes welling with tears. They prickle at her tearducts, blurring her vision. You give her another harsh grab, squeezing the skin surrounding her large nipples in your palms. She bucks her hips up, needing your attention on her pussy. You give it to her in the form of a hard spank. Her legs threaten to shut, spasming wildly, but she tenses them. Her whole body is in flex, every muscle fighting to keep herself still. You cant help but moan at the sight of her, as if she's carved from stone, every indent perfect, every muscle peppered with intricate scarring. She's beautiful.

"So desperate for me aren't you, Sevi?" You rasp, placing another slap directly over her entrance. Her mess strings from her pussy to your palm. She nods, looking at you puppy-dog eyed, lip still trapped between her teeth. "Need you so bad, got caught at work today," she admits. You make a mental note of that, because that's hot to you in your dom state but entirely concerning for your day-to-day. Either way, knowing your girl was so fucking needy that she'd endanger her job made your pussy drip.

"Oh yeah? What were you doing, princess?" You tease, taking off your clothes painfully slow, stopping routinely to slap her pussy, keeping her desperate.

"I..." she trails off, embarrassment warming her whole body. You pout at her, mocking her sudden shyness, like she's not all spread out for you, like her pussy isn't wetting the sheets below her.

"Tell me." The demand coaxes the admission out of her, and you laugh. You laugh breathlessly at how fucking pathetic she must've looked, tongue - fucking her toy out of sheer boredom, her slutty mouth so aching to be filled that she threw all caution to the wind. She cries a little now, feeling so humiliated. "Fuck are you crying for, princess?"

You slap her harshly across the face, grabbing her up and watching as her eyes become heavy lidded. She sinks deeper into her subspace, her pussy tingling from the pain you inflict upon her. "Feel so dirty," she chokes, your knee sliding between her legs. She instinctively grinds on it, eyes rolling back as tears stream down her cheeks. "You are though, aren't you?" You sit yourself between her legs, groaning at the feeling of your pussies against each other. "Filthy girl." You whisper it, watching as her face changes at the title. Her eyebrows clench together, her nostrils flare, her mouth hangs open, her eyes tightly shut.

You push your middle finger into her mouth, her lips tightening around you, tongue tracing your fingertip. She grips your wrist to keep you steady, pulling her mouth backwards and forwards as she worships your finger. "Need that mouth filled, huh baby?" you tease, Sevika nodding, little "mhm"s whining their way out of her mouth. You force another finger into her, further down her throat, Sevika's eyes fluttering back at the feeling of her mouth being so stuffed up. She bucks into you, whines her hips against yours.

Sevika is right on the edge, you can feel it, you can see it all over her face. Her pussys gushing out wetness against you, her fat clit pulsing intensely each time you rub against it. You know she's sensitive anyway, the sheer size of her clit making pleasure triple. You know she's close.

"Mm-mmph ah, hah, baby I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum, can i... Shit, baby, c-can I cum?"

You smile to yourself at her begging, knowing she's right there, knowing she couldn't hold it if she tried.

"No. You don't cum til i do." You hiss the words out as you rut your hips against her faster, her body straining to no avail.

Every vein in her body ripples through her skin, her teeth near-breaking, strained noises escaping her through fettered breath. She cums, tears again rolling down her face, chanting apologies as she bucks up against you. "Im sorry, sorry, FUCK-'M SORRY-" she screams it, her chest heaving, her muscles twitching and spasming as she still attempts to fight her body.

You cant help but groan at the sight of Sevika gripping the sheets beside her, her toes clawing at the bed to keep herself down. She moans uncontrollably, babbling cute little "im sorry"s. You slip much more easily against her, her large clit slipping in and out if your entrance as you roll your hips, practically fucking into you. "Oh, Sevi," you coo, forcing your fingers back down her throat. The sounds she makes are primal, her body acting on instinct. She's so pussy drunk, fucked dumb as you use her.

She gags on your fingers, saliva dripping down her chin. "Such a messy little b-bitch," you stammer, feeling your stomach tightening as you ride her. She bites lightly around your digits, throwing her head back. Sweat droplets gather along her clavicle, along her forehead, sticking her blunt hair to her skin.

"Mm, Sevi baby, gonna cum, cum on that pretty pussy, fuck," you sigh out, grabbing harshly at her breast to keep yourself up. She nods and squirms away from your fingers, mouth gapping and closing. Much to your dismay, you slow down to let her speak.

"C-cani-cu-cum," she stutters out the words, slurring, eyes squeezing open. Her pupils are so wide her eyes are practically black. You pout at her and regain your pace, Sevika mewling, covering up her face with her fist.

You tut, but your mind goes blank when she hits an angle where her clit is fucking into you, your clit rubbing over her rough hair. You're both as dumb as eachother as you cum simultaneously, your throats both closed up, the only sounds in the room the wet clapping of your bodies.

You climb off her when you hear her start to whine like a dog, rubbing at her swollen pussy with two fingers, opening your mouth and moaning when you sit your pussy over her ankle.

She squirts, screaming so loud you're offended none of the neighbours have turned up in concern.

Finally, you let her rest. You come up to cuddle into her side, watching her cautiously. Her chest heaves, eyes dropped shut, mouth open. Her sharp canines show through and you can't help but giggle at the fact she is the person who begs to cum, cries when she cums without permission. Its so sweet to see such a pretty butch come completely undone as soon as you sit your pussy on her.

You guys this is still not as good as the 3 paragraphs i lost, but I'll just have to accept that

#dyke #sevika #arcane #butch #lesbian #sevika arcane #sevika x you #sevika smut #justhereforsmut

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aesthetic-bbyg · 1 year ago

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SWEETNESS ~ BUGGY

LA!buggy x straw hat!reader

Based off of this post bc it made me giggle PT 2

Nattie speaks: y’all this mf clown has no right to be so fine but LAWRD. I’d do anything just for one lick. This is short nd simple but cute🤭

ZORO DRAGGED HIS FEET across the wooden floors of the Going Merry, ignoring the muffled screeching of the clown head inside the dark sack as he set his eyes on thing. Nightfall was approaching, everyone on the ship wanted some rest, yet nobody was getting any with the constant whining of Buggy. The green haired man pushed open your door, making you jumped slightly as you looked towards him with a raised brow.

“I give up, all yours now.” Zoro voiced practically dripped in annoyance, he tossed the sack across the room, making it land onto the soft cushion of your bed before slamming the door behind him.

You could hear groans coming from the sack, “Damn you, you fucking broccoli-haired ass!” You chuckled softly, putting down the comb you had in your hand and walking towards the scruffy bag. As you released the clown head he sighed in content, breathing in the fresh scent of berries that engulfed the room. “Ah, sweetness, so good to see you!”

“Nice to see you too, Buggy.” You giggled, “You doing alright there?” You asked, smiling a bit as the man got comfortable on your bed.

“Much better now that I have you in front of me.” He winked with a flirtatious smirk on his red painted lips. “I definitely thought he was going to put me with that weird chef guy again so he could chop me into piece and cook me or something.”

“Looks like you got lucky today.” You smirked back, grabbing him and placing him on the small vanity, going back to combing through your hair. Buggy was a simple man, with simple needs, especially since his whole body was gone. The angle his head was facing gave him more fuel into his dirty thoughts. His eyes directly faced your chest, eyes captured on the line of cleavage peeking from the low cut tank top you had on. He was hypnotized by you, for the first time since he was taken by Luffy and placed on the ship to sail away to Arlong island he’d gone completely silent.

You simply hummed, clueless of how the clown shifted slightly to get a closer view. You suddenly let out a huff, dropping the comb and looking over at the clown. “Y’know, I like having you around here, you totally make me feel special and even though the rest of the crew might really, really not like you, know I’m on your side.”

“Mhmm.” Buggy hummed in response, eyes hungrily watching you. “I appreciate that, sweetness.”

You smiled. “You hungry?” You stood up and took him in your arms, cradling him carefully like he was a baby. The blue hairs that peaked from under the striped bandana tickled your skin.

Buggy enjoyed being around you, especially since you were so generous and careful with him, the others simply tossed him into the sack or an empty barrel whenever he even spoke. But you, you fed him, you defended him, you took care of him and did the exact opposite of what everyone else did. “I’m hungry for one thing, that’s for sure, sweetness.” The clown replied, eyes still clued onto your tits as you entered the small kitchen.

“Hey, maybe we can brush through that tangled mess once we get a quick snack.” You replied giddily with a big smile, “Hey, and wanna know another thing—“ You heard a string of groans follow as soon as you stepped into the room with Buggy.

“I gave him to you specifically to get away from him.” Zoro groaned, making Sanji nod in agreement.

“I’ll be out soon, stop your whining.” You replied with a roll of your eyes, reaching for the basket of fruit and picking out two apples. You picked up a knife and cutting board, quickly going to work and chopping up a few apple slices. “So as I was saying, nobody has ever taken me seriously, which why I also like you, you don’t make fun of me which is what many others do.”

Zoro and Sanji glanced at eachother with questioning looks as you proceeded with your mini rant, both of them making eye contact with the clown head that smirked at them, a cheeky look in his eyes.

“But I mean, Luffy chose me to be a part of his crew so obviously I can be more, I’m not dumb, and I feel like more people need to take me seriously.”

“Hey.” The clown smirked as he watched your every move, finally speaking up about his slight obsessing with your chest. “Nice tits.”

“Thank you!” You happily replied with a smile, placing the slices on a clean plate and taking Buggy back to your room as everyone stared in shock. “Goodnight boys!”

“Yeah, goodnight fellas!” Buggy called out, and if only he’d had the rest of his body he’d most definitely be given them a middle finger.

“How is it that a clown can do better at getting that girl then me?” Sanji muttered in annoyance.

Forever will live, love, and laugh Buggy

yummy, I <3 men who are bbyg’s

#buggy is my man #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy x reader #buggy thoughts #one piece #one piece show #one piece live action #buggy smut #captain buggy #buggy one piece #buggy

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bumblesimagines · 2 months ago

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Lessons in 'Chemistry'

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After getting stranded on the side of the road, (Y/N) is helped by Sarah Cameron and given a ride home. Weeks later, she asks if he can return the favor in an unexpected way.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, mentions of drugs and dealing, mentioned/implied classism, sexual content

Idk what possessed me but goodnight

~~~

The moment he crossed the threshold from the hallway into the bedroom, he immediately felt out of place, like a worn-out pair of dirty old boots being set amongst a shiny new pair of Mary Jane's.

He scoped out the room, noting it was much bigger than his bedroom back on the Cut, and felt a hint of uneasiness settle in the pit of his stomach. Everything looked as if it'd come right out of a magazine or a sitcom based around high school, including its inhabitant who slotted into the space like the last piece of a puzzle.

Sarah leaned against her vanity, the table trembling under her weight and almost knocking over some upright lipstick tubes. She hooked her fingers into the back of one of her sneakers and pushed downward until her heel popped out, then casually tossed the shoe aside to be forgotten until she needed it again. She did similarly with the other sneaker, and then her socks, which she threw into the laundry basket a few feet away. She seemed comfortable yet nervous, her fingers fidgeting with her golden bracelet as she turned around to face him.

They weren't friends, hell, they were hardly acquaintances. Though he assumed that was precisely why she'd even approached him in the first place asking him to repay a 'favor'. It hadn't been entirely his fault that his dirt bike had chosen to suddenly stop working and she'd just happened to be driving down the same road, but that act of kindness was typically repaid with a similar favor.

He still wondered if it was all some sort of prank, a test set up by Rafe to test his loyalty or something. But Sarah clashed with her brother enough for him to take Rafe out of the equation.

"So," She exhaled, scooping her hair over one shoulder and toying with the ends of it. "What.. what should we do first?"

(Y/N) needed a drink, or two, or maybe three to process what Sarah was asking of him fully. She'd gone up to him the day prior just as he'd been preparing to drive home from another kook party with his pockets full of cash.

For a moment, when she asked if he was willing to return the favor, he thought she meant hitching a ride back to Tannyhill or scaring the shit out of some jock who wouldn't leave her alone but then she'd given him an almost sheepish smile.

"I... I want you to teach me some things." She'd said, tugging her jacket further over her body to escape the nipping chill of the night. He'd grimaced, expecting her to mean shooting a gun or doing some sort of drug that'd send her spiraling down the same path as Rafe. Instead, she nearly made him and his bike tip over into the grass. "Like... in the bedroom? How to, you know... please? Ugh, that sounds so weird."

"Why?" He'd asked slowly, the word drawled out 'cause it sounded batshit for her to be asking him and not her boyfriend.

"I don't want to embarrass myself with Top. I always hear the guys talking shit or- or complaining." Her cheeks had gone red by then, a combination of the chill and what she was asking of him. He almost felt guilty but then Topper's irritating little face flashed in his mind and he considered telling her to straight up dump the guy.

"Yeah, sure."

He'd been mostly itching to get out of the cold, his tired brain telling him it was just some dumb dare and she'd be texting him some apologies by the time he got home. His phone had vibrated with a message telling him what time he could come over without Rafe around to ask questions that night.

There he stood, half-certain the regret would begin settling in for her in a few minutes and he'd be compensated with some snacks from their walk-in pantry. She tilted her head, though, and he quickly realized that maybe the Camerons were all really fucking weird.

"You do realize this is cheating.. right?" (Y/N) asked with an arch of his brow, maneuvering his leg around the door to push it shut behind him. Maybe they'd sit on the bed and he'd offer her a free therapy session on why kook guys weren't worth stressing over, because no guys who unironically wore polo shirts and khakis together were worth stressing over. She gave a flimsy shrug.

"Yeah," She answered casually, because she was Sarah Cameron and she was known for that sort of thing, before she took a few cautious steps toward him. She looked at him like middle-aged women with nothing better to do looked at banned breeds in shelters, with intrigue and a desire to reach out. "But it's whatever. I'll have other boyfriends."

He was beginning to believe she was using him to get out of the relationship, as a reason why they weren't working out. The most that'd happen to her would be a few nasty looks from Topper, and the least that would happen to him would be a fight. A kook with a bruised ego was a dangerous kook, and he was certain Rafe believed there was a bro code between them. No macking on siblings was always a given, no matter the relationship.

"What do you want to do?" (Y/N) asked, because he wasn't fully sure what she'd meant by 'teaching' her 'things'.

The fancy private school she and the other kooks attended definitely had to have classes where they were taught anatomy, and at the very least had some basic Sex Ed classes. All Kildare County High had was a teen pregnancy epidemic that was treated like cooties because they were all at a higher risk of OD'ing on something and not making it into their twenties. Not that DARE ever swayed anyone.

Sarah smiled, almost bashful, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I want to kiss you." She answered, stepping closer to him, still slow as if she were dealing with a shelter mutt.

Something coiled around his gut, hot and electric and uncomfortable. He was no prude, he'd lost his virginity as a sophomore two years prior, but to be wanted aloud felt wrong.

His life had been spent learning how to hide, how to blend into the background and be forgotten within the hour. You only had two choices in the Cut: become a ghost floating on by or become a feral dog with bloodied teeth. He'd chosen the former, his brother the latter. To be noticed raised an alarm in his head and sent his senses into overdrive.

"Mm." He made a noise in the back of his throat, his hands furling in the pockets of his worn jacket. The room suddenly felt hot despite the AC blasting cold air into the back of his head and his fingers twitched for something to fiddle with while thought about his next words.

He was starting to wonder if maybe he was a new passion project of hers, though he'd never seen Sarah Cameron care for that sort of thing.

"Why not one of your friends?" He was stalling. He knew he could easily back out, mutter some excuse and offer to do her another favor, but some part of him wanted to stick around. Maybe for the chance at a good time, maybe from dumb curiosity. He just despised the idea of something more forming from it.

(Y/N) could hardly count as a playboy. He'd been with three girls in his long nineteen years of life and he only ever had to look one in the eyes when he attended school. The other two were tourons, the daughters of eager tourists who visited during summer break to bask on their beaches and get a taste of their day-to-day lives. He preferred them over girls he'd grown up with, over girls who lingered and could potentially continue prodding at him.

Sarah's lip jutted out in disgust. "Like Kelce or Benson? They're basically my brothers, it'd be too weird." (Y/N) did not comment on the fact either of those two would jump at the opportunity to do anything with her. He simply nodded as if he understood, as if he had girl friends who were like sisters to him. It'd always been just him and his brother.. and Rafe, he supposed, but Rafe was more like a stray who refused to leave. "Plus, they're friends with Top. I don't trust them not to snitch."

"But you trust me?" (Y/N)'s brows furrowed.

"Yeah," Sarah laughed lightly. "You're not like those other guys Rafe hangs out with." Sleazeballs, she meant.

The one singular time they'd ever had a proper conversation aside from polite small talk had been when she'd given him that ride in her shiny BMW. The car still had that brand-new smell, fresh and light and almost cool but mixed with subtle hints of vanilla and coconut that he often associated with Sarah.

She (unsurprisingly) proved to be a better driver than her brother who believed going the speed limit was optional, and she spent most of the ride chatting with him as if she were catching up with an old friend who'd left for college. It was odd, somewhat endearing but odd.

"Right." He exhaled and rolled his shoulders, his jacket sliding off his shoulders and exposing his upper arms to the cold air. He tugged each arm free from the sleeves and rolled the jacket up before jumping it on a chair pressed up against the wall beside the shelf built into the wall, the faded brown fabric clashing with the floral pattern.

If she was comparing him to Barry and his clients, the bar for trust was in hell. He could count on one hand the number of guys from that group he trusted, and it only included Barry 'cause the same blood ran through their veins.

Most of them were older men; ones with wives who despised them, divorcees with enough bitterness to create generational feuds, deadbeats who rarely remembered their kids ages or birthdays, or hopeless folks who'd long given up on their dreams of the future. (Y/N) pitied them sometimes, before he'd be reminded violence and greed came just as easy as breathing to the hopeless.

Sarah's room was incredibly nice, he noted, though an odd shape from being on the side of the manor. It looked like a hexagon cut in half with its slanted walls, leaving the lower half of it to be decorated with pictures and frames and the upper half to loom over the bed. Sarah must've really liked blue because nearly everything was blue or white. Her lamp, the floral loveseats, the large circular rug, the decorative pillows on her bed that had S and C threaded into them, the curtain. He felt tempted to ask if half the things in her bathroom were blue too.

When he tore his eyes away from a framed picture of different butterflies and their names, he found Sarah standing much closer than before. His first instinct was to flinch, to create distance between them, but his feet kept him rooted in place and rendered him to blink at her in surprise. Sarah's eyes crinkled, amused she'd caught him off guard, and then her hands moved to rest over his cheeks. Her hands were soft and smooth, free from callouses and chaffing because unlike most of the kids in the Cut, her father had ensured she'd never have to work a day in her life if she so desired.

"Can I kiss you?" Sarah asked, voice soft and almost breathless, dripping with anticipation. She cradled his face in a way that was unnatural to him, too gently, too sweet; it made him uncomfortable, it made him want to press pause and savor the moment. Affection was a fleeting thing on the Cut, and most often involved a trade of sorts.

Another threshold, another line he contemplated crossing. Technically, he'd done nothing to warrant the wrath of the kooks yet but kissing their princess would be breaking an unspoken rule between pogues and kooks. The 'war' between them was dumb, he very well acknowledged that, but he still followed the laws of their divided land to avoid conflict. Most kooks knew to leave him alone, his status as the local dealer's baby brother giving him an advantage over others, but kooks weren't particularly known for their intelligence.

"Yeah, sure," He exhaled, his go-to words with Sarah at this point, and she laughed again like windchimes in a summer breeze.

Just as expected, Sarah's lips were soft and plush, suddenly making him self-conscious about how his own lips felt. He applied chapstick a fair amount of times, would that change anything? He wasn't sure but he tried pushing the insecurity away to close his eyes and focus on not making a fool of himself in front of the nicest kook in all of Figure Eight.

His hands clumsy grasped at her waist, exposed by the crop top she wore riding up when she circled her arms around his shoulders. His hands retreated briefly when they touched her skin, worried for a moment that it was going a step too far as if their mouths weren't on each other. He placed them over her waist again more confidently, massaged the skin warm from constant time in the sun, and tried not to focus too heavily on how well he was kissing.

Sarah tilted her head and her button nose rubbed against his, her lips parting slightly and teeth gently digging into his lip. He tentatively opened his mouth, just a bit, and swallowed the muffled giggle the bottle-blonde released. He'd kissed girls before (just the three but enough to keep his brother's teasing to a minimum) but they'd always been rushed kisses, frantic and fast-paced to get to the part they actually wanted to do. Sarah took it slow, exploring his mouth and then pressing against him to encourage him to do the same.

She began moving, her chest bumping into his and forcing him to blindly move along with her until his legs bumped against her bed. They parted when he plopped down on the bed, the comforter rustling and the bed creaking softly with the added weight. He took a moment to catch his breath, to allow his mind to catch up and he peeled his hands off her waist. His lips felt different, likely smeared with the barely noticeable pink lipstick she wore, and his heart had kicked up its pace.

"What exactly-" He swallowed and pressed his palms into the smooth white comforter. "What exactly do you want help with?"

Her arms hugged his shoulders again and the moment their lips met again, she took advantage of their position and proximity by grinding her hips. His hands flew to her waist and a quiet grunt escaped him, his body naturally beginning to fully react to the situation. Her lips curved up into a victorious grin and he began to wonder just how inexperienced she actually was.

It definitely wasn't kissing. If anything, Sarah was an expert at that already with her years of dating boy after boy after boy.

He assumed the 'lessons' would be about heavy-petting or featherlight touches underneath clothes but instead of answering, Sarah smiled at him and dug her knees into the bed as she straddled his thighs. The lingering smell of her scented body lotion invaded his senses while she got comfortable on his lap, light and sweet-smelling enough to nearly make him hungry.

Sarah suddenly pulled away and brushed her fingertips over her bottom lip to wipe away the slick that'd gathered there. Her legs moved, sliding effortlessly along the comforter until her toes met the floorboards and then her knees followed with a soft thump. (Y/N) stared at her long and hard before the switch flicked and realization dawned on him like a wave of cold water.

"Is this okay?" She asked softly, her palms already moving along his thighs and hazelnut eyes peering at him through her dark lashes. She almost reminded him of a siren trying to entice him to make a costly decision, and his body seemed fairly keen on doing just that. Sarah palmed the growing bulge and smiled when he shuddered, her eyes darting back and forth between his crotch and his face.

"Are you sure about this?" He managed to ask without his voice miraculously cracking. His fingers dug into the comforter and crinkled the material but he desperately needed something to grasp onto while his brain struggled to comprehend what he'd gotten himself into. Heat invaded his face, covering his neck and ears before creeping down his spine and torso.

Sarah pressed the pad of her index finger into the button of his jeans and then nodded, her fingers popping the button and slowly dragging down the zipper until it reached its end. He felt clammy and nervous, like a fourteen-year-old seeing an old Playboy magazine for the first time or watching a scene from a film get steamy. It was the type of jittering nerves you got when you were doing something you shouldn't and the risk factor was beginning to set in. It made him a little light-headed.

Sarah's fingers dipping beneath the waistline of his jeans and the band of his briefs snapped him out of his momentary daze, his gaze darting downward in a flicker of confusion before he lifted himself enough for her to begin shimmying the articles of clothing down his legs. He lowered himself down closer to the edge of the bed, inhaling heavily through his nose when the cold air hit his thighs and reminded him he was now exposed in front of Sarah fucking Cameron.

He almost flinched when fingers curled around him and his eyes darted down, his cheeks flushing with heat at the sight of her long fingers slowly dragging over his length. He twitched in her hand, slowly hardening further, and he wished for nothing more than to shove his face into a pillow to avoid being seen by her curious eyes.

All the times he'd been touched by a girl had been quick, swift pumps before he sunk into her through a drunken haze. He wished he had a drink in hand, something that'd fog his brain and halt his instinct to overthink every single little thing. It was difficult to try not to when he had the Princess of Figure Eight with his dick in her hand. And she had the gall to look intrigued, if not delighted.

"Should I take my top off?" Sarah asked breathily, and (Y/N) almost hadn't heard her through the light ringing in his ears when she gave him an experimental squeeze.

His eyes immediately jumped down to the shirt she wore, one he actually thought looked nice. It was a light rose-pink shirt with a darker pink floral pattern that he thought looked rather fancy for a casual everyday party until he stopped to wonder if she'd dressed up a little nicer than usual just for him.

He had no sisters to run questions by, to watch and take notes of what girls purposefully did or didn't do, just an older brother who'd rob anyone if given the chance and whistled at pretty girls on the street occasionally.

He shrugged. "If you want."

Sarah smiled, a little cheekily, and released him to lift her top up and over her head, tossing it aside without a care. He swallowed thickly and her smile turned into a grin, one that blatantly spelled trouble for him. She leaned forward onto her knees, ones that'd likely be red and numb by the time she had her fill of fun, and arched her back slightly.

He tried focusing on her layered necklace, the gold one she frequently wore that had an S charm, but his eyes flickered lower regardless. His grip on the comforter tightened and he twitched again, his misery coming this time in the form of a small watery glob that trickled down from his tip.

Jesus.

A chill shot up his spine when Sarah abruptly leaned forward and dragged her tongue over his tip to collect the pre, his hips involuntarily bucking at the action. She gave a light hum and took him in her hand again, giving him a few experimental pumps that had more pre trickling down his shaft. Her eyes watched him, observing every reaction his body gave her as if it were an actual lesson and she was taking mental notes.

"I-" He made a low noise in the back of his throat and she stopped, blinking up at him with doe eyes like it was all some casual thing and wouldn't have her dad whipping out a shotgun if he walked in on them. He gave a shaky exhale regardless and raised his hand, suppressing the trembles by pressing his fingers together before he spat into his palm.

"Oh." Sarah peeled her fingers from him and brought them to her mouth, licking the mess off them while she watched him with a concreated furrow of her brow. Dangerous, was what she was.

He tried ignoring the sight and gave himself a few pumps, pre mixing with saliva and making him glisten under the sunlight pouring in from the window. Her hand replaced his and he rubbed his palms against his thigh, not daring to dirty the comforter that likely costed more than his mattress back home.

She continued moving her hand, squeezing lightly at times and slowly picked up her pace. Her eyes flickered upward to his face once his pants and quiet noises became noticeable, another spark of victory glowing in her eyes.

A strangled curse fell from his mouth when she leaned forward and wrapped her lips around him, her hands falling to grip his calves and dig half-moons into his skin. (Y/N) had half a mind to gather her bronze hair up with his cleaner hand, loosely holding it in a ponytail as she began attempting to fit him further into her mouth.

Her eyes squeezed shut, driplets of drool escaping from the corners of her mouth. He could tell she made an effort to breathe through her nose through the newfound haze in his head and gave her hair a light tug to coax her into taking a breather.

She leaned back and inhaled, her lips already swollen and slick. Her forehead creased with some frustration, reminding him that stubbornness ran in the family, before she leaned in again, wet warmth enveloping him and forcing another buck from his hips despite his best attempts at remaining still.

She made a small noise, unintentionally sending vibrations right to his gut where a knot slowly began to form and forcing a guttural groan out of him. He practically watched a lightbulb flicker in her head.

Sarah Cameron, as he came to learn, was a quick learner. She scraped him lightly with her teeth every now and again, her watery eyes jumping up to look at him apologetically to which he gave a reassuring nod despite his gaze only focusing on where they were connecting, but she managed to keep it to a minimum. She had little idea what she was attempting to do, likely going off what she'd seen or heard, but she gave it her all and was rewarded with noises he'd never heard from himself before.

It was messy, with an occasional gag or choke or gasp for air when she pulled back, but she kept going with determination he'd certainly never have.

Kook girls were certainly something.

With another curse, another half-stutter of his hips, and another surprised noise from the kneeling blonde, the tightened knot in his gut burst and he spilled in her mouth. Her hand grasped the base again and she pulled back enough to only have the tip ensnared in her mouth, suckling as if she were drinking soda that'd spilled over onto the lid of a cup.

His legs trembled and his back slumped, the AC keeping the sweat from collecting across his temple. He hoped he could shower or at least curl up for a nap somewhere in the manor like a cat who'd strolled in through an open window.

Sarah leaned back and wiped at her mouth, looking like the cat who'd caught the canary with her prideful and even smug smile. She was full of surprises.

He released her hair and took the liberty of slumping back onto the bed, letting out a heavy exhale that left his body deflating into the comforter. His view of the white ceiling was obstructed by her pretty face, lips still glistening and pulled into a small smile.

"Maybe we could.. go all the way sometime?" Sarah asked, strands of her hair tickling the side of his face when she leaned down to kiss the corner of his lips. He blinked.

"Thought this was all for Topper?"

Her nose crinkled with a laugh and her shoulders moved with a shrug. "I used him as an excuse." She revealed, lowering down to lay on top of him and prop her chin on his chest.

"Oh." He should've guessed as much; no girl with any actual interest in her partner gave head to other people. His brother always lamented about his gullibility.

"So?" She tilted her head and batted her lashes. "What do you say?"

"Yeah," He murmured, lips pulling upward. "Sure."

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greedyhoneyz · 9 months ago

Text

Welcome to Wonderland

.ೃ࿔*:･pairing: eren yeager x pregnant!reader

.ೃ࿔*:･synopsis: soon-to-be-parents embark on a joyous adventure, preparing for the arrival of their little one in a quest to find the perfect stroller.

.ೃ࿔*:･cw: none. fluff. domestic.

.ೃ࿔*:･authors note: inspired by baby mine from @tojigasm. im in a 'baby' mood and wanted to write something other than football. you can probably tell that I haven't watched the show but honestly, I've kind of based eren on his portrayals by other writers on this app and what I feel he would say and act like if he was a modern character. truthfully i just need to watch the show, but I'm honestly not good at keeping up with shows in general.

Onesies. Diapers. Bottles. Pacifiers. Cribs. Toys.

This was the world of babies.

Eren had never felt so intimidated— standing by the store doors, a trolley glued to his front as he gawked at the avalanche of ‘everything baby’ in front of him. The signs above the aisles, all printed with words that seemed important, taunted him with ridiculing laughter and bizarre speeches filled with phoney concern.

Hesitantly, Eren veered around and then glanced at (name). He swallowed deeply before speaking between shallow breaths. “Where do we start?”

(name) was quiet for a few moments as her eyes aimlessly scanned the store floor. She let out a breath and then paused, blinking, before glancing down at her phone. “Uh,”

She padded her thumbs across her screen and scrolled through her baby registry.

“Strollers,” (name) managed to breathe out. She nodded to herself, assured by her choice and peered up at Eren, nodding once again. “Yeah, I think we should look at strollers first.”

“Strollers…” Eren muttered back slowly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “…that's good.”

The metallic clatter and squeak of the trolley and its battered wheels followed Eren and (name) as they pushed the cart towards the “strollers & travel systems” section.

The trolley squeaked to a halt when (name) stopped. She blinked, rubbing her lips together and slowly stepped away from Eren.

“This is nice.” She spoke softly. She raised her hands, her curious fingers wriggling in the air, and fiddled with the straps and handle of the matte black stroller. From the platform where it was perched, she pushed it back and forth, whirling the stroller from side to side. “It moves nicely too.”

“This one looks good too.” Pivoting on the heels of her feet, (name) carefully stroked the handle of another. It was grey, except for its black frame, and carried a sizable basket beneath it unlike the other.

Eren hummed in response to (name) and shifted away from the trolley. He inclined forward and fiddled with the hood of the stroller, pushing it back and dragging it forward. He smoothed his hands across its aluminium frame and picked at the price tag, strapped at the handle. “Not bad, you like it?”

(name) shrugged. “It’s nice, but I think we should look around first before we decide on anything first.”

The trolley’s shaky rattle continued as (name) and Eren strolled through rows and rows of strollers in various colours, sizes and shapes.

The traditional strollers, with large wheels and adjustable handles, had quickly gained (name’s) favour, whilst the lightweight umbrella strollers, which were perfect for prompt trips around the town, perked Eren’s eye. The jogging strollers failed to reel both Eren and (name) in, and though their suspension and manoeuvrability brought ease and comfort, the couple could envision themselves going for light jogs across their neighbourhood with their little one in tow. It wasn’t their style.

“Is there anything here you like?” After a while of searching, Eren and (name) had broken off their stroll and huddled themselves into a corner and fueled themselves with the breakfast bars (name) had stashed inside her purse.

"No," Eren shook his head, swallowing, his face twisted.

“Well,” (name) began. “If we can’t decide on anything now, I think we should move onto bassinets–”

“What?” A baffled expression came to (name’s) face as she watched Eren shoot off directly to a larger display of strollers.

With a smile on his lips and sparkling eyes, he bent down to retrieve a car seat from the queue of strollers. He waved, beckoning (name) over and beamed down at the contraption below.

Gripping the metal ledge of the trolley, (name) towed it behind her as she walked.

She stopped, standing a few feet away and with an inquisitive brow, glanced down at Eren.

“Look.” Hanging his figure over the car seat, Eren turned his back to (name). He lowered his arms, positioning his hands on either side of the seat, its front and its back. He gripped the handle with one hand and tucked his other into the safety lock. He pressed the lock, heaving it upwards as its legs, tucked beneath, extended outwards. Setting it down on the floor, Eren carefully eased the handle from above the black hood and towed it above the seat. A quiet snap could be heard as he adjusted the handle to his hip with a single push of a button.

“Wow.” (name) gaped, her eyes wide and slowly circled the stroller.

“Cool, ain't it?” Eren smiled proudly. He pushed the stroller back and forth, wheeling it across the aisle in jagged lines. “‘Been looking at this online.”

“And it's good for travelling,” he boasted. “For when we fly. Oh, and it's light….it moves so nice….”

Resting her hand on the swell of her belly, (name) bent down and moved her hands across the seat, running her fingers against its smooth fabric. “But what happens when the baby gets too big and grows out of this?”

“Then…I…guess we buy two strollers?” Eren blurted out slowly.

“Babe… I don’t know.” Reclining back to height, (name) propped her hand on her hip and furrowed her brows together. She pulled her lips down into a frown and shook her head unhappily.

Eren could feel his heart plunge into the pits of his stomach as (name) scowled. He was convinced that the stroller parked before him was it. And now, as he stared at his wife, he wasn’t too sure she felt the same.

“Listen, baby, it's a great car seat and stroller,” he began. “C’mon, it's convenient and easy to use, we get this and it’ll make our lives so much easier when the baby comes.”

“Trust me, baby, I’ve done my research. I’ve watched videos and read reviews. This is the one.”

(name) thought a moment, gnawing at her bottom lip. After inspecting the stroller-car seat ensemble, she took Eren’s place at the wheel and rolled it across the aisle, and then back to him.

She stopped in front of him, parking the stroller a few inches from his feet and sighed. She blinked and blinked and then blinked again, and sighed, tracing her hand across its hood.

“Alright,” She said. “We’ll get it.”

Eren couldn’t help but cheer, thrusting his fists in the air before launching onto his wife. He wrapped his arms around (name), pulling her into his chest, her swollen belly pressed against his middle, and peppered kisses across her head, his nose bristling against her hair. “Yes!”

“Babe— Eren let go, you’re pulling on my hair.” Wriggling out from Eren’s grasp, (name) huffed, her eyebrows furrowed together and quickly patted away at her hair.

After calling for assistance, Eren, then armed with newfound instructions, made his way down the aisles to the shelf containing another replica of the stroller, with (name) in tow. Below it were two rows of boxes.

Eren reached out, bending his knees, wrapped his arms around the box and lifted it into the air. With careful feet, he hauled the box toward their trolley and plopped it into the basket.

“There.” He huffed. He wiped his hands and stared at the box, a twinkle glinted in his eyes, grinning from ear to ear as (name) looked on from the sidelines.

She approached Eren, a hand to the trolley, the other to her stomach, and studied him. In awe at the way, his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled and his cheeks carried a gentle, rosy tint when he was excited. His joy was palpable, radiating out from him like a comforting blanket.

As she gazed at him, (name) felt a deep sense of gratitude. Most women weren’t as lucky as she was, having a man so involved, so excited it’s damn near infuriating. But she cherished his joy, his nervousness, his wonder. He was new to this world, this world of babies, as was she, and whilst at times it was overwhelming, it was beautiful and intriguing to come to learn and to love the little human cocooned inside her belly.

And as Eren looked up and caught her eye, (name) returned his smile with one of her own. In a silent exchange, they basked in each other’s warmth, arm in arm, sharing each other’s bliss.

#black!reader #eren yeager x black reader #eren x black reader #eren x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot x black reader #aot imagine #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x black reader #attack on titan imagine

517 notes · View notes

lorelune · 10 months ago

Text

dreamer's envy

|| dan heng x reader || E/18+ || first time, comfort, lore || wc: 13.4k || ao3 ||

Dan Heng is haunted by the memories of a man he no longer is. You are all to willing to help him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: ahhh!!! beloved dh... df... yx... this fic is a bit of a love letter to reader insert character studies and ship fic. making my two faves kiss on the mouth fr. thank you so much to @yinyuedijun for beta reading along the way!! hope you enjoy 💗

CW: reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and afab anatomy, previous dan feng/yingxing, descriptions of gore, descriptions of intimacy issues, author-created lore (plot crafted prior to penacony release), interpretations of HCQ lore, multiple characters experiencing post-trauma

NOTE: this piece is written in two points of view. one is from dan heng’s perspective, where the “you” he is referring to, is you, as in the reader. the other perspective is second-person pov where the narrator ('you') is dan feng. in these portions, 'you' have a cock and the assorted anatomy. these portions are written in italicized text.

Your hands shake. Your thighs tremble. Yingxing lays between them, your cock nestled in his mouth. It’s not sizable enough to hit the back of his throat, but Yingxing, ever the sensitive man, still has tears pricking the corners of his eyes. You stifle a moan into your hand, hastily slapped over your mouth.

Yingxing will not have it.

A strong, calloused hand grabs your wrist and yanks it. He pins your hand by your side, intertwining your fingers. He pulls off your cock with spit-slick lips and smiles.

“Beloved,” Yingxing speaks in a purr, soft and gentle and comforting against your ears. “You know I love to hear all of those sounds of yours. You’re not getting shy on me, are you?”

There’s a hint of mischief to his voice. You huff and kick at his back.

“Hurry up,” you snap at him. There's a bite to it; you mean there to be. Yingxing only looks amused by your tone— the only one on the entire Luofu who could possibly look joyful, when met with your distinct ire.

“Can’t I take my time?” Yingxing asks, licking from your balls, to base, to the head of your cock. You’re— wet. Leaking pre down your shaft. “May I undo you, my flower?”

“You’re an awful man. I will have you imprisoned.”

“You’d never.”

“You’re right, I’d do worse.” You have so many ideas brewing behind your eyes— ways to punish this wretched man for toying with you. Treating you so kindly and with such humor and wit. There is no one else like him— no one else in your many, lonely years who has lanced you in the way that Yingxing has. How treacherous of him, to steal your heart.

“You’ll have to tell me all about the ways you’ll punish me,” Yingxing hums, pushing the tip of your cock against his lips. It’s obscene. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle. “After you cum down my throat, though.”

Yingxing, that bastard of a man, takes you into his mouth against, bobbing his head, sucking and running the flat of his tongue over the bottom of your cock. It’s too much, all at once—

And how prettily you moan when you become undone (again) under this wonderful, awful man—

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Dan Heng wakes up with such a start, he nearly vomits. He does dry heave, snatching the conveniently placed trash can nearby and dropping his head inside to sputter. Spit dribbles off his lips and falls in globs to the bottom of the basket.

He sets it aside and rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes.

Again.

Again, again, again— he has these dreams all too often. Of a life that is not his, of a lover that couldn’t possibly, ever be his. They’re visceral, vivid— as though Dan Heng is experiencing them in real time, and they’re not some awful figment that clings from a past life.

They plague him, simply. He hates every moment of them.

The pleasure of them feels poisonous. That man is not him. Yingxing— is not his. The body that writhes and gasps is not his own. He’s an onlooker, a distant stranger looking in on something intimate and dead. It’s torture, really, but Dan Heng is an expert is quiet endurance, so he copes.

He stands, still wearing day clothes, and drags himself from his sleeping bag on the floor. His companions on the Astral Express all stated their initial concern with his choice of lodging and lack of a bed, but they’ve since calmed. Everyone on the Express has their quirks. It’s like how March sleep walks, Stelle occasionally glows from her chest, and you only sleep once every few weeks and never in your own room. Dan Heng enjoys his spot in the Archives due to the various motors and machinery that lay under the floor. It’s warm, far toastier than any other room, or bed for that matter.

(He is not Dan Feng. However, Dan Heng cannot deny that his more draconic instincts are somewhat intact.)

Dan Heng throws on his slouchiest sweater, threadbare and worn, and wanders to the parlor car. An hour or so of pacing usually cures him of any antsiness, and he can nurse a cup of tea while he walks too.

This night, however, you sit in the parlor car as well. Dan Heng slows as he sees you.

You’re— an enigma to him really. Everyone on the express is a bit of a misfit, but you are a newer addition to the bunch, and he and the rest of the crew are still grappling with your oddities.

Dan Heng has, since the moment he first met you, accepted he would never fully understand you. He made peace with it, moved on and has kept his distance except when necessary. It is better this way.

You’re staring, side-long, out of one of the wide windows of the car. Your chin is perched on your palm and your perpetually blood-shot eyes are half-lidded. Dark circles are punched beneath them. You look like shit. You always look like shit, and you have assured the crew that this is normal, despite March’s initial fretting.

When you notice him staring, a kind smile curls on your lips and you wave, good-natured.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine.” It’s not the first time you two have met like this. The Parlor Car is empty, except the two of you and the dimly glowing whale fixture that hangs from the ceiling. It feels familiar, much more comfortable than the... unwelcome familiarity of his own dreams. “I’m just fetching a cup of tea.”

“Ah, a night cap?” You hum, and crack your neck. “Sounds needed. That last dream of yours was wild.”

Dan Heng frowns, “I’ve asked you before to quit that, please. It’s invasive.”

“I would if I could,” You shrug. “But, I can’t. Besides, your dreams are loud, Dan Heng. I’d be unable to ignore them even if I was at the back of the train.”

“Can you at least not mention them?”

“I mean, I can not. But... they clearly upset you, don’t they?” You tilt your head, eyes soft. “Would you like to talk about them at all? I don’t mind listening.”

“They aren’t your concern.”

“I’m aware of that, but that doesn’t stop me from caring. I know they’re distressing.”

“You’re prying.”

“I’m asking, Dan Heng.” You sound a little desperate. Standing, you pass by him, in the direction of the passenger car. “You can say ‘no, my fellow Nameless, I would like you to never speak of me and my upsetting sex dreams,’ and I won’t ever mention them again. I don’t mean to be a thorn in your side, but the past is easier to bear in the present if you can lean on folks.”

Dan Heng is silent, stewing and stirring under his skin.

By the time he has a reply formulated, you have left the parlor car. The only sign that you’d ever been there to begin with is a patterned knit blanket left where you were sitting.

Dan Heng snatches it up before he can convince himself not to and returns to his room to add it to his ground-bound nest.

...

Welt had found you outside of a space station, idling around a refueling station. You’d been wearing a dirty utility jumpsuit with the emblem of some IPC-owned subsidiary screen-printed on the pocket. Your eyes had been glassy and far away. When Welt asked if you were alright, you had smiled and told him, “Actually, I’ve never been worse.”

The Express loves strays. It’s ultimately what he, Stelle, and March are. Welt to some extent as well, especially considering his several layers of mystery. Himeko has the disposition of a kind leader and the heart of a mother, and for all of Pom Pom’s fretting, they are always interested in a new face aboard the Astral Express, for however long they choose to be there.

It’s sensical that you were given a shower, a hot meal, and a room before you even fully understood what you were signing up for with the Express.

Dan Heng was, notably, wary of you. It was the way you looked at him after the first night you slept on the Express (one where he had predictably been plagued with images of a body that wasn’t really his being fucked and loved in a way Dan Heng couldn’t conceptualize his actual self receiving). There was clear concern etched in your expression, however you never voiced it. Not at first.

It was only after a few weeks that March pointed out you hadn’t slept since your arrival that you revealed your hand.

A bloodline blessed by the Aeon of Dreams, Sacha.

Dan Heng had heard of the Aeon, distantly. A seldom-traveled path, one for those with imagination run wild and a penchant for long naps. There were whispers that the Aeon was asleep, constantly. Otherwise, dead. Regardless, you bore the Godbeing’s blessing in some way.

You revealed this during a routine coffee break, just before Welt, March and Stelle descending to a little sandy moon. Perched on a chair, legs curled over your chest, you’d laughed when March pointed out your lack of good sleeping practices.

“I don’t need to, so I tend not to. It’s a difficult habit to break.”

You had explained to Dan Heng and Himeko that you and your kin, a race descended from a small planet from a dead solar system, all bear this blessing. No need for sleep and—

“I perceive the dreams of others.”

Dan Heng had questioned, immediately— “Perceive?”

“That’s the best way to put it.” You meet his eye and you look slack in your shoulders. Unbearably calm and tired. “What you dream, I experience along with you. The more I focus in, the more vivid it is.”

(Dan Heng is horrified and doesn’t speak to you for a week.)

After some significant, quiet panic, Dan Heng had politely asked you to not perceive his dreams if you could help it.

You’d told him you’d do your best.

And Dan Heng— appreciates the effort. Even if it's clear it's not working. You are so often up when he rises for his customary tea and jaunt, and tend to prod him a little. At least stop him to chat for a moment or tea. You’ll sneak in a cheeky comment or two, usually, but they’re so quick Dan Heng can’t do much more than blush and stumble over his next sentence.

You look highly amused and soft, those nights.

You never ridicule him, which he appreciates. More often you look pleasantly neutral, as if trying to emulate the aura of a familiar house plant near a skittish black cat.

(Dan Heng knows he is the skittish black cat.)

It’s— too much really. Dan Heng would rather bear it alone, take his cup of tea and do his laps, but he also can’t find it in him to tell you off too harshly. You tend to favor the parlor car, anyway. You get lost in the stars and galaxies they traverse easily. It would feel cruel to ask you to sequester yourself to your room simply so Dan Heng can brood more effectively.

Dan Heng does not know what to do about his own haunting (arousing) dreams, nor does he know what to do with you and your unfazed smiles.

...

You straddle Yingxing’s lap, thighs tense as you roll your hips. Your lover’s length grinds inside of you, stroking something small and hot and so good you could get drunk on it. You chase the sensation, selfish. Your hands are braced behind you, on Yingxing’s thighs as he is sprawled below.

His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a knotted mess. A hastily ripped piece of fabric binds Yingxing’s wrist together and secure to the stained wood of the bed frame. You were kind enough to carefully pull out his favored hairpin (a gift, one you commissioned him to make... for himself. Without his knowledge. Yingxing was moderately huffy about it until you tucked it into his hair yourself.) and set it aside.

Yingxing is not a weak man, but you are a Dragon, and therefore keeping him restrained and tethered is not difficult. Usually, you allow Yingxing the privilege of carving out your insides at his leisure and pace. There’s a sweet torture to it you have found yourself having grown fond of.

There is no other soul, mortal or otherwise, short-lived or long-lived, that you would allow to exert such control over you. Yingxing is an exception for you in so many ways. How dear this (foolish) craftsman has become to you.

“B-Beloved,” Yingxing’s voice is tight, strained. There’s sweat beading on his temples. “Might I persuade you into moving?”

You hum. Your tail wraps around his leg, from ankle to thigh and squeezes. The feathered tail flicks at Yingxing’s tense muscle and he jolts under you. A glittering laugh leaks from the corner of your mouth.

“Persuade me then.”

“Y-You’re not making this easy, are you?”

“I told you I wouldn’t. And you still agreed.”

“I thought the great Yinyue Jun would grant me some mercy at least. Excuse my wishful thinking. I thought that my dearest husband would forgo being a brat for at least a single night—”

You scoff.

You roll your hips, slow and deliberate. Yingxing’s words are cut off, killed in his throat as his eyes roll back into his skull. Keeping your core tight, you bury his cock in your hole to the hilt. You’re flush together, panting. It’s a tight squeeze, it always is. But the slight burn is familiar and welcome as you throw your head back and moan.

The sound is sin. If any of the Preceptors knew what this man did to you, he’d be drowned in Scalegorge within the day.

Yingxing curses in a tongue you don’t know— it’s his mother’s language, he once told you. He tries to buck up into your heat, but you hold him down and steady. Clicking your tongue and racking your nails down his chest. Thin welts rise in your wake. Yingxing lets loose a choked gasp as you slide down on his cock. The stretch is so, so good. You crave this ache. You fantasize about it when you surely shouldn’t. It haunts your—

Dreams?

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Dan Heng wakes up so hard it physically hurts. He gasps, muffling a half-there sound into his pillow. It’s shameful. He feels out of his mind as he flips onto his stomach and ruts into his nest of blankets. The friction is dry, scratchy, and barely enough. However— the phantom sensations of a dead lover crawl over him. Nostalgic and tragic and nauseating.

He comes with a sob that he prays no one hears. He stains the front of his boxers as he grinds his oversensitive cock against the wet fabric. It’s too much. He’s too sensitive. It hurts, but Dan Heng doesn’t know what else to do.

He feels ashamed as he sits up and runs a hand over his face.

It’s usually not this bad. Usually he can will away any arousal with logic. Reminding himself that the pleasant touch and face he remembers is long gone and was never his to have to begin with. Only on a few occasions has he woken up disoriented enough to forget himself to actually get off.

He needs to shower.

Dan Heng blearily leaves his room with his towel slung over his arm. The showers are on the other side of the passenger car. Dan Heng turns the spray on the highest heat, cooking himself as much as he can bear. There’s a latent energy in him that always swirls, begging him to push and pull the water around him, harness it for even a moment—

Before Dan Heng can entertain such things, he exits the spray, flushed bright red with his towel around his waist.

As he exits the shower, he finds you.

You’re perched one of the plush couches, tucked into a nook in the passenger car. Your signature blanket is not with you. You look— like shit. Dark circles stamped but your eyes look alight.

Dan Heng freezes as you notice him.

“... You alright?” You ask him.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure, bud?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

”You’re patronizing me.”

You stumble, “I don’t— I don’t mean to. That was just—”

“Please do not—”

“A lot.”

Your cheeks are flushed as you rub at them. Your gaze flits up to his then averts to the floor. You look... shy. It’s an expression he’s never seen you wear before, even when you were pulled onto the express filthy and in a heavily patched jumpsuit.

Something in Dan Heng’s chest squeezes. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels entirely too exposed. He’s not fully dry, and he can feel droplets of water dripping from his hair down to his shoulders. His throat bobs as he gulps you watch the movement with rapt attention.

He coughs.

“I asked you to refrain from viewing my dreams.”

“That one was loud.” You frown. “Incredibly loud. Like banging pots and pans, fireworks and explosives kind of loud. I couldn’t have ignored it, even though I very much want to. I’d love to give you your privacy, Dan Heng, but sadly the intricacies of your mind happen to make your dreams essentially unignorable.”

“Must you comment on them?”

“... I heard you crying after.” Your expression looks uncharacteristically torn up. Your lackadaisical smile and humor are nowhere to be found. “I was worried.”

“I can assure you, I am fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I do, regardless. The whole Express does.”

“I appreciate it. Though, it’s unnecessary.”

“Of course. Sure. Because you’re the paramount example of ‘not needing care’.”

“I’m self-sufficient.” This time, he frowns.

“You are.” You stand up and walk toward him. “‘Sufficient’ implies adequacy, not prosperity.”

“What are you implying?”

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, “That you, Dan Heng, seem like you could use some help. I won’t pry at your past, I’m aware it’s not my place to do so— however routinely having uncomfortably vivid sex dreams about a man who you clearly have complex feelings about, probably isn’t good for you. There’s an inevitable amount of strain. One that I think that you’re ignoring.”

“What help do you think I need?” His voice remains level, but your proximity has him wriggling under his skin.

“... I— could be a decent listener. I have all the time in the world. I’m always around at night.” You struggle to meet his gaze, but after a moment, your usual, easy smile erupts on your face. “Or, would you prefer more... direct assistance? I could help with that too.”

“Speak plainly.”

“Was the last time you had sex with the man in your dreams?”

Dan Heng’s throat closes up. The cloudhymn that are under his skin thrum and encircle him, for just a moment. Your eyes widen at the colors and hum of it and jump back. You almost stumble. The surge of power and energy shakes the passenger car. The whale-shaped light fixtures dance above you.

Dan Heng swallows.

“And if it was?”

You look at him, really look at him, and your eyes soften. Your center looks wide and vulnerable despite the churn in the air, “Then, do you think it could, perhaps, be helpful to add some more recent, pleasurable memories for your dreams to play with?”

Dan Heng flushes so quickly, he feels faint.

The instinctual cloudhymns around him die in an instant. He retreats, a firm grip remaining on the towel around his waist to keep it in place. He mumbles out a hasty ‘goodnight’.

He is unsure if you hear him.

...

In the days that follow, neither Dan Heng nor yourself, bring up your proposition.

The next morning, you look expectedly exhausted, but do not prod or pry at him any further. You sit at the long table for breakfast and munch on a piece of bread and some jam while Himeko goes over your next destination.

The few times you look at him, your smile is lazy and easy, however you turn away quickly.

You continue to skillfully avoid him.

Dan Heng— feels a bit bad about it. Maybe a lot. If he enters common spaces like the parlor car or dining car, you quickly leave after a peripheral greeting. You must be doing so as to not tip off the rest of the crew that there’s some amount of… tension between the two of you. Under different circumstances, Dan Heng would have appreciated the purposeful discretion, however something about it irks him.

The Express’s next destination is a repurposed space station at the edge of a solar system. A false sun, powered by a Stellaron— something to that effect. Stelle’s bodily composition is of some intrigue to the scientists looking to craft a replacement, while other factions wish to harness the Stellaron more directly than a not-so-distant source of light and heat.

Himeko’s engineering expertise is being requested, along with Welt’s understanding of Imaginary energy. March wants to go due to the complex system of bioluminescent algae that teems in the space station’s plentiful aquaponics infrastructure. (“It looks so pretty! I need photos!”)

There are very few reasons for Dan Heng to accompany them; the party’s already full. There are even fewer reasons for you to join, who, despite all of your assurances, looks particularly haggard and worse for wear. Both March and Himeko mother hen you into staying aboard the Express to keep Pom Pom company.

Dan Heng should make an excuse to leave as well. Something in his gut tells him it would be best to keep his distance from you.

(It would be easier that way.)

However, Dan Heng finds himself waving goodbye to his companions as they dock at the small port. Pom Pom has requested at least a single treat from their excursion while they wave exuberantly from his side.

You stand on Pom Pom’s right, lazily waving as well. Your shoulders are slumped.

As Pom Pom aways to dust the fixtures in the parlor car, Dan Heng faces you and speaks without thinking.

”You should rest.”

You blink owlishly at him. “… That’s not necessary.”

”You don’t look well.”

”You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

”I am being serious.”

”So am I.” You roll your eyes and shrug.

You attempt to walk away from him, but Dan Heng finds himself reaching out to grab your arm. His hand wraps around your forearm securely, firmly.

You still, wide-eyed.

”You can sleep, can’t you?”

”… I mean, yes?” You frown, glancing at his hand then back to his face.

“Would it help?”

”Help what?”

Dan Heng deadpans. “You’re exhausted.”

”… Dearest Dan Heng, I am always in this state. I apologize if my withered countenance has caused you grief. I am fine.”

You attempt to wrench your arm from his grip, but he doesn’t let you go. Your frown deepens.

“Being intentionally daft isn’t wise.”

You stare at him, “I’m not being ‘intentionally daft.’”

”I beg to differ.”

You mutter something in a tongue that Dan Heng doesn’t recognize. “What’s your deal? I apologize for getting into your business previously. I have been trying to give you ample space and shut out your dreams to the best of my ability. Is that not enough?”

”No.” No, no, no— that’s not really. It. Dan Heng isn’t sure what it is, but at this moment, his mood has little to do with your knowledge of his horrible, awful, persistent wet dreams, but something else. “I’m not upset at you for that.”

You stare and your hands ball into fists, “So, you’re really pestering me over my well-being?”

”Yes?”

”Aeons, Dan Heng.” You say his name in a croon and it makes him shudder. He wants to scream. “It really isn’t a big deal.”

”Is it straining you to not… perceive my dreams?”

Your expression goes blank. “I mean. Yes. But, it’s not a big deal—“

“You look awful.”

”You can’t have both.” You are clearly frustrated. Dan Heng’s grip is unrelenting. “I can’t— I can’t attempt to block out your silly sex dreams without a not-insignificant amount of effort. I’m either going to be very keyed into that pretty silver-haired man who you clearly wish was in your bed, or I’m going to look a bit more worse for wear. The latter, Dan Heng, does not bother me. Fretting over me isn’t going to make me less worn down.”

”And you just… don’t care that you’re tired?”

“I’m always tired.” You smile then, the same lazy, curling quirk of your lips that you so often wear, ever since the Express dragged you aboard from that rest stop. Dull-eyed and wearing a filthy utility jumpsuit. “I don’t want to cause you all any additional grief. I wish you wouldn’t worry about me.”

Dan Heng doesn’t know what to say.

“... That isn’t your choice.” The words feel paltry, half-there.

You pull your arm from his grip, thumbing at the spot where he held you. Your soft day clothes have rumbled under his grip, “That’s hilarious, coming from you, Dan Heng.”

“This is different.”

“How so?”

“Because—” Dan Heng clicks his tongue. Something— something simmers just under his chest. Something bigger than himself, salty like the sea and heavy like green stone that writhes as you stare him down. “Because my dreams are my business. The man— men— in my dreams are my ills to carry. They should not affect my present. You shouldn’t be affected by them.”

“Well, crazy, but I am—” You go nose-to-nose with him and huff. Dan Heng backs into a railing behind him, back curving. “Because I don’t like seeing you in pain—”

Something kicks Dan Heng’s shin and he hisses. You jump away from him with a stumble, looking down at a glowering Pom Pom. Their tail twitches.

“No fighting in my parlor car!” Pom Pom huffs. “Does Pom Pom need to get Miss Himeko’s ‘get along’ shirt?”

“That’s not necessary,” Dan Heng rushes to say.

You’re already walking away, out of the parlor car with a shake of your head and one last wistful look.

...

You tear your heart from your chest.

It is expectedly painful, even if you braced for it. Even if in your deepest meditations, you simulated the pain of such a loss with cloudhymn to prepare for this moment, on the off chance you would need to lose your heart from between your ribs and give it to your beloved. So few of Long’s scions retain the ability to rebirth with multiple hearts— only a handful of high elders, really. You can imagine what they will say about you, think about this act you’re committing.

Sin. And a painful one.

The blade in your hand clatters to the ground as you hold your heart in your own palm. It’s large— a dragon’s heart. It will not fit in the chest of a mortal.

(But, you will make it fit.)

Yingxing is— is— he’s dead. He’s a corpse on the ground below you. One of his arms is missing, while the other is twisted at a most unnatural angle. His star silver hair is a tangled knot in the dirt, Yingxing’s favored hairpin shattered somewhere in the foreground. The color is no longer pure. It’s a dirty scarlet. A mix of your beloved’s blood and Shuhu’s.

Yingxing’s eyes are half open and dull. Purple turned bruised-petal lilac. His lip is split and blood trickles from the corner of his lips,

This is not to say anything about his middle which is—

Not really there.

It makes inserting the heart easier. You think so anyway. Your hands shake (they never have before, not like this) and you cry (you have not cried like this before) as you shove the heart into Yingxing’s necrotic chest. You have to further break his ribs to shove your heart into him. Cloudhymn spins around you— a storm, a gale for you. It dulls the screams from your younger companion begging you to stop. A beast roars in the distance, above it all. The sound makes the air tremble and split. Your ears would bleed, were you a weaker species.

(A necessary sacrifice— she— she was already dead. Past saving. You only have two hearts. One which is yours and one which is now—)

Yingxing’s.

Your beloved flinches. Lurches as unnatural growth burgeons from him. He wails on the ground as magics spin within him. You are doing the most unholy thing to him. But, you must, right? You cannot lose him. You cannot lose Yingxing. You have given everything, always, as every self, to your role and its meaning— can you not have this one thing? May your beloved not stay by your side, however unfair and painful the circumstances?

Unblemished, ghostly pale tissue regrows from Yingxing’s body at an alarming pace. It rejoins his upper and lower halves together as he screams.

Yingxing’s hands wrap around your neck and you’re shoved into the dirt. You are not expecting the force and the impact, even less so. The air knock out of you and the cloudhymns shudder. The magics are thinner for a moment, you could see your other companions if you chose to. You could see how many Xianzhou cloud knights have fallen to the beast you created.

You ignore them.

You ignore them all to look up at your beloved. Eyes now a wild red, teeth glimmering white and stained with blood. His hair has darkened, silver turned dark, like it had been dipped in thick, viscous oil. Yingxing bares his teeth and screams at you.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, DAN FENG!”

—!

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Dan Heng awakens to a silent Astral Express. The trainship is still docked and it’s running on ancillary power in the meantime.

It’s entirely too quiet. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

He scrambles to grab at his own chest— there’s no gaping hole. There’s no— there’s no blood on his hands (not real, material blood anyway . Various parties would beg to differ as to if he has any actual blood on his hands. But, the past is the past, isn’t it? These dreams are the afterimages of the life of a deadman. That’s all they can be. The man that chases him across the universe bears a different name and a younger face. The man who will always make time for him on a Godship, so very far away, may use his name ‘Dan Heng’, but is that who he truly sees when he looks at Dan Heng?)

Dan Heng dry heaves into his hands.

He barely manages to crawl to the little bathroom attached to his room to puke his brains out. He hasn’t had much of an appetite over the past few days, and most of what comes up is water, pile, and half-digested rice porridge.

By the time he withdraws and flushes, wiping his hand over his mouth, he feels winded. Disgusting. Sweaty and entirely too wet.

Shower.

Dan Heng methodically grabs his few supplies and walks across the silent Astral Express to the showers. He could take a bath— maybe it would help. March keeps minty bath products out and available that are so strong that they tend to pull any of the Express’s passengers out of a funk if used. There’s a little basket of them in the tiled common area of the baths. There’s a hand-written note in March’s perfect scrawl that says “Please take one❤️!)

Dan Heng snatches a few before picking his favored, individual shower. There’s a little atrium before entering the shower itself, where he sheds his drenched bedclothes and hangs them, along with his towel. He turns on the shower and idles for a moment, listening to the dull roar of it.

Water splashes onto him in droplets. There’s a (dormant. Dormant. He swears it’s dormant) instinct to ball the errant water up and toy with it with cloudhymn. The pearl that idles in the center of Cloud Piercer has many different ways to harness its power beyond a weapon of steel that—

(Isn’t his, is it?)

Dan Heng wants to vomit again. He steps into the spray before the nausea overtakes him.

The spray is cold— he usually takes cold showers, regardless of if it’s after a particularly intimate dream. He prefers cold water. He enjoys cold baths, but they’re a luxury he enjoys only once in a while, and usually for the better part of a day. He’ll stay submerged for what would be a worrisome amount of time (if he didn’t bear the spare parts of imbibitor lunae) and, despite his assurances, worries the rest of the crew. As sedentary and reclusive as Dan Heng can be, camping out in the baths for the better part of a day causes a stir amongst the express.

They’re a treat, a bothersome one.

Now, he washes himself thoroughly. It’s a mechanical and rhythmic thing. It soothes him. His breath comes steadier.

Dan Heng hasn’t had a dream that unpleasant in quite some time. He has always had the more gruesome— of tragedies beyond this knowledge. But, they’re rarer. He is haunted more frequently by memories of pleasure and that almost makes the shadow of Dan Feng more cloying. The gruesome are just that— gruesome. He has put together pieces of Dan Feng’s sin, though he refuses to touch the Archive’s documents ported from the Luofu on the subject.

Ignorance is bliss and Dan Heng feels knowledgeable enough. The breach between his own memories and Dan Feng’s is less solid than it once was. Dan Heng will more than likely find out with time.

It despairs him for a moment as he turns off the water and towels off. He feels— more lucid. Better.

He’s surprised that you haven’t sought him out.

There’s— no way you didn’t perceive that dream. Dan Heng can’t be entirely sure what you mean when you call a dream ‘loud’, but he knows the very real pain he felt during it could constitute as such. He listens closely as he dresses in new bedclothes. The Express is still quiet aside from machine hum.

Dan Heng could check on you. He thinks about it. Your room is just past Stelle’s and considering you weren’t in the parlor car, you’re probably there.

You shouldn’t have seen that. But, it’s not like Dan Heng can help it, right?

The tangle of feelings within Dan Heng writhes as he exits the showers. It grows even more unruly as he notes a change in the parlor car.

Resting on one of the plush seats is a hastily folded blanket, a still-steaming cup of tea, and a small, folded note.

Dan Heng approaches and reads.

i’ve noticed you like my blankets. take this one. it’s one of my favorites.

have some tea and rest if you can.

— [name] ╰(*°▽°*)

The penmanship is shaky, and clearly quickly written. None of the paper’s folds match up with each other. There’s a spill of tea on the coffee table that looks half-wiped away.

Something heavy settles in Dan Heng’s gut. He gathers the blanket, the tea, and your note and heads back to the archives with a pit in his chest.

Like he’s still missing a heart.

...

Things come to a head a few days later. The rest of the Astral Express crew is still sorting things on the space station, and you and Dan Heng only have so much space to dodge each other.

And, truthfully? Dan Heng stopped avoiding you the day before yesterday. Now, he is actively (read: passively but passionately) trying to seek you out. This involves listening keenly for when you leave your room, but lately, those trips are few and far between. And always occurring while Dan Heng is asleep. Pom Pom confirms this, looking increasingly uneasy at the clear tension between the two of you.

Dan Heng— doesn’t know what to do. He is good at running from his problems. He put Cloud Piercer through— Blade’s chest any number of times and hopped to the next planet more times than he cared to think about. He ran from the shackling prison, the Luofu, and its General without looking back even in a cursory way. Dan Heng finds sentimentality to be a new feeling, a new fixture within his person and does not know how to handle it. He does not want to run away from you— he wants to run toward you.

The blankets of yours (three in total) are in his nest. He paces the passenger car each night hoping you’ll reveal yourself. He hovers outside of your door, hand poised to knock, but he never does.

He does not know what he’d say.

Dan Heng does not have confidence in his words in that way. He can speak well— it’s an overhang from Dan Feng, and he is grateful for it, but on more than one occasion, March has (rather explosively) shouted at him for being so... blank-faced in the heat of an emotional conflict. The two of them occasionally do butt heads, usually when March is attempting to run headfirst into a situation without proper forethought, and those encounters have ended with March tearfully screaming at Dan Heng to just be “honest with his face!”

His lack of expression is also an overhang for Dan Feng.

No matter how well-crafted his sentences and well-spoken his words, Dan Heng cannot connect them to how he feels... effectively. It’s disjointed. Like armor made with incorrectly sized plates that cannot possibly be pieced together. Clothing created with a misdrawn pattern, never able to be sewn in a wearable way.

If he were to face you, he is certain he will not be able to voice how he feels.

He can at least— do something. Give you something, since you seem so hellbent on leaving him special tea blends you’ve stashed away and BLANKETS.

(Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him?)

Dan Heng stops trying to run from you. He resolves to do something or say something because it's better than the widening rift that’s currently being run through the Astral Express, between the two of you.

Dan Heng gets his opportunity in the late evening. He’d— feigned sleep. Intentionally. A deep state of meditation for long enough that you might think he was enjoying a dreamless night of sleep, however, he’d only be idle, waiting for sounds of any of your activity in the direction of the parlor and meal car.

Dan Heng hears your door slide open down the hall as he sits upright, cross-legged in his nest of many blankets and pillows. Your steps are quiet, the lightest pad against the flooring outside. He strains to hear you.

He does notice, however, how you move even slower as you walk past his door. So clearly intentionally trying to keep quiet for his sake.

Dan Heng waits a few minutes until he’s certain you’re either in the Parlor Car or Meal Car before uncrossing his legs and bounding from his room. He means— to be more put together about this. But, he’s nervous he’ll miss his chance, and you’ll retreat, and be gone for longer—

Dan Heng finds you in the meal car, poking over cold dinner leftovers with a sullen expression. Your brows are heavy, eyes dull. You look— awful. You always look awful, he’s sure you’ll assure him, but now you look bad. You look ill. Unwell. The oversized shirt hanging from your shoulders billows in an uncomfortable way. It has too many undone buttons, leaving a deep v, exposing too much of your chest.

You look up at him, eyes widening.

“I thought you were asleep.” You say softly, putting down the tongs you had been using. You didn’t bother picking up any food, your little bowl is entirely empty.

Dan Heng opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He snaps it shut a moment later.

Your eyes soften and you sag. You look like you could melt into the Express’s floor at any moment. Your eyes radiate... pity.

“Did I wake you? I try to be quiet.” You laugh, looking sidelong, out one of the many windows. “Sorry about the fuss. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Dan Heng is frozen.

You idle, only for a moment, holding your breath, before shaking your head minutely. It— it makes his palms sweat. You try to shuffle past him. Dan Heng is blocking your only exit, and you attempt to side-step him as he gapes at you, unmoving. Unsure.

Dan Heng grabs you by the forearm as you pass.

He holds you there. Steady. His grip is firm and unyielding. Maybe too tight, based on your sharp intake of breath as you wobble in place. Dan Heng steadies you with his other hand. Without— thinking, his palm lands on your ribcage and you jump with the contact.

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

And you face each other.

“You’re avoiding me.” Dan Heng speaks first. His words feel sure, but there’s a sticky feeling in his chest.

“... Perhaps.” You smile easily, despite how worn you look. “It seems like you have a lot on your mind. I didn’t want my presence and what it entails to burden you, dearest Dan Heng. I apologize if that wasn’t clear.”

“What do you mean by your ‘presence and what entails’?”

You look like you’ve been punched. Dan Heng feels ill.

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“Please be straightforward.

“Kind Dan Heng, I am—”

“Please, explain yourself.” Dan Heng feels— frustration bubble up into the back of his throat. It’s acidic. He looks from the grip he has on your arm to your face, lingering on the chapped lines of your lips before meeting your eyes. “Why do you think you would burden me?”

You look at him sadly, “I thought we’ve been over this.”

“We haven’t, to my knowledge.” Dan Heng frowns. You look like you’ve been slapped.

“I apologize.” You shouldn’t be. “Dan Heng, don’t I know too much?”

He locks his jaw.

You continue. “You’re an incredibly private person. I don’t want to know about a past you’re clearly not comfortable sharing. I cannot help what I am able to perceive, however I can create some distance between the two of us, so as not to suffocate you with the fact that I know about your dirty laundry without your expressed consent.”

Dan Heng’s mouth is dry.

You’re an unbearably earnest individual. As mysterious as you make yourself, you don’t tend to lie. You’re blunt in a way that’s disarming, heart flayed open as if rended with a short, sharp blade, on display for anyone who would like to view and poke at it.

“I apologize for communicating that more effectively,” You add more softly. You place your hand over his, the one bracing your arm. You squeeze. “It must be hard to bear those things, and you’ve made it clear you wish to do so alone. I want to respect that and you, Dan Heng. My door is always open, but I thought it might be easier for you to not... be reminded so easily, by my presence.”

Your eyes are wet as you look away from him, to the floor. You take the smallest, most guarded intake of breath. It looks like you’re trying not to cry.

Dan Heng feels something cold and large in his chest. Big enough to swallow him whole.

He says your name, even and unwavering, with the weight of the sea behind it. You glance up at him, straining to give him your same lazy, forced smile—

And he kisses it off your lips.

It’s not an action Dan Heng thinks about. You’re almost close enough to feel each other’s breath regardless. One moment, he is staring at you with his own frown, and the next his lips are on yours, tilting his head to search for the best angle. The force of the action has you stumbling back into the wall behind you. The hand he kept on your ribs moves to your waist, bracing you.

It takes a moment for you to react. A startled little (whimper, a whimper) sound gets muffled by his lips as he cradles your jaw. Deepening the gesture. You react and— return it. Moving your lips against his, leaning into his grip.

Only to freeze, and shove at his shoulders a moment later, “W-Wait.”

Dan Heng pulls back, panting.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell him. There’s an urgency in your voice like you’re scared. You nervously run your hands up and down his arms. Dan Heng doesn’t even think you’re aware you’re doing so. “I— I offered sex to you seriously, but— don’t just take my affection because you want to close the distance. There’s other ways to be intimate, you know?”

“I’m aware,” says Dan Heng. Your lips are just barely kiss bruised. He wants to make it worse. It’s an easier expression of the gulf in his chest that writhes with your closeness. “However, I want to fuck you.”

The dullness of your eyes is stolen as they widen. Heat rises in your cheeks. You’re stunned speechless.

...

Dan Heng wants to eat you.

As in, he wants to have you in his mouth, under his teeth and tongue, and get you in his gut so you never go away again. It’s— a draconic instinct. Something carnal and old that could swallow him alive. It is another overhang from Dan Feng. Such bloody impulses aren’t... uncommon for Dan Heng. However, he has learned to temper them with training, combat, and more recently, some expression of cloudhymn.

Never sex, however. Because your initial guess was correct. Dan Heng has not ever had sex, and the last time Dan Feng had had sex, he is fairly certain was a teary, bloody affair with a half-dead, bloodied Yingxing.

This encounter, however, is very different.

There is no swirling Scalegorge and broken, coral-lined streets. There is no sand grating against his knees over Yingxing's almost-corpse. There is no tempest of his own making, cracking the sky in two, and tearing the world asunder.

Rather, there is his nest of blankets and pillows, and your soft body below him. He straddles your waist, protecting the curve of your thighs with his own. The lights of the Archive’s room are dim, the machine hum below is lulling background noise and comforting. And you— you’re warm— not cold or bloodied. Your eyes are soft, but keen in a different way from the man in the echoes of memory. There’s no sharpness to you, not in your words or your presence.

You’re gentle as you cup Dan Heng’s jaw and drag him closer to kiss him.

“You’re thinking pretty hard.” You murmur against his lips. “Are you sure you want this?”

The question makes him— angry. He still doesn’t know how to voice it, so instead he pressed you down into the floor. A bodily expression.

Your hands tangle in his hair and stroke at the lower curve of his skull. It’s gentle, rhythmic and lulling. It’s nothing like—

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing tears at your scalp, hands wound into your long hair. His cock is buried in your throat, bullied there at your request. He’s seated so deep that your nose is buried in the bristly, silver hairs at the base of him. His scent is intoxicant, musky and unclean. Instinct tells you it’s impure, but you have learned that’s conditioning.

You want to swallow him whole.

You swallow around his cock as Yingxing grinds into your throat. You gag, you always do, but Yingxing ignores you in favor of fucking your face with more vigor. The sounds that drag from you are obscene. Ugly things, guttural sounds. Tears drip down your cheeks, spit down your chin—

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You kiss him softly, pliant beneath him and snake a hand lower, easily. It’s practiced. Like you’ve done this a hundred times. The rhythm of intimacy seems easy. You palm over his increasingly hard cock and smile against his lips.

“Does it feel good?” you ask, voice soft and curling.

Before Dan Heng can reply, you’re licking up his jaw, to his ear. You nip and suck and Dan Heng can’t help the way his eyes roll back in his head. He groans, rolling his hips against your hand. The friction is dry, but it’s something. Something new and different and not an arousing nightmare. But an arousing reality.

He moans at the contact. The sound startles him.

You seem pleased as you hum against his ear and kiss down from his most sensitive spot, lower, licking over skin with practiced motions. You nip at his collarbones, laughing under your breath when Dan Heng twitches with the pressure of it.

Dan Heng feels— thoroughly disarmed. The feeling grows more intense as you coax him to flip your positions in the next moment.

His back hits the mound of pillows softly. You cradle the back of his head as he moves and massage his scalp.

It’s— the care of it that feels different. There was clearly care between Dan Feng and Yingxing. Too much, in Dan Heng’s opinion— (they shared the kind of care that tore history asunder, love so brilliant and cloying that it could only bring sticky destruction). The kind you give him is different. There’s a warmth in your gaze which is foreign. Yingxing held passion and a brightly burning heat that would surely burn itself out too young. Branding heat.

Yours is tender, the warmth of a hearth you stacked and lit yourself. You beckon him closer with a smile on your lips and hands tangled in his hair. You tug on it, with the barest edge of pain. Dan Heng likes it.

Your knee slots between his thighs, something to grind onto. He can’t help the way he yearns for more contact, and seeks the friction. His pants are too tight, but he doesn’t want to remove them yet.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing tears off your clothes. Your finest robes— the ceremonial ones, silks with intricate embroidery and beaded with perfectly cut crystals— are in tatters by your bedside within moments. Yingxing’s want is unyielding. The lips that move against your own are so much, and so good. You crave it. Yingxing licks into your mouth and you moan loud enough for your entire home to hear. Never mind your attendants and preceptors.

Let them talk. Let them gossip. You have never cared for legacy regardless.

Yingxing rips away your undergarments. Gossamer things, thin and mostly see-through. You’re already hard, leaking, aching for touch. Yingxing spits on his palm and strokes you. He doesn’t stop as you squirm. You’re not used to touch, especially not like this. No matter how often Yingxing takes you like this, your body cannot fully acclimate quickly.

It takes a moment.

Yingxing uses this to his advantage. He holds you like he has something to prove as he swipes away pre from the head of your cock and licks it off his thumb. He looks smug, smitten, vibrant, and enthralled.

“How many times can I make you come tonight?” Yingxing purrs, voice rough and silken all at once. You feel your cock twitch in his hand. He smirks. “What if I break you?”

“I’d throw you through a window.” You snap at him.

“You wouldn’t.” Yingxing rubs down to the base of your cock and plays with your most tender parts. You try to kick him and he catches your ankle. Yingxing, the bastard he is, presses a kiss to your ankle. Reverent. “You like it when I break you.”

“You’re terrible.”

“And I’m yours. And I’d like to make Yinyue-Jun cry tonight.”

It’s— humiliating the way he speaks to you sometimes. He adores you. He loves you. And for that reason, he knows he can get away with goading you on and shoving you around as he does. He knows intimately what it all does to you. The way your cheeks flush and your cock leaks down its shaft are enough of an indicator. No one sees you bare. Just— him.

Just him.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Dan Heng starts to remove your clothes.

You seem surprised when he does. You try to take over the task yourself, but Dan Heng bats your hands away.

He wants to do this.

Dan Heng is methodical with each button and overly careful. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, noting how it hastens as he works on the last few buttons. The garment is pushed off your shoulders and discarded into his nest.

Seeing you bare is— vulnerable. Surely. You attempt to smile but— Dan Heng sees the cracks in it. As lax as you try to be, this is something different for you as well. Another mystery woven into you that Dan Heng wants to pick apart.

He rubs at your hips, up your ribs and to your chest. You gasp with his touch, leaning back to brace yourself on his thighs. It exposes you more, and— gives him more room to indulge. He cups your breast and steels his resolve when you whine.

Dan Heng has never done this. He wasn’t sure he ever would. It feels foreign and odd to touch you this way, but Dan Heng likes it. The heat that rises in your cheeks when he pinches your nipples. The soft puffs of breath and the sweat of arousal that’s growing on your temple. You roll your hips down onto his clothed cock, seeking the same contact he does.

There’s a tumble to it then. The task of disrobing continues, and you end up entirely nude on top of him, while Dan Heng is still fully clothed.

“... Is this more comfortable for you?” You ask. You aren’t... shy about your body. But there’s an unfamiliar squirm in your upper half that Dan Heng reads as discomfort.

You’re exposed. He is not.

“Somewhat.” Dan Heng lays his hand flat over his navel. He imagines what his cock would feel like inside you and he nearly blacks out.

“Why?”

Dan Heng thinks for a moment—

(It’s because Dan Feng liked power. He loved the games where he could have all of the power and control in his hands, and those where it was torn from him as well. He reveled in both. This— want is an afterburn. One that is not Dan Heng’s. Just like every other thought of intimacy and sex that Dan Heng has ever felt—)

“Dan Heng,” You breathe his name and pet his cheeks. You’re closer now, chest to chest. “Can you tell me why? It’s okay if you can’t.”

“It’s too complicated.”

“... Could you try to tell me, still? We have time.”

“I want to fuck you.”

“You can. After.”

Dan Heng frowns at you. He wants to tell you that— he wants it now. And that patience is something he has in spades but you are testing the limits of. Your poking and prodding, he wants to toss it aside in favor of the literal you in his lap.

He wets his lips as you look at him expectantly. You stroke over his cheek, soothing him as if he were an angry kitten.

“I like that—” Dan Heng starts, and his words die in his throat. What he wants to say—

(“I like that I can see all of you, while not revealing any of myself.”)

You seem like less of a mystery like this, bare and sweaty over top of him. There’s less of you that you can obscure. You’re not hiding from him, dodging him, or flaying him open with honesty while so much of you remains tucked away. You cannot hide your own arousal. Your cheeks are hot with it, your pupils dark and dilated, and your lips are licked and wet.

“Hm?” You hum, a devious smirk stretching over your lips. You grind down onto his cock, with enough pressure that it almost hurts. His eyes roll back into his head. “Can’t you tell me, Dan Heng? Why do you like hiding the way you do?”

Dan Heng stills, opening his eyes to blink at your incredulously.

“... Why do ‘I’ hide?” Dan Heng asks. His tone is rude. He internally slaps his own wrists then forgives himself, because in the next moment, you have your palm over his cock, gripping the length of him through the fabric of his pants. You flick your thumb over where the head is concealed and look smitten with the way his hips jolt.

“I am not a fool.” You toy with the button on his trousers. “Dan Heng, the Nameless, who hides and hides and hides. And feels so infinitely bad when a single card in his hand is revealed. The shame you carry, doesn’t it burden you?”

Dan Heng’s mouth is dry, “I—”

“You can hide like this. I won’t stop you,” You hum, still smiling, still lax in the shoulders. You run a hand up his navel, over his shirt, careful to retain his frail modesty. “Perhaps a bit bashful, yes. But, you’re hiding. How can you crave intimacy when you’re seeking it from behind a veil? Dearest Dan Heng, I will indulge you, because you are dear to me, but will it be fulfilling—?”

You prattle on.

Dan Heng is... seething. Quietly and carefully. Because, you are not wrong. There’s truth to your accusations. You speak no lies, yet the way you’re... delivering the truth is frail and in fragments. Your own eyes look hazy. Your touch grows shaky. Your voice is too soft around the edges for the sharpness of your words.

Dan Heng—

He knows that look.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You have never had sex before.

You’ve read about it, because your Preceptors made sure you did when you were young. This was in the case that you were raped, that you would know what the experience was, so it could be reported in an appropriate and timely manner.

Your exposure to sex beyond that was minimal. Though Vidyadhara copulated, it was not for the sake of procreation. It was based in pleasure, supposedly. You had learned that the humans and foxians of the Xianzhou had sex for the sake of pleasure and power which... you cannot understand. You don’t endeavor to understand it, as you have all of the power that you need.

(You are naive for this, you will learn in time.)

The first time Yingxing implores you to have sex, you know the rote motions. You assume— that since he is a human, this is what he wants from you. You let Yingxing push you down on your own mattress, and you lay there. Yingxing speaks as he disrobes himself, then tends to you.

Each layer of clothing he removes from your body feels like you’re being cut with a knife.

You haven’t let any attendants dress you since you learned to adeptly use Cloudhymn to assist yourself instead. You frequently wear three, sometimes four, layers of silken clothing, even when you are around your own home.

No one sees Yinyue-Jun bare.

And yet, Yingxing peels back each garment without much reverie. He undoes metal and mother-of-pearl clasps with a dexterous flick of his fingers and a dashing, sharp-toothed smile over his lips.

You look down at his own chest when he pushes away the final layer. Your skin is milky, untouched cream. You’re too skinny, the muscle you have is wiry without enough fat. You watch your own chest rise and fall— so quickly. Too quickly.

When you look up at Yingxing, whatever smile he had worn is gone. He wears concern so transparently over his brow as he cups your cheek. His lips move, and you do not hear him. Your own lips still move, an instinctual reply even if you do not register your own words. You can predict what you’re saying.

(“I am fine.)

(“There is no need to worry about me.”)

(“You are foolish for worrying about me.”)

Yingxing softens after you speak, and thumbs over your lips. The pads of his fingers are rough. You can feel the heat callouses, born of friction and incidental burns. It’s so much different from your own flesh, constantly-healing, pure and so rarely bruised.

Yingxing deftly falls to your side, and scoops you in his arms. He smells like iron and smoke. You’re stiff at his side.

He speaks directly in your ear, nosing the shell of it, “As much as I would love to bed Yinyue-Jun, I can recognize when I need to be a gentleman about it.”

“... Pardon?” You swallow. Your voice is foggy in your own ears.

Yingxing’s hand settles on his hip. He pulls back just enough to look at you, nose to nose, violet eyes soft in the amber sway of candles in the room.

“Yinyue-Jun is very brave, for a virgin.” This time, Yingxing smiles like a menace. You punch his back and he seems unperturbed. “Let’s take our time. You have plenty of it, and I have enough to show you how to enjoy this well.”

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Dan Heng understands, then.

In a smooth motion, he raises his palm to fit over your mouth. You stop speaking beneath it, and you snatch his wrist up in your own grip.

“If I am hiding, then so are you,” Dan Heng says. There is no waver to his voice anymore. “And you are terrified.”

You freeze above him.

It’s enough of an opening for Dan Heng to knit his legs with your own, and drag you down into his nest. He wraps his arms around you, chest-to-chest (covering you, hiding you himself, keeping you safe and sating that fanged, draconic howl in his chest that will never fully quiet). You remain stiff in his arms, eyes wide and you’re not smiling.

Your gaze flickers up to his and holds it, unrelentingly.

“I don’t mind doing things scared.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Will you enjoy it if you’re scared?”

“... Maybe less, but it’ll feel nice.” You shrug, nosing at his jaw. “I like you, Dan Heng. I wouldn’t have offered sex if I didn’t want to have it.”

Dan Heng locks his jaw. He noses down your jaw, down your neck, to the juncture where your shoulder meets it. The flesh is tender. You have your free arm draped carefully over your chest, covering your most exposed, vulnerable portions as he tries to do the same to you. Your breath is soft, bated as he hovers.

“I don’t want to have sex with you if it will only feel ‘nice’,” Dan Heng says into the hollow of your throat.

“How demanding.”

The bar is on the fucking ground. “I do not think so.”

Dan Heng slides a hand lower, between your thighs. You’re only wearing shorts, soft amiri-cotton that sparkles in the lowlight of the archive’s room. It’s a thin garment. It takes nothing for Dan Heng to cup a hand over your sex. With dexterity and focus, he presses his middle finger closer. The seam of your cunt is wet, even through the fabric.

“Are you scared or nervous?” He asks.

“Hm, what about you?”

“Do not dodge my question.” He squeezes over your cunt and you clutch at his shoulders with a gasp. “Just answer it.”

You consider his question, and open your mouth like you’re going to attempt to parry him, then close it again. Your lips are smooth, petal-soft as he thumbs over them, urging them to stay closed until you have an answer.

Dan Heng struggles with eye contact, but forces himself to stare you down.

“Both?” You ask behind his finger. There’s a hint of mirth behind your words.

Dan Heng frowns, “How can it... be enjoyable for you?”

“... That’s a good question.” You look far-off for a moment, not there in his nest. “Not quite sure, but I’m sure I can.”

There’s an implicit ‘I have before’ that you do not say. However, with the way your head falls limply to the side in his grip, Dan Heng immediately knows he hit one of your rare soft spots. He— he immediately regrets it. He’s in uncharted territory that he strong-armed his way into. And he— he doesn’t know the way out. He’s a sexless virgin who masturbates once every three months and his most emotionally (and sexually) charged relationship is with the living ghost of a man insistent on killing him.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing does not remember much of his youth.

Dan Feng knows this intimately.

The short-lived have expiring memories that seem to muddle the old over time. Dan Feng cannot understand, as his memory is pristine and clear from the time he emerged from the ancient sea in a jade-colored egg.

Yingxing remembers the Zhuming, vaguely, and then remembers arriving on the Luofu. He vaguely remembers his first meeting with Baiheng, and sleeping on a little cot in her tiny apartment while he worked his way up in the Artisanship Commission. Lucidly, these are his earliest memories.

Outside of lucidity, Dan Feng knows Yingxing remembers more.

Occasionally, something will make Yingxing remember his unpleasant, smallest youth. The loud boom of the Luofu’s biggest fireworks. A snarling dog. Splintering wood. The scent of burnt hair.

It makes Yingxing stiffen, tense, and draw up in himself.

Dan Feng has done his own research early on. In his adolescence, Yingxing was nothing more than a scrappy refugee with nothing to his name.

Yingxing’s home planet, a lush-planet... abundant in jungle lands and river systems, was plundered by abundance. Borisins. Most of its population was wiped out. Yingxing escaped due to good fortune, luck, and no doubt sacrifices he couldn’t remember.

He understands Yingxing’s passion and revulsion much better after he learns these things.

It all enrages Dan Feng.

Yingxing’s fragmented memory, which continues to weather with time, can only give him the basest impulses when faced with something that makes him remember that frightening time. Even if he cannot remember in the mind, then he does in the body.

Dan Feng does not tell Yingxing that he knows. Yingxing is too proud a man— he’ll take offense and cause trouble. Dan Feng thinks it is better that he himself hold the knowledge, and soothe him how he can. Dan Feng can stew within himself, hone Cloud Piercer, and cut those who slighted his beloved.

It is something beyond duty.

An expression of care, one that tastes briny and bloody on Dan Feng’s fangs.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

“Can I help?” Dan Heng asks.

You blink at him. He strokes down your cheek. You hum and press your lips into his palm.

“Can you?”

“I— I will,” Dan Heng stammers. “How can I make this less... scary, for you?”

Can he?

Your gaze penetrates him. It’s something sharp, seeking. Looking for his weak spots for a moment. You’re searching for danger in him.

You soften and cozy up closer, a moment later.

“Just... take your time, and I’ll take mine.” You kiss him, and speak against his lips. “It’s easier if we both can ease into it.”

Dan Heng nods. He... he wants to fuck you. He will.

...

You pick each other apart. Bit by bit, piece by piece.

It is a slow affair, one neither of you truly lead. You spur Dan Heng on, and he follows.

He guides you when he can, when it feels natural and normal. You seem content in those moments, more relaxed and soft-eyed.

You do not wear a full facade all of the time, but Dan Heng now knows that you are careful to keep yourself skillfully hidden.

Dan Heng finds this out, intimately, while he is between your thighs, tongue against your slit. He laps at you, in the motions you describe. Your hands are buried in his hair, directing him with your grip and the gentle grind of your hips against his face. It is— heavenly. Your thighs around his ears, the scent of you. He left a few pointed bite marks on your thighs, which you had yelped at.

He enjoyed giving them.

You fall apart against his mouth in a way he hasn’t seen before.

It’s— so good to watch. When he looks up at you, you gasp, you whine, and throw your wrist over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re letting out. Each gasp has Dan Heng earnestly trying to wring more out of you. He watches your eyes roll back as you crest. Your thighs clamp around his skull and a broken sound rips from your throat. He guides you through it, then moves to your hole, lapping at your essence until he’s sure he’s drenched in it.

You pull him up for a kiss, and lick into his mouth. Your hands shake as they pet over his cheeks and jaw. Against his lips, you tell him— “you did so well”, “that was so good”, “thank you” —

The praise is almost unbearable Dan Heng has to hide his burning face in your neck to escape the vulnerability of it.

You pay it no mind, and just laugh at him, smothering your lips into his mused-up hair.

It’s— it’s good. It’s good and soft and nothing like the dreams he’s carried with him for fair too long.

“Did you enjoy that?” You ask him, forcing him to look at you.

“I did.”

“Good.” You’re smitten with the answer and rub at his waist. You’d— clawed off his shirt at one point. Bare to each other. Dan Heng only has on his final layer of underwear that is increasingly tight and wet, with a growing patch of pre on the front.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” You ask. Your hand, gentle, slides down his front, between your bodies to rub over his cock.

Dan Heng— struggles to find words as you tease the head of it with the tip of a finger. The smile you wear is devilish.

“Maybe later—” He manages. “I want to— be inside you.”

He wants to be closer.

You look content with that, and pet him some more.

“In due time,” You kiss his cheek. “Will you allow me to be cruel, and make you wait a little longer?”

“It’s not cruel.”

“Okay, mean then.”

“You’re the furthest thing from mean.” Dan Heng frowns. He bites your cheek in retaliation without thinking and you squirm, pinned beneath him. A laugh bubbles from your throat, and Dan Heng can’t help but twin the sound.

“So kind.”

...

Time stretches out, between languid kissing and the feel of your bare bodies so close, the night and day cycles the Express regulates do not seem of consequence. It’s the most relaxed Dan Heng has been in recent memory. You make it easy to be so.

You have no expectations when you touch him, other than the easy exchange of heat and spit.

By the time Dan Heng has your legs wrapped around your waist, cock against your hole, he’s light-headed. He wants, so much. The image of you laid out before him, bare and covered in various marks of his, will be with him for years. There’s nothing lazy or unfocused about your gaze now, there’s only desire, so hot and needy that it makes Dan Heng’s throat feel tight.

You flex your hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your clit. You both gasp.

“Please, Dan Heng?” You say smugly as you play with the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I—” The words die in his throat.

He strokes up and down the flesh of your stomach. Your muscles are relaxed, soft. You’re no longer playing a role, he thinks. You’re here, wanting, edging toward begging him. The head of his cock is purple from strain and prolonged arousal.

He presses into you slowly.

You are stretched, and Dan Heng isn’t particularly large, so he does not see any strain cross your features. If anything, there’s relief. If you were relaxed before, you’re boneless now, taking as much of him as he will give you.

Dan Heng fucks you in earnest then, under the glow of the Archive’s many machines and fixtures. You grab at his shoulders and bury your face in his neck. Dan Heng didn’t think he shared Dan Feng’s proclivity for pain, however the way your nails wrack down his back has him throbbing from inside you.

By the time he spills inside you, he’s gasping, sobbing with each thrust because it is so much. Closeness— like this— that’s real and tangible and in his grasp and within his body (only his, no one else’s) feels so vibrant and violent, it cleaves him open. He comes with a broken sound muffled into your throat, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there. You let him, spasming with the pressure and letting out your own half-cry with the pain. Dan Heng fucks you through his orgasm, until he can’t support his weight on his knees, and he falls on top of you.

You let out a little ‘oof’, and then laugh, wrung out and happy.

Dan Heng cherishes the memory.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You are most tired, but you must continue to move forward.

Despite your aching rear and scratchy eyes, there are duties to attend to. Never mind that your husband is in your bed, knocked out, regardless of whatever regenerative cloudhymns you could give him. Yingxing is mortal, and no matter how much of you he consumes (figuratively), it only slows his aging, never stopping it completely.

Yingxing will die, long before you do. And that is if he dies of old age and not the diseases and maladies of the short-lived. Or some violence that you and the rest of the Quintet will be unable to protect him from.

This will not do.

You enter your study with sweeping, loose robes. You tell your attendants to leave you be. Your ritual obligations are not until the evening. Until then, you will be confine yourself in your study and continue to pour over the scrolls, documents, and books you have been able to find. It has been hard to procure some of them— having Sanctus Medicus texts brought to the home of the High Elder would be treasonous. It has required careful planning to amass the library you have, and you are diligent in keeping it hidden. Even from your lover.

He would not forgive you, were he to know.

You have never been selfish, not once in your life. In any of your lives. You have lived for your people, the Luofu, and a dead Aeon that you remain the after-image of. You have played the part well, smiled when necessary and remained cold enough to rarely stir dangerous interests. You have healed many without complaint.

As you settle into your nest of pillows and blankets, and pick up your newest scroll, you don’t feel that guilty. You will let yourself have this one thing. If nothing else in any of your lifetimes, this one fucking thing will be yours.

You unfurl the scroll with a yawn. It’s a text, an old one, from the High Elder that followed Yubie. They lived a short life for a high elder, two hundred years. However, they were a prolific scholar. Most of their works have been hidden away with time, as some are downright blasphemous and utilize the Abundance in a way that both the Vidyadhara’s high council and the Luofu’s Charioteers could not tolerate.

This particular one has not seen the light of day since that High Elder’s time. It is titled:

[The Twin-Hearted Dragon Theory: The Permanence and Abundance’s Coalescing]

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

“What a weird one.” You say with a yawn. Dan Heng can hear your voice through your chest, where his cheek is pillowed on your bare chest. He— there’s a spot of drool that’s cooling unpleasantly. He blinks awake and rises off you, to rub the stickiness away, blushing furiously.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It was cute. You were sleeping good, for once.” You tell him and muse up his hair. “Besides, you’ve gotten me far messier than that.”

You both are messy. Dan Heng can feel the stickiness on his softened cock, and he imagines you’re leaking between your legs. He sneaks a hand between your body and gently feels along your thighs to confirm his suspicion.

You gasp when he grazes your core. You— you are dripping. Cold, too. It must be uncomfortable. Dan Heng frowns.

“Don’t worry about that.” You assure him, voice shaking. “We can clean up in a little bit.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“Maybe,” you hum, unsure. “I don’t mind it, regardless.”

Dan Heng raises himself up off of you, and braces his hands on your inner thighs. He’s warmed with the combined heat of the Archives, his nest, and you. You’re chilled under him and— Dan Heng. Can’t have that. He can’t totally trace why, he pulls a blanket up and over your bodies.

You let him arrange you as he sees fit. He brings you to his chest, and fits your head under his chin. He tangles your legs, indulges in the contact and tries to transfer some of his volcanic heat into you. You look content as he does, nuzzling into his throat.

Your own eyelids droop.

“Are you going to sleep?” He asks.

“... Probably not.” You say with a yawn.

“You look tired.”

“I am,” You nod and push closer. “But, I don’t need to, and it’s hard to get myself to sleep. It’s more trouble than it's worth, trying to sleep.”

Dan Heng doesn’t think before speaking. “Has it always been hard?”

You pause, breathing even and slowly, “Not always.”

“Why did it get harder?”

You choose your words carefully then, despite your evident exhaustion. Your brow droops, and you rub at Dan Heng’s sides. Your thumbs skitter over his ribs.

“How much do you know about the Kin of Sacha, Dan Heng?” You ask. “It provides context. I’d hate to bore you.”

“... Very little. The databanks only has limited information.”

“Oh, you looked for me?” You nip at his jaw, playful, even as Dan Heng prepares a nervous rebuttal. You soothe his distress before it can get anywhere. “I’m kidding— and it makes sense there’s not much about us out there. There aren’t that many of us to begin with.”

“... How many?”

“I’m not sure, truthfully. Probably less than a thousand. Maybe half of that. Unless Sacha has... awoken to bless more. But I doubt that.”

You rarely mention the Aeon who provided you your sleeplessness and dream-seeing. You even more seldom mention anyone you knew prior to your time on the express.

You sign, “Typically, the Kin of Sacha work as mystics or laborers. Some societies we encountered saw the Aeon’s gifts as a psychic boon to be cultivated. Others, like the one I was raised in, saw the Kin as a well of infinite, tireless labor. You learn quickly under those expectations that even if you could sleep, it’s more ideal not to.”

Conditioning, then.

Dan Heng thinks back to when he first saw you at that rest stop. How you’d swayed on your two feet, eyes glassy and far away. How long they took to focus. How the embroidered logo on your breast must’ve belonged to whatever company you’d been under the employ of. Pieces fit together, and Dan Heng feels slightly sick.

“You don’t— need to be like that, now. You should sleep.”

With your hands braced on his chest, you lean back to look at him. Your gaze is soft, unguarded. You look almost plush with it.

“... I guess I should.”

(I guess I could.)

That’s all it takes, really. You nearly collapse back into the nest, and Dan Heng settled himself to be curled around you. If— If he still deigned to manifest his Vidyadharan tail, perhaps it would be curled around you both.

But, Dan Heng does not manifest any tail. You do not need to stay awake. You both rest under the filtered, soft light of the Archives, and that is all you must do.

#lore writes #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #hsr x reader #SOUP!! COOKED!!#the format of this story was so fun to write hehe #enjoy loves <3

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slytherinshua · 6 months ago

Text

APPLES AND PEARS

genre. fluff. secret relationship. farmer au lmao?? warnings. rivalry between families. having to hide a relationship because of bad blood. not proofread. pairing. sion x fem!reader. wc. 2.4k. request. no. a/n. yes this is based on that one couple in my little pony.... fight me they were cute AND IT WAS A CUTE IDEA. also got the idea from @sleepy-wonus's nct wish x mlp moodboard series and sion's mb. divider by @/pommecita.

The rivalry between your family’s pear orchard and the Oh family’s apple orchard went back too far to even count. Generations of tradition went into the planting, pruning, harvesting, and selling of your pears, and you took great pride in it, much like the rest of your family. You would never get tired of the smell of sweet pears, or the process of baking the fresh fruit into pastries.

Despite how much you liked it, you often found it overwhelming. Your parents had a few strict rules which you had to follow since you were little. There were only two of them, but you had always found them extremely hard to stick to.

The first rule was to never eat pears from the trees. You were only allowed to have them once they had been sorted through and separated by quality. When you were younger, you despised this one the most. You absolutely loved pears no matter how many you ate. Not being able to pick them fresh off the tree to enjoy was torture.

The second rule was to never talk to the Oh family, and to never cross the property line on the west side of the farm. Around 50 acres of trees grew on your family’s property. When you were younger, you were simply never allowed to travel to the far west side. This only piqued your curiosity about the rivalled apple orchard.

Your parents always told you that the Oh family were terrible people who had wrongly scammed your family and stolen your precious land (and loyal customers). You wholeheartedly believed them when you were younger and held the same contempt as they did for the ‘apple family’. But were they really as bad as your family insisted?

“Sion! You’re not allowed to climb the tree!” You whisper-shouted in panic, a basket of pears in your hand which you quickly dropped to the ground, “You’re out in the open again! I’m gonna get in trouble.” You whined, running up to the base of the tree and staring up at the boy. He gave you a mischievous smile.

“If they come around, I’ll hop down and pretend like I was picking apples this entire time.” He grinned, glancing back at the property line where you saw an empty basket he had abandoned.

Oh Sion. The oldest son of the Oh family, who you first met when you were 14, and soon found out was exactly your age. Who could blame you for being curious about him? You barely saw anyone outside of your family, much less a boy, that too from the one family you were never supposed to talk to. All the rivalry, competition, and loathing that you were supposed to hold for him disappeared as soon as you saw his face.

Now, a few years later, you and him were still keeping up the delicate act of hiding yourselves whenever you met up. Your parents would have a heart attack if they knew you had been talking to him, much less kissing him. (He was an excellent kisser, though).

“Your bosc pears are sweeter this year.” He commented, pointing at the fruit hanging from the branch he was sitting on. You could tell he was fishing for compliments— trying to impress you with his knowledge on the fruit.

“Don’t start acting like a pear expert just because you can finally tell the difference. You didn’t even know there were different types before I told you.” You rolled your eyes, “Get down from the tree. You’re putting stress on the branch.”

“Only if you give me a kiss.” Sion said gleefully, hopping down to the ground in one smooth motion.

You stepped forward, caging him in against the tree with one hand, “You want a kiss in return for trespassing on my property?” You raised an eyebrow, amused at his antics.

His eyes twinkled, “Are you going to give it to me or not? I don’t have all day.” His hand slipped to your waist, waiting for you to make the move. You leaned in, eyes fluttering shut. Just as your lips touched his and you were met with the sweet taste of apple and cinnamon, you heard a voice drawing nearer.

You both pulled apart on instinct, and Sion slipped behind the tree and back across the property line without another word. You lamented over the unfortunate timing for a moment before picking up your basket and facing your aunt who had come to ask for your help with the pear butter.

After finishing up the batch of pear butter and peeling and cutting a few baskets of pears, you were finally sent on harvesting duty again. You snuck back to the same tree, hoping that Sion would still be picking apples nearby. It was easy to spot the head of dirty blond against the trees bearing sweet gala apples.

“No worms got in this year, I hope?” You teased, stepping over the line into the apple orchard. Sion tossed you an apple from the branch.

“See for yourself.”

You smiled, taking a seat on the grass as you watched him work. He was tall, and able to reach the fruit easily. Although he was also lazy, opting to bend the branches down to reach instead of getting a ladder. You bit into the apple, a pleased smile on your face whenever you had the opportunity to break a rule. Sion watched you with a smirk as well, the sentiment shared.

He had been brought up similarly, although not quite as harsh as your parents. Rather than seeing your family as having wronged his, you were painted as lesser and therefore not worth his time. Apples always sold more than pears— the proof was in the fruit, as Sion’s mother said. Sion had always liked pears himself.

“You owe me for earlier.” He said as he plucked the last apple from the branch.

“I’m ready to pay up.” You smiled, beckoning him over next to you.

“Good. Because I was feeling a bit cheated.” He plopped down on the ground beside you, shuffling next to you until your knees were touching. You cupped his cheek and drew his face to yours, sighing happily when there were no interruptions to your kiss.

There were always unanswered questions that came with your relationship with Sion. The simple fact that neither of your parents would ever accept the other often made thinking of the future impossible. So, you lived in the present. You enjoyed every day you saw Sion, and took every opportunity you could to talk to him, hold him, kiss him. You loved him wholeheartedly.

He pressed his lips harder against yours, deepening the kiss. The taste of the apple you had just eaten on your tongue made him pull apart to giggle. You tasted like him, and it made his chest feel warm.

“I have the fall fair for a week, you know. I won’t be able to see you.” He mumbled, catching his breath.

“Don’t remind me.” You shushed him of the thought with your lips finding his again, desperately getting your fill of the feeling before you would inevitably be deprived of it again.

As much as he would’ve liked to stay kissing you for the rest of the day, preparations for the fair separated you two once again. You only had time to give him a couple pears to stash away for the trip before he left. He was busy for the rest of the day, preparing recipes and packaging hundreds of apples into boxes. By the time evening came, he had already left on the long drive to town.

You hated when Sion was away. There were many tasks you could do to keep yourself busy, but your small breaks to talk to him at the edge of the farm kept you motivated unlike anything else. Seeing the empty apple orchard only made you miss him more; so you tried to stay inside the house as much as possible.

Your grandma was working on new quilts for the winter. Most of the fabric had patterns of pears or leaves on them, but you found a random stash of apple related ones as well. Deciding to take up your own sewing project, you started to make a small quilt for Sion (although you told your mother it was just a personal project).

The days had never gone slower. Although it was peak pear season and the orchard was doing better than ever, you were starting to get sick of pears. When Sion wasn’t there, you quickly grew tired of having to be surrounded by them all the time. They weren’t a source of your pride anymore if everyone else around you already shared it with you.

Two days before he was supposed to return, you found yourself walking over to the property line again. It was evening and the chance of any of your family seeing you by the westside trees that had already been picked was low. You didn’t even try to hide your intention as you crossed over the line, looking for a fresh apple to pick. You just missed him that bad.

“Missed me that much, huh?”

You startled from the sound of his voice, dropping the apple you had just plucked from the tree out of shock. You turned around and there he was. His face was obscured from the night darkness, but you didn’t even need to see his face to know he was wearing his signature grin.

You ran into his arms, the feeling of him squeezing you tightly suggesting that he missed you even more than you did. He smelled slightly like pears, and it brought a small smile to your face.

“Why are you back so early? Did I not give you enough pears to keep you away?” You pulled back from the hug, pushing back some of his hair to better see his face. He was so pretty.

“I ran out by the third day. You should’ve given me a better stock.” He complained. “My parents sent me to catch the honeycrisp harvest on the best day. The timing didn’t work out too well this year, so I volunteered to go back by myself.” He told you, “And maybe I also wanted some more pears.” The whispered afterthought made you giggle.

For the first time ever, you slipped onto the Oh’s orchard without any fear. You found Sion sitting on the porch, peeling apples by hand with a small knife. He didn’t notice you at first, partly because he was so focused on his task, and partly because you had never dared to come this far onto his family’s farm before.

“What are you making with those?” You asked as you took a seat beside him.

“Apple sauce. We like to slow cook them for a couple hours, but not too long otherwise it’ll turn out too watery. Never overnight.” He grinned, reaching over to a basket and handing you a knife. “Since you’re here, you might as well help.”

“I feel like I’m cheating on at least 10 generations of my family.” You commented as you grabbed a fresh apple from the pail at his feet and started peeling away the skin.

You were a bit clumsy with the knife on the apple. They were much bigger than your pears, not to mention a completely different shape. You definitely didn’t have as much skill in the area as Sion. He finished peeling three apples in the time it took you to just do one. His peels dropped into the compost bucket in one clean long spiral, while yours were scrappy and broken.

“Hold it like this.” Sion said softly, adjusting your hands so that you steadied the apple with your thumb and cut towards it. You watched him demonstrate how to peel it the best, starting from the top of the apple and finishing at the bottom without breaking the peel once. It was perfectly thin without catching any of the fruit on it. You had to admit that watching him do it so perfectly was hot.

With his guidance, you saw better results immediately, although you would never accomplish his level of over 15 years with just 1 afternoon of practice. Once the apples were peeled, you started to core and cut them into medium sized chunks. You had much more success with it, as you were more used to coring pears.

Cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves went into the pot as seasoning for the fruit. The smell of fall enveloped your senses with sweet and spicy scents. Maybe it was because the same notes were always what Sion lips tasted like, or maybe it was your growing love for any recipe that included apples in it, but you were obsessed with the smell.

“I should hire you on the farm. Who knew the pear girl would be so good with apples?” Sion teased you once you were done, taking a walk around the orchard together to check on the state of the trees.

“If only our family’s didn’t hate each other.” You mused, letting a sigh leave your lips. You finally had a taste of what it would be like to not have to hide. You knew you would always enjoy any time you spent with Sion, but you didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as you did.

“It’s a shame. Apples and pears aren’t even that different. They’re better together, in fact.” Sion commented, nudging you with his elbow. You laughed at his hidden meaning, linking your fingers together with his as you neared the pear side of the farm.

“See you tomorrow?” You asked, stepping over the line, Sion still standing on his side. You toyed with his fingers, delaying when you would actually have to say goodbye.

“You know where to find me.” He smiled, letting you decide when to finally let go of his hands.

Like always, saying goodbye was the worst part of the day, for both you and Sion. Being so close to you, yet so separated left a sour taste in Sion’s mouth. He so badly wished he could spend every moment with you, or even help around your family’s farm as well. He was more likely to get a pear to his face than even the slightest chance of your family accepting him. So, he cut his losses when he had to. He still felt grateful for what he had.

He had you. Sion was hopelessly in love with you, a feeling that you shared without hesitance. And that itself was enough for both of you.

↳ nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @talking-saxy,, @hursheys,,

@kristianities,, @lilly-cherry7

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asumofwords · 6 months ago

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Watercress

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Smallfolk OC, mentions of death and war, descriptions of injury and blood, slowburn. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello there my sweet angels! Thank you so much for your patience in me writing this. It has been such a long time since I have written anything and I am so excited to finally have a burst of energy (and the inspiration) to do it! As I'm writing this I'm like, is this similar to Lighthouse? And you know what, potentially? Lmaoooo. I'm not sure how many chapters this bad boy is going to be, but it will be a miniseries hehe. If you want to be tagged in the taglist, let me know, otherwise I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Broken

Still and brittle air. A body of water that had rippled with anger, now calm and without falsely made tides. In the woods beside the ever stretching lake, there was food to be found, herbs to be foraged, and animals to be hunted. What she hadn’t accounted for was the discovery of a man.

As she moved through the nearby woodlands, her eyes diligently scanned the forest floor for edible plants to gather and bring home. She followed a slender stream that wound its way like a vein through the lush greenery. Below her, she spotted some watercress and knelt down to collect it.

The plant was easy to identify, its round, dark green leaves gleaming with a healthy shine, growing in plump clusters that resembled clover. A common enough find, watercress was versatile—its peppery flavour could be enjoyed raw or cooked, adding a subtle kick to various dishes.

With gentle precision, she cut the stems at their base using her blade, then placed the watercress into the small basket she held at her hip. The air filled with a faint peppery scent as her fingers began to feel the familiar tackiness from the leaves. She took care not to harvest too much, arranging the watercress atop the rest of her foraged goods before continuing along the well-worn path toward the lake. Beneath the cloth in her basket lay a worn net, neatly folded, its ends weighted by sinkers like the delicate strands of a spider's web.

A lot of trouble the lake had seen in the few days past. Troubles from highborn nobles who cared naught about the smallfolk who outnumber them. But now that it was still, it was almost eerie from how so much chaos can suddenly halt in its tracks from the actions of just two; how much destruction just even one could make.

The soft chirping of birds echoed through the gaps between the trees, mingling with the gentle creaking of branches swaying in the breeze. As she neared the shore, the bushes and trees grew sparser, revealing the familiar lake’s edge. Stones of varying sizes scattered the bank, and the water lay calm, a deep shade of blue.

Her cottage was tucked behind her, deeper within the woods from where she had come. It was close enough to the village—a few hours walk—but far enough that few ventured to this secluded corner of the lake. There was an unspoken respect for the boundaries each had claimed, and everyone faithfully followed their familiar, ancestral paths.

Though autumn rapidly approached, and the nipping of the cold chilled her through her skirts, the woman still stripped her feet of her shoes and stockings, pulling up her skirts and apron to knot at the side, leaving her legs bare to the open air.

With a swift flourish, she pulled the net from the basket and waded into the lake until the water reached her knees, disregarding the cold that bit at her skin. In the frigid depths, her feet slid over and between the rocks beneath, occasionally unsettling her balance and sending small ripples across the surface.

She stood motionless for a time, waiting for the disturbed fish to be lulled back into a false sense of safety. Once the water had settled, she cast her net, its pointed corners spreading like the limbs of an octopus before sinking below the surface. She gripped the long rope attached to the center and began to drag the net back toward her.

At first, the net yielded only a few stray leaves and a couple of twigs. Undeterred, she carefully ensured that the net was untangled before tossing it back into the water. Again, she pulled it in quickly, only to find the same meager catch. She repeated the process until her toes had grown numb and a dull ache crept up her shins from the cold.

Moving to a new spot, she threw the net once more, watching the weights sink swiftly as she pulled it in. This time, there was resistance.

The water rippled and splashed as she hauled the net up, revealing three small fish trapped inside. Their silvery bodies thrashed side to side, desperately trying to escape. With swift, steady steps, she walked back to the shore and dropped the net onto the dirt bank, watching the fish flop and struggle. Taking out her hunting knife, she carefully avoided cutting the rope as she held each fish down, driving the blade into their heads. The frantic thrashing slowed to a dull twitch, and then ceased altogether. She slit their bellies open, removed the guts, and flung them into the water, hoping to attract more fish—or perhaps even larger ones.

She placed them in the basket, but their sizes were nothing extraordinary. She thought that she could dry some for later, store them to eat dried or to soak in a stew with a thick bread. And though the coldness was beginning to get to her, she continued, walking straight back into the water to throw her net back in.

Casting the net out far and pulling it back in, she managed to get four more fish which she killed, gutted and placed in the basket beside the other. Though not greedy, she knew that the winter months would soon be upon her and it was best to be prepared with an ample store of dried fish and foods, even more-so now after the war had ravaged so much of the Seven Kingdoms. She decided that if she was to have ten, she would be able to eat well that evening as well as have a fair stash to have ready whenever needed.

Once more she stepped out into the water, though this time daring to wade deeper, the water coming to her mid thigh, the bottoms of her skirts and apron slowly became saturated, the weight pulling her body down.

Another cast of the net, she watched as the weights sunk into the dark depths, the sun bleached rope disappearing into the lake before she began to pull at the rope, only this time the tension of the rope pulled taught and the net became stuck.

With a huff, she blew a stray strand of hair from her face and yanked on the net, trying to dislodge it from whatever it had snagged on—a branch or perhaps a rock. But the net wouldn’t budge, and her frustration grew. She pulled harder, and the net finally came free, but the force sent her stumbling backward, her foot slipping into a small dip in the lakebed. Her hips plunged into the cold water.

"Fuck." she hissed as the icy water soaked her gown up to her waist.

In a surge of anger, she wrenched the net toward her, only to find her frustration deepening when she saw a rip in the netting. The frayed rope left a gaping hole, one that would take considerable time to mend—or perhaps force her to start anew.

“Fucking cunt.” She flung the net back to shore, the weights making a wet thud on the soil, as she looked to where the her net had got caught.

With her dress already soaked, she made no quarrels with walking deeper, the icy lake now coming up to her chest as she tried to peer down into the dark depths to see what her net had gotten snagged on. Why she looked, she did not know. Perhaps to curse out whatever rock or object had ruined her perfectly fine net. At the very least she had caught enough fish to last her until she could mend the torn net, or start anew. Gods forbid she had to walk to a nearby town to buy one.

With careful feet she waded in the water, reaching her toes out first in search of the sunken object. Hands balancing her atop the waters surface, she reached further forward in search. Her toes touched small rocks, their broken edges skating against the sides or sole of her foot-- but still it was not what had ruined her net. There were many rocks in the lake, she knew this, the fishermen who had boats on the lake and drew trade knew this, but she frequented this spot enough to know that there was something new there that shouldn’t be.

Rough and smooth all at once she felt it, something before her nestled between boulders. As her toe searched the foreign object, a sharp sting radiated up from them. She hissed, pulling her foot backwards, wondering if there was something new within the lake that could swallow her whole. Her curiosity took over. Tentatively, she pushed her foot out again, finding the smooth yet bumpy object that seemed to be colder than the water itself. The more she touched it, the more she realised that it was not what she had thought at all. In fact, she was surprised to come to the conclusion that it was manmade.

With her dress already soaked, she dipped her arm into the water, shoulder and breast dipping beneath the surface halting her breath as her fingers sought out what her toes had found. Cool metal met her hand, her digits wrapping around a cylinder shape, the feeling of spirals beneath. With all her might she pulled it, the weight of what she held making her strain, but as she lifted it she was able to see the glinting of steel beneath the water as it got closer to the surface.

The sword hilt was black and gold, a sort of spiral shape at the top, its cross guards gold and in the shape of a head, a bird perhaps? Or a dragon? It was long and heavy, and just when she thought the rest of it would come to the surface, she was wrong. It was far too large and too heavy for her to pull it up out of the water. Stepping back carefully with the new found object in hand, she dragged it behind her, the point dragging over rocks and sediment alike until finally she was back on the shore.

The make of the sword told her that it was worth its weight in gold, and even had gold upon it to prove her observations further. It would have belonged to a nobleman, or perhaps even a knight, though the closer the looked at it, the more features she could see that resembled symbolism of House Targaryen.

So it was one of theirs, then.

She let the sword drop to the sand, hands on her hips as she looked at both her basket full of food and fish, the broken net, and finally to the sword. The sword would be worth much, but she would have to travel far to sell it to anyone with the coin to buy it. But then comes the trouble of travelling with such a large, and if she was correct in what she thought it was, recognisable item. It would risk raiders, or worse, some overzealous loyalist who deigned her a thief and cut off her hands.

Eyes drifting behind her towards the lake, she wondered what had happened those days past.

She remembered the sound, the ear piercing shrieks from the sky, heat of fire, the smell of smoke and crashing of water. But she had run as fast as she would once she saw the great green beast fly overhead.

Nothing good ever came to the Riverlands when She was near.

Eventually though, having nowhere else to go, the woman had returned in the night, hidden amongst the forest and trees, listening for the sounds of roaring and flame which had ceased quickly as it echoed around the lake. And when she arrived back to the lake, it was quiet once more.

The dance of the two dragons above Gods Eye was no more, and she could finally go back to living her life; uninterrupted.

She scanned the shoreline surrounding, eyes narrowing in the distance to see if she saw any signs of the dragons. Perhaps they had crawled out from the lake on the other side and had made their way towards her end? But the lake was so large and so deep, that none could even see to the other side.

Turning to pick up her basket and the sword again she was halted by the flickering of something shiny in the distance, the setting sun reflecting off of metal amongst tree root and rock. She wondered briefly if it was going to be another sword, or perhaps a helm. That would be easier to sell at the nearby town; a smith would certainly pay handsomely to melt down the steel and turn it into whatever wares he desired. She kicked soil over the blade and placed the basket full of greens and fish atop the hilt, covering the gold and reflective surface entirely before making her way towards the flickering light.

Her dress pulled down on her shoulders heavily, water dripping from the hem with each step as a chill rose upon her flesh. But something compelled her further, despite all other instincts within, she pushed on, making her way towards the glinting metal which snaked along the rocky shore. The closer she got, the more she recognised that it was chains, draped and shining in the sun, some covered in dirt the rest leading towards the water.

She thought of the many things she could do with the chains, what their worth could be, and whether or not it was worth going further to collect them, and yet still she persisted, feet muddy and wet, a slight sting from where the blade of the sword had cut at her toes.

She bent down to gaze upon them, strong, good quality steel it seemed. They had not tarnished, nor were their many marks upon them. The chain links were half the length of her arm and triple the width, its weight likely more than her own. They were far too large for her to carry alone.

A breeze rolled through the forest and across the water, sending goosebumps to rise over her body with a shiver. It was getting dark, she was drenched, and the best option was to leave the larger find behind and come back for it on the morrow, perhaps with a plan on how she would move the chain from water, to shore, to forest, to door.

She turned to face the forest and was greeted with evidence of the destruction dragons could inflict. Trees older than her grandmother had ever been, their trunks as wide as horses, split down the centre and broken from the impact of a large body. Further within she could see the singed tree tops, where ash that had settled down atop the canopy. The eeriness of a broken forest and a broken realm, far too close to home.

And yet she was drawn to it, this destruction. It was unlike anything she had witnessed before; she was pulled forward. Feet crunching on the pine floor, the crunch of her steps deafening in comparison to how quiet it was amongst the carnage. The animals had not yet returned, the ones that had once been there dead, silent.

Even with the trees that had somehow managed to survive, to stand tall despite the terror that had reigned above them, their trunks and leaves were covered in the evidence of what was. Ash, streaked each surface, and with a curious hand she place it atop the bark of a tree, brushing her finger along the ridges of the wood, watching as they turned grey. A quick rub of forefinger and pointer together made the ash smear, and as she stood by that tree, taking in the scene before her, her eyes focused upon a darkness behind the tree that should not have been there.

Something that was not born of ash nor bark nor fur.

Something human.

Uncertainly she took a step around the tree to see the beginning of a boot, a leathered boot at that. And attached to it a leg, and then hips, and finally;

A man.

Dressed head to toe in dark leather, now grey with ash, the man lay on his side. Her heart raced in her chest, though she had seen the dead before, this time was different. This time it was not a sick merchant, nor a child who had gotten the winter fever. It was not her father dying at the hands of a drunken fight, blood trickling from his mouth.

This was one of them.

Long silver hair lay knotted across the mans face, ash streaking the pearlescent tresses grey. His skin much the same, though the parlour was similar to a corpse; so pale, so almost blue that she could have mistaken him for one of Harrenhal’s ghosts.

Was he the man who had slaughtered the Strong family at Harrenhal?

Or was he the one who commanded the brutal rape and murders of those who opposed the Blackwoods?

Did it matter? She thought to herself, They were all the same.

The leg she had discovered was bent at an unnatural angle, the shin snapped in two, broken in a way that if he had lived he would have been crippled for the rest of his days. The rest of his body did not fair well either, tears in his leather tunic and breeches given way to an attack, or a fall, or Gods knew what else. The famed silver hair which obscured his face from view was red at his skull, slowly seeping into a rust colour where blood had dried from a wound.

Bare toes stood beside the pale mans head as she dipped to her knees, her wet dress sticking to the ash and pine coated floor. She observed him for a time, admiring the stitchwork of the tunic he wore, noting that it would likely be-- despite its conditions-- the nicest thing she could own. But she was no grave robber, and she had no desire to be haunted by his spirit after desecrating his corpse.

Her curiosity however won out, and with an unsteady hand, unsure whether it be from the cold or the man, she reached forth to brush the blood crusted hair away from his face.

Despite its appearance, ash, blood and leaves tangled in the locks, his hair was as soft as silk as she brushed it with her hands. The skin of his ear was cold to the touch. She swept the tangled heap away from his brow and cheek, revealing a bruised and cut cheek, though that was not what had made her breath skip in her chest.

The space where his eye should have been was empty, though not from this battle, but from one many years ago she supposed, the skin of the brow and cheek scarred deeply down his face. She could see to the back of where his eye would have once sat, the flesh darkened and scarred.

Aemond One-Eye.

Following the scar on his cheek, she looked to his lips, where dried blood had crusted at its opening and down his other cheek to the forest floor. His nose, aquiline and strong had bled too, as did his ears from what she would see, and through the centre of his face a cut sliced through the bridge where bruising and bone were visible.

It was weird, to sit so close to a corpse of royalty, and she were sure that if he were alive he would have stuck her for daring to even touch him. For daring to even touch his pure blood, and his pure hair, and his purer skin. And this thought alone made her touch him all the more, tracing curious fingers across his cheek, his nose, the scar running through his cheek, and down to his neck, where his tunic had been torn and the pale expanse of his neck was visible.

Her finger trailed down past his jaw, underneath it, wondering what in the world separated the two of them. They died just like everyone else. Whether that be in the birthing bed, in cups of ale, or fighting one another. What made the Targaryens so far removed from her? Besides their silver hair, their lilac eyes and their dragons, they were merely men, and all men died.

The King was proof of this.

A faint fluttering beneath her fingers made her lift her hand in shock, her digits hovering over the mans face as she looked at him in disbelief.

He couldn’t…

She leant down, dipping her ear beside his lip as she rested a hand against his ribs.

And there it was, a rattling breath so weak, so quiet, that had his lips not been pressed against her ear she would not have heard it.

He was alive.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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n0vazsq · 1 month ago

Text

Over | Marc Bernal x Reader

pairing . . . marc bernal x ex!reader

summary . . . Visiting Marc's house after his injury wasn't on your agenda, but when his mother asks about you two, you're surprised she doesn't know you two broke up

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.8k+

warnings . . . angst!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . died, cried. sobbed.

. . . It had been a week since Marc's injury, and still, there was an unspoken weight that filled the silence of the house. His mom was confused. She couldn’t understand why you weren’t there.

You, who had always been by his side. She had expected you, the way she expected him to wake up from his surgery, the way she expected him to smile after a long day.

But when Marc had told her you were 'busy', something in her expression had shifted, something fleeting, but there. She didn’t push, trusting him, assuming there was just some miscommunication.

But there was no miscommunication, not really. You were no longer a part of Marc's life. Not in the way you had been. Not in the way you thought you would be forever.

The breakup had been messy, an explosion of words unsaid and feelings buried too deep. One day, everything had seemed fine, normal, even.

The next, Marc had pulled away, the space between the two of you growing impossibly wide. There were no fights, no big confrontations. Just a slow, painful unraveling that neither of you could stop.

When he ended things, it wasn’t with anger or bitterness. It was with a quiet resignation, like he had already let go of something long before you ever realized it was slipping through your fingers.

You had begged him to talk, to explain, to tell you that you mattered enough to keep fighting for, but Marc had only said that he needed time. That things between you two weren’t right anymore. And though he didn’t say it, you could feel it.

He didn’t want to fight anymore.

Not for you. Not for us.

It hurt more than anything else had, and maybe that was the worst part, the knowledge that you weren’t even worth fighting for, that you were just another casualty of his own confusion, his own exhaustion.

And so, you walked away, leaving him to figure out his own mess. It felt like a lie, like you were betraying him by leaving, but it was the only thing you could do, the only way to protect what little dignity you had left.

You hadn’t expected to be here today. You hadn’t expected to find yourself standing in front of Marc’s house, a basket of chocolate and flowers in your hands, the pathetic excuse for a 'get well soon; gift that you had convinced yourself he might appreciate.

A simple gesture. That was all you had. But when you had heard that Marc was back home, something inside of you twisted. You couldn’t leave him in that state. Not without at least letting him know that you still cared.

You didn’t want to see him like this. You didn’t want to be reminded of what you’d lost, of the way his touch used to feel, of the way his voice had comforted you when the world seemed too much.

But you couldn’t stay away. You had to see him. You had to pretend that you hadn’t already broken.

Marc’s mom greeted you at the door with her usual warm smile, her arms outstretched in a gesture that should have felt familiar, comforting.

But today, it felt like an intrusion, like a reminder of everything you’d lost. The last time you had stood on this doorstep, everything had been different. Marc had still been your person. You had still been his.

"Oh, you're here!" Marc’s mom said, a touch of surprise in her voice. "How's everything? Marc’s been asking about you, you know." She looked at you, as if she had expected you to walk through the door just as much as she had expected him to recover.

You froze for a moment, the words she said wrapping around your heart like a vise. Asking about you? He didn’t know anything about you anymore.

"Yeah, I’ve been good. Just… busy," you said, your voice faltering slightly as you glanced down at the basket in your hands. It felt heavy now, like a symbol of everything you wished you could take back.

"Busy?" Marc’s mom asked, her brow furrowing as if the word didn’t quite sit right with her.

"But Marc said you were busy with studies, and I figured that was all. But you two-" She trailed off, her eyes searching yours for something that you weren’t sure you could give her. "You two were always so close. What happened? I thought you’d be right there beside him, especially after everything."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of her words crushing you. The expectation. The realization that Marc hadn’t told her the truth. That he hadn’t told her that the reason you weren’t here was because you had no place in his life anymore.

You had been replaced, not by someone else, but by the slow erosion of something that was supposed to last.

"Marc didn’t… tell you?" you asked, your voice trembling, barely above a whisper. You hadn’t meant to ask, hadn’t meant to make this more painful than it already was, but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

His mom’s eyes widened in confusion, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of disbelief. "Tell me what? What are you talking about?"

You felt the tears start to sting at the back of your eyes. The truth was heavy, suffocating, and you didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit that everything had fallen apart in a way that made you feel like a stranger in a place you once called home.

"We… we broke up," you said quietly, your voice cracking on the last word. The finality of it hit you in that moment, the cold weight of reality sinking in.

It felt like a betrayal, not just to Marc’s mom, but to yourself. You didn’t even know why you were here. What did you think would happen? That things would somehow be okay again?

Her face softened instantly, her smile slipping into a frown, confusion clouding her features.

"But… Marc never said anything about that. He said you were just busy. He never said you two weren’t together anymore." She looked at you, searching for the answers that you weren’t sure you had, her gaze imploring, gentle, but insistent. "Why didn’t you come to the hospital, carino? He wanted you there."

The words felt like a slap, a reminder of the version of yourself that you had left behind. The version of yourself that was still tied to Marc in ways you didn’t know how to untangle.

You wanted to cry, wanted to explain everything, but there were no words that could make this better. There were no words that could take back the hurt.

"I couldn’t," you whispered, your voice barely audible now. "I couldn’t pretend like everything was fine when it wasn’t. I couldn’t watch him, watch you all, thinking I still belonged here when I didn’t."

Your chest tightened, the ache in your heart blooming into something unbearable. "I thought I could handle it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t stay."

There was a long silence between you, and for a moment, you thought she might say something else.

That she might try to convince you that it wasn’t too late, that maybe Marc was waiting for you to come back and fix it. But she didn’t. Instead, she just nodded slowly, her face a mixture of sadness and understanding.

"I see," she said softly, her voice holding more than just the weight of disappointment. It was the weight of something broken, something irreversible. "Well, if you ever want to talk to him, you know where he is." She stepped back, her eyes still holding that faint trace of hope that had once been yours too.

You nodded, your heart in your throat, but you didn’t say anything more. Because you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t go back to that place. Not now. Not after everything that had changed.

You turned, walking back to your car, the basket of chocolate still hanging heavily in your hand. You didn’t look back. Because if you did, you might see Marc standing there, eyes full of unsaid things, things you couldn’t fix anymore. And you didn’t know if you could take seeing that.

As Marc sat in his room, the familiar hum of his thoughts was louder than ever. His mind kept circling back to the moment you had left, when everything changed.

He had told himself, over and over, that it was for the best. That maybe it was just the right time for both of you to move on. But the silence in the room, the one that used to be filled with your laughter, your late night talks, was deafening now.

His gaze wandered toward the window, where the pale light of the afternoon settled over the yard. It wasn’t until then that he noticed you, standing by your car, staring at the ground for a moment as though trying to gather the courage to walk away. His chest tightened.

He didn’t want to admit it, but he missed you more than he cared to.

His fingers itched to reach out to you, to explain the things he never had the courage to say, the reasons he hadn’t fought harder to keep you. But he stayed frozen, watching as you stood there, a heavy weight between the two of you.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, but he watched you long enough to know you were struggling with something, your posture stiff and uncertain.

Was it guilt? Regret? Maybe both. Marc’s heart skipped a beat when you finally turned away, the distance between you and his world growing wider with every step you took. He had let you slip away, and in that moment, he realized just how much he had been holding his breath, waiting for you to come back.

The truth was, Marc had always been scared; scared of not being enough, scared of being a burden, scared of losing the only person who had ever truly understood him. He had never told you that.

Instead, he had convinced himself that stepping away was the easiest thing to do, not realizing that by doing so, he had pushed you out of a life he now realized he wanted. The quiet ache in his chest was unbearable now, the weight of what he'd lost pressing down on him in a way that felt suffocating.

As you finally got in your car and drove away, Marc stood by the window for what felt like hours, unable to tear his eyes away.

He didn’t know what would happen next.

Maybe you would never come back. Maybe there was no fixing what had been broken. But as the last glimpse of your car disappeared down the street, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he would spend the rest of his life wondering if things could have turned out differently.

It was too late now.

It was all over.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

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azen13 · 5 months ago

Note

I’ve never been to a Starlight Pawnshop before…just look at all this stuff. Too bad I can’t buy everything in this store.

Wait a minute, who left this Chess Piece out by itself? No matter, I’ll gladly take it, even if I’ve never played a single game before in my life!

A Losing Game

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Chess Pawn: A finely-carved chess pawn. If life is a chessboard, then so too are people pawns in other's games. Based on this pawn’s pristine condition, whoever controlled it loved it quite dearly.

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CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Gaslighting

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Jing Yuan is an accomplished man. As the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, he has accumulated a list of titles and achievements that could fill a thousand archives: master of foresight; skilled with a glaive; voted “Most Attractive Bachelor” of the Xianzhou Luofu five years in a row. And, of course, his prowess at Starchess.

Yes, Jing Yuan is very, very good at Starchess. One of the best in the entirety of the Xianzhou Alliance, if not in the entire galaxy. While his knowledge of opening lines could be considered weak for his level of gameplay, after he gets settled, he excels at slowly cutting off his opponent’s options, until reaching the endgame.

In Starchess, the endgame is extremely important. A poorly-played endgame can lead to a crushing defeat, while quick thinking and clever maneuvering of pieces can allow a pawn to be promoted to a queen, which can then help propel a player to victory.

While Jing Yuan is good at Starchess, he is almost undefeatable in the endgame.

Until today.

The ring was perfect and understated, a band of solid gold engraved with delicate patterns. He knew everything about you from years of dismantling every thread of your being apart, and knew you didn’t care for things that were too gaudy and outwardly luxurious. The night was perfectly planned: a picnic beneath the starlit sky, constellations framing your face like a crown. He had hidden the ring at the bottom of the basket, beneath a beautiful meal of the finest the Luofu had to offer. And you were going to be there, boundless in beauty and grace, sharp as a sword and sweet as sugar.

Tonight, though, Jing Yuan tastes the sea on his lips.

How long has it been since he has cried? Centuries, he thinks, standing in the foyer of his home, the front door slightly ajar. A biting wind snaps its jaws at Jing Yuan through the opening, but he cannot feel it. He can hardly feel anything.

The numbness spreads from his heart outwards as he moves, first forwards to shut the door. A brief glance outside, and he can still imagine you standing there. In better circumstances, you and him would have gone to Fyxestroll Gardens, and enjoyed a quiet night. He would have proposed. You would have accepted. Everything would be right in the world. But when Jing Yuan opened the door, what greeted him was the greatest misfortune he had ever faced.

You stood outside, jagged shadows stretching like scars across your face, your posture guarded, your face unreadable. At first, Jing Yuan assumed you just had a terrible day, perhaps because of your job, perhaps because of something else. But then you began to speak, poison spilling from your lips, killing both you and him. He knows this is a grave mistake, but you have already drowned in these lies.

As you walk away from him, Jing Yuan makes a vow to himself: he will not let you leave. No, not like this.

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Without you by his side, safe and secure in his loving embrace, the General’s night is restless; as he tosses and turns, he replays the memories of hurt again and again in his mind, trying to wrap his head around your reasoning so he can dismantle it when he has you again. He may have unknowingly made a blunder, but he will still win this game, the most important game of his life.

Maybe a stop by the Alchemy Commission–your workplace–is necessary, no? Last time he heard, investigators are still clearing out spies from the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus hiding amongst its members.

Jing Yuan takes a moment to check his schedule, a relaxed smile falling on his face. He still has several hours before his first meeting of the day. Enough time to bring you back home, where you belong. A brief flash of uncertainty courses through his body, like a chess player second-guessing their plan, before he steadies himself. This is for your benefit, he tells himself. With all the dangers on the Luofu, someone like you cannot simply remain unprotected.

With a calm and patient gait, the General of the Luofu makes his way to the Alchemy Commission.

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He scrutinizes the cramped halls of the building you work in carefully, noting a pawn here, a bishop there. All people, yet all pieces in the game of love, and the inevitable, complete conquering of your heart. Perhaps they are playing their own games, but they do not matter. In this game, they are Jing Yuan’s pieces to move. Before today, they may have been your pieces. But while the game of life and the game of chess share many similarities, they are not one in the same. Life’s board flips and moves, expands and shrinks. Pieces change allegiances, or disappear and reappear entirely.

The board is not on your side today. You don’t even notice Jing Yuan watching you from the hall, preparing your doom. Within moments, he strides in the room, his lazy gait and relaxed expression taking control over the room and its occupants–including you–in mere seconds. Shocked faces spread like lightning, from healer to healer, before striking yours. You stand in complete terror, as Jing Yuan claims you with a simple glance, before speaking in an authoritative tone, booming like thunder.

“Mx. L/N, you are hereby arrested.” Eyes that once melted with fondness when simply seeing your face now bore into you with frigid disgust.

You can’t help but flinch from the words, mouth agape and mind blank. After a moment, you manage to collect yourself, disregarding the stares of those around you. “Excuse me? What for?” You demand.

Jing Yuan tilts his head, looking down at you. “Sedition against the Xianzhou Luofu through serving the Plagues Author and the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus,” he cites, taking a stride forward, arms snapping to lock your limbs behind your back like shackles. “You will be taken to the Seat of Divine Foresight and given a proper sentencing for your crimes.”

Try as you may, your shouts and screams of vehement denial do you no good as Jing Yuan walks you out. Streets pass you by like snapshots of a past life. You can see the tea shop where you and Jing Yuan went on your first date. His favorite restaurant to order takeout from. The balcony overlooking the Ambrosial Arbor where he first kissed you. Thousands upon thousands of moves, each and every one thought out to perfection. Countless gambits taken, small victories celebrated, and little defeats mourned. You had nearly defeated him. Or so you thought.

Eventually, you make it to the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan’s arms still vice like in their hold, yet not tight enough to hurt. You try to follow the turns the General takes–a right, a left, another left, up a flight of stairs, right again–but your focus wanes.

You are not guilty of any crime.

At least, so you think. Because you committed a grave offense: breaking the weak, feeble heart of your lover.

A lifelong sentence is only fair, no?

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“My dearest, why must you struggle?” Jing Yuan murmurs as he pulls you into a small room with only a table and two chairs. Pulling you away from the door, the General gently places you on the ground, and remains by the exit, cutting off any chance of escape you may have.

“Why must you falsely accuse me?” You retort, voice flickering with fire and burning bright, even amongst all the encroaching darkness.

Jing Yuan’s soft smile slowly dissipates into a frown, the shine in his eyes dimming away into nothingness. “Y/N, I have been nothing but patient with you. I have explained why I must protect you. You understood then. Why can’t you understand now?” Slowly, like he’s trying to comfort a skittish animal, Jing Yuan inches towards you, arms outstretched inviting you into his embrace.

“Because you’re a psycho!” You hiss, stepping backwards. Despite your insult, the General does not anger. Instead, disappointment flashes across his face. He takes another step forward, effectively cornering you.

With a quiet, hushed tone that echoes in the room like a hollow breeze, Jing Yuan’s arms find their way around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. Regardless of how much you struggle, you cannot escape Jing Yuan. “You don’t think that, love. You’re afraid. That’s okay. That’s why I’m here. To care for you. To protect you. To love you. Don’t you want that?” He asks quietly, letting you wear yourself out until you melt in his hands like putty, exhausted in every sense. A few moments of utter silence pass, before he speaks up again. “Why don’t we go home now? I have a surprise waiting for you.”

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The moment you return home, Jing Yuan locks the door. To protect you from yourself, he says. Though that’s a condensed version of his actual words, which are far more persuasive, spinning you around in a whirlwind of logic and reasoning you can’t seem to keep up with.

Only a second later, the General is down on one knee, a ring in hand and a glint of fire in his eyes. For a moment, you think the look is a soft, gentle thing. But then you see it for what it is: a love so warped it cannot simply be called love anymore.

As much as you want to reject his proposal, to slap him across the face and attempt to spark another uprising against his smothering love, you know it would do you no good. He would only force the ring on your finger and crown you his spouse, whether you liked it or not.

Checkmate.

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staylovesmiley · 2 months ago

Text

Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 3

˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

Over the next couple of days you worked on getting your strength back, eating whatever it was Minho brought you as you slowly began moving from broth to stew and stew then paired with bread. You started walking around the room with one of the hybrids’ assistance, usually Jeongin as the fox had yet to leave your side unless he was ordered to by Minho.

Occasionally you could hear the others outside the small bedroom, Felix and Jisung having informed you that there were eight hybrids in total living in the cabin.

You had yet to meet them but you would always listen closely when you heard them outside, wondering if any of them would ever come to meet you. One night you had asked Minho about it after he brought you your dinner, frowning softly at the question of why they hadn’t come to see you as you ate your meal. Minho had answered with a sigh.

“Some of us aren’t very trusting of humans I’m afraid…honestly I’m shocked our Innie warmed up to you as easily as he did.” You raised an eyebrow at the mention of the fox who had been no less than ordered to go help one of the other hybrids, Hyunjin, with the laundry.

“How come? I mean he doesn’t seem to be afraid of me…” He gave you a smile that was all too cat-like as a soft purr rumbled in his chest. “I’ll let him tell you on his own, but our Ayen didn’t have the best upbringing and the humans he has met up to you were less than unkind. You just seem to be the exception, I guess.”

The conversation was left there, and it wasn’t until the third day since you had woken up that you got to meet another member of their family.

“Alright, not to say you smell or anything but I think it’s time you got a bath young lady.” Minho laughed, hands on his hips as he had just finished helping you walk around the room. You were fine now, able to fully walk on your own but they still insisted on holding onto you regardless. You appreciated their help but it was starting to feel like they were babying you a bit too much. “Uh, okay- that’s fine with me.” As you stood, the cat shook his head and called for Jeongin. “Innie, would you be a dear and help our pretty here with her bath?”

The youngest gawked a bit, looking between Minho and yourself before nodding eagerly and walking to where you were sat. “Guys, seriously isn’t this a bit excessive? I can bathe myself just fi-“ The fox hybrid scooped you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style and causing a blush to fan across your face from just how strong he was.

Minho smirked, eyeing the two of you for a minute before shrugging. “It’s just a precaution. You did almost die, ya know…best to air on the side of caution.”

With a sigh you allowed Jeongin to carry you out of the room and down the hall towards the bathroom. This was the first time since you had woken up that you left Jeongin’s room and you curiously looked around the space to take everything in just as you had when you first woke up in the small bedroom.

The house seemed oddly vacant, though assumed the other hybrids were away tending to their chores as Jeongin had explained to you one afternoon.

Minho and Felix took care of the cabin, any cleaning or cooking fell to them.

Hyunjin and Changbin kept up with the laundry and tended to their garden, harvesting and planting depending on the season.

Han was tasked with taking care of the chicken coop they had tucked at the back of the cabin as well as climbing high up in the trees to look out for any suspicious activity in the skies like planes or helicopters that could be getting too close and possibly spotting them living out on the mountain.

Chan, Seungmin, and himself were tasked with patrolling the surrounding forest in look out for anyone lurking around their territory. Anyone like yourself, he told you with a fond smile on his face.

Since you had come to stay with them Jeongin had been tasked with looking after you, with Minho’s instruction, and for the meantime Chan and Seungmin had divided their territory into halves instead of thirds to make up for the loss. You felt guilty taking him from such an important task even though Minho had teased that it was supposed to be a punishment to the fox for disobeying their leader’s orders.

Still, if you had taken better care of yourself then they wouldn’t have had to take you under their care in the first place.

You had no clue why Chan had let you stay, Jeongin having told you one night while you ran your fingers through his hair as the both of you drifted off to sleep, that their family head had the worst history of them all with humans. If he was so distrustful of your kind then why did he allow you to stay for this long, even if you were ill, you wondered.

From what you could see on your short trip from the youngest’s room to the bathroom you saw a glimpse of the kitchen, a small living area with well worn couches and arm chairs, and a few doors scattered about that could be other bedrooms as well as closets and such.

Before you could continue your exploration of everything within your line of vision Jeongin’s walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind you both with his foot before gently setting you down atop the closed toilet seat. “Just give me a few minutes to get the bath drawn, yeah?” He spoke softly, blushing a bit at the thought of seeing you bare once more.

On the night he had brought you to the cabin they had dressed you in some of his clothes after your temperature had finally warmed up, the youngest having insisted it be his own clothes even though something of Felix or Jisung’s probably would have been a better fit. The smell of you covered in his scent caused pride to swell in his chest and seeing the way they hung off your frame now made him feel a little dizzy and like his heart could beat out of his chest.

“Innie I could have done all this myself, you know- I don’t want to be a burden…” your voice got smaller towards the end, hesitant as if speaking those words would make it true. The fox loved how you had taken to calling him by the same nicknames as his Hyungs. It was one thing whenever they would call him something so endearing but to come from you was a whole new story. Blush crept up the back of his neck and painted his cheeks as he shook his head, keeping his gaze to where the warm water slowly filled the claw footed tub. “It’s fine, really. I um…I like taking care of you, if that’s okay? Since I don’t really have any other job now due to punishment it makes me feel helpful.” His words warmed your heart and caused you to see things in a different light, comforted knowing that even if the others didn’t agree at least your dear friend Mr.fox didn’t feel like you were becoming too much to handle.

Once the bath was drawn and Jeongin had poured in some of the epsom salts they kept under the sink he turned away as you stripped yourself down before lowering yourself into the water. You hissed lightly at the temperature as you had become so accustomed to bathing in the icy waters of the river by your camp. “Too hot?” The fox hybrid questioned, still keeping his back to you. “No, not at all. Feels really nice.” You hummed, submerged up to your collar bones in the water before pulling your knees up to your chest to give yourself some sort of privacy. “Y-You can turn around if you’d like?”

Jeongin slowly turned back to face you, struggling to keep his breathing even as he came to sat on the floor beside the tub and rest his chin on the edge. “You know I’ve never seen a girl before….human or hybrid. Not before that day at the river-“ you gasped, seem just then remembering how the fox had stared at you from the trees as you took your time drying off, not realizing that it wasn’t just a wild animal watching you. “Oh you pervy little fox!” You teased with a giggle, lightly flicking water at his face and causing him to laugh as he pulled away. “I-I didn’t mean to stare I was just- it was new okay? I was curious-“ the hybrid tried to defend himself though he could tell you weren’t actually upset with him over the encounter.

As you sat in the bath you allowed the hybrid to carefully wet your hair before gently massaging shampoo onto your scalp. You let out a soft groan at the feeling, eyes closed and head tilted back slightly as he worked the suds in thoroughly. You both feel into a peaceful silence as he rinsed your hair before repeating his actions once more.

You were relaxed, feeling safe in the young fox’s care when suddenly the door swung open causing both of you to jump and whip around to see who the intruder could be.

Your eyes met and you could feel the energy shift as your gaze locked with the beagle hybrid. His hair was a soft chocolate brown with floppy ears to match, his eyes soft though full of fear as he looked at you with his hands still clutching the door handle so tight that his knuckles turned white and his white tipped tail stilled behind him. His face and clothes were covered in dirt you assumed was from patrolling in the woods and it caused a soft smile to slip onto your lips. He looked so cute like that, boyish even, and it immediately endeared you to the hybrid.

Jeongin watched him carefully, hesitantly raising his hands up in a surrendering manner. “Seung-“ before he could say any more the beagle was gone, bolting from the doorway so fast he had left the door wide open.

You watched the space where he once was, face falling in disappointment as the fox quickly got up to shut the door and give the two of you privacy once more. When he returned to your side Jeongin saw as you stared down at the water with your knees clutched tight to your chest. “Don’t mind him, pretty. He’s a little, um…shy-“ He sat back down and rinsed your hair once more of the conditioner he had added before combing his fingers through it slowly to remove any tangles he had caused during his little scalp massage.

“Is he afraid of me?” Your voice was small, causing Jeongin’s heart to ache as he paused. “No no- it’s not that.” He tried to reassure you, though truth be told Seungmin most likely was on edge by your presence. “Some of us don’t really feel safe around humans just yet cause of what we’ve been through…Seungmin is one of them.”

You sat deep in thought for a moment, hesitating to ask the question burning in your mind but your curiosity got the better of you. “What- um…what happened, if it’s alright that I ask?” This wasn’t the first time you had heard one of them speak of the troubled past of their family and it only left you with more questions after the reaction Seungmin had to simply seeing you in their bath. Jeongin took a deep, shaky breath before rinsing his hands and sitting with his back to the bath, wet hands drying themselves on his shirt nervously. “I was raised in a hybrid center…more like a factory, really.” He paused once more, his knees coming up to his chest as you moved to press your front to the inside edge of the bath while resting your chin on your hands where they held onto the rim.

“We were taken from the breeders and raised completely separate from other classes and genders…some hybrids were treated better than others- more specifically prey hybrids or domestic breeds were handled more kindly than-“ “foxes?” You guessed as he let his sentence hang in the air for too long. “Right.”

You watched carefully as his ears flattened to his head, a tell you had learned meant he was upset. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too hard to talk about, Innie…” Jeongin shook his head, jaw clenching. “No, I want you to know. I’ll be okay.” He took another deep breath before continuing. “They would call us names, beat us, tell us that we were too wild or aggressive when we were just playing around with each other.” There was a little whimper in his voice that caused your heart to sting and you instantly brought your hand to play with his hair. Calming at your touch, he pushed onwards. “We were beat and sometimes starved as punishment, or locked away in a small yard in the back with no shelter even if the sun was beating down, rain poured, even in the winter snow…”

A small silence one again fell between you as you gently pushed his hair back from his forehead and scratched lightly behind his ears causing the hybrid to whimper and whine softly, almost losing his place in the story with how nice it felt. “One day I was locked out there in the rain- it was so cold and I thought I was going to freeze to death. I had shifted into my fix form even though it was forbidden at the center- but my fur was the only thing I had to keep me warm. That’s when I notice the gap in the chain link fence…” swallowing deeply, Jeongin finished his story with a voice just above a whisper. “I slipped out knowing no one would be watching the cameras at feeding time, and I never looked back. It took me weeks before I found Chan and the others….I had been in my fox form for so long it took me four days before I finally could shift back.”

Your heart ached for him, planting a soft kiss at the top of his head. “Oh Innie- that’s awful…you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. How could anyone treat another living being so cruelly?” You huffed a bit in frustration, sitting back upright in the bath as the hybrid turned to face you. “That’s just my story….Seungmin had it even worse…Chan too.” You frowned, splashing him lightly with the now lukewarm water. “Hey, quit that. Don’t belittle your own traumas just because others may have had it worse.” He chuckled lightly, splashing you back. “I only meant that since they had it worse they are even less trusting of humans than me, silly.” You pouted a bit, realizing you had jumped to conclusions made embarrassment paint your cheeks pink. “Now hurry up and wash your body before the water gets too cold and we have to warm you up again.” The young fox teased as he handed you a bar of soap and a wash cloth.

After you finished with your bath Jeongin wrapped you in a clean towel and handed you a folded stack of clothes. “I’ll leave so you can get dressed, just come out to the kitchen when you’re done cause I think Minho-hyung said something about wanting to talk to you.” Your body froze hearing that the older wanted to talk with you, a little anxiety creeping inside you at the fear of what it could be about. “Oh um- okay..” Jeongin gave you a soft smile before leaving you alone to dress yourself.

You carefully unfolded the clothes to find yet another baggy long sleeve tshirt and a pair of dark pajama pants. You blushed lightly realizing you would have to go without undergarments but pulled the clothes on regardless.

Once dressed you padded your way out and into the main part of the cabin, back tracking to where you saw the kitchen when you were on your way to the bathroom with Jeongin earlier. Minho was in the kitchen as the fox had predicted, setting stuff from the fridge out on the counter when he looked up to meet your eyes with a smile. “Ah there’s our pretty all nice and clean. Come here would you?” His voice was cheery but you still kept your steps towards him hesitant. “I’m not gonna bite you, I’m not Chan.” He teased but the mention of the wolf hybrid caused you to tense more. After making your way fully into the kitchen and to the cat hybrid’s side you looked up at him nervously. Minho gave a soft smile and ran his hands up and down your arms in a comforting manor. “Calm down, pretty…I just wanted to tell you what your chores will be around here since you will be staying with us.”

Your brain seemed to malfunction at that, you must not have heard him right. “Staying? Wait- I…I get to stay?” Your eyes became glassy as you looked up at him hopefully. Ever since you had started to get better you worried when the day would come that they would send you back to the forest and your tiny little camp, wondering if they would even allow Jeongin to come and visit again since it seemed to be something worth punishing the boy over. “Yes, of course you get to stay. We aren’t gonna send you back out into the cold.” Oh, you thought. Right…winter was just around the corner. Even though some of them distrust humans they didn’t seem so cruel as to put you out in such terrible weather after saving you once already knowing you were not prepared for such. “So…I’ll have chores?” Your voice was quiet, eyes still looking into his own as you composed yourself and waited for his instructions.

Minho gave you a warm smile before moving back towards the ingredients laid out on the counter. “Mhm, everyone here has chores. You, my dear, will be helping me with the cooking from now on.” You beamed, nodding your head as you moved to face the counter. This was something you could do easily, so the fact that it had been chosen as your task for you seemed like fate. “I can do that! So, what do you need me to do?” The cat grinned at your enthusiasm, glad to see your spirits lifted as he pushed a cutting board and various vegetables towards you. “I need you to rinse these, peel the carrots and potatoes, and cut them up for me. We are having stew for dinner so make sure they are small enough to cook all the way through.”

With that you set to your task, carefully washing and peeling the vegetables before beginning to cut them. As you worked you began to hum to yourself under your breath, completely absorbed in your job as Minho glanced over at you from where he was preparing the meat. “You’re really good at that, you know. Have you done a lot of cooking before?” The praise took you off guard, but you smiled nonetheless. “Thank you. I actually learned from my mother.” Your hands stilled in their movements, knife poised with the tip down on the cutting board with the thicker part of the blade resting against the potato you were in the middle of cutting into smaller cubes. “She um…she said that no good wife should ever let her husband come home without a home cooked meal waiting for him.” Minho frowned, scoffing a little as he reached over you to snag a piece of carrot you had chopped before popping it into his mouth and biting down with an audible crunch. “Oh yeah? So does that make me a good wife?” He teased, giving you a smug smile as you laughed so hard you snorted a bit. “Perhaps you are, but who would be the husband?”

Before he could answer a voice called out from behind you as the front door swung open. “What’s this about a husband?” You turned around to see the two hybrids who had been working in the yard now standing with wide eyes as they realized it was more than just their beloved cook in the kitchen. “Ah! Hyunjin, Changbin- I don’t believe you’ve met our newest addition. This is our pretty~” Minho introduced you with a teasing glint in his eye as he turned back to the meat he was preparing to add to the brother simmering on the stove.

The two hybrids watched you cautiously, still frozen in place so you decided to speak up. “U-Um…hello! I’m y/n but uh- the others have just been calling me pretty?” A light blush painted your cheeks as you looked down at the counter shyly. “That makes sense…you are very pretty.” Hyunjin said softly, slowly walking up to you with Changbin following closely behind albeit a bit more timidly. “Are you feeling better?” His voice was so sweet it caused your heart to flutter as you gave him a smile. “Mhm much better now thanks to Dr. Minho.” You didn’t miss the opportunity to tease the cat, hearing him snicker behind you as he listened in while working.

Taking in the appearance of the two you noted the small white ears atop Hyunjin’s head and his long white and brown tail. Changbin had a pair of floppy black ears that looked incredibly soft though from where he was standing you couldn’t see the matching bunny tail behind him. “I’m glad. I know we didn’t come to see you but we were still worried- you looked really bad when Innie brought you here.” Changbin spoke, his voice low and you turned to give him a warm smile as you had Hyunjin. “Thank you for worrying about me. I’m sorry to intrude on your lives like this…but it’s very nice to have been able to meet such kind people.”

The hybrid pair gave each other a look before turning back to you with bright smiles. Instantly arms circled around your waist as the ferret hybrid laid his entire body against your back, his chest pressed firmly against you as his chin rested on the top of your head. “Whatever your cooking smells soooo good- will dinner be soon?” You were a bit shocked at first, stumbling a little to support his weight but the heat from his body felt nice. Minho scoffed, picking up an end from one of the carrots you had cut and chucking it at his head causing the ferret to whine dramatically. “Ya! If you keep asking then we’ll be serving ferret stew instead!” You heard laughter ringing out from the bunny hybrid to your left, Changbin’s hands resting over his stomach before he pointed at the other two hybrids. “Careful Jinnie- you know he’ll do it too! Remember the tissues?” Your eyes widened, completely lost at the inside joke as you looked between the cat and bunny. “M-Minho would…cook you?” There was a sad pout on your lips that caused Minho to coo at you and shake his head. “I’m only teasing, pretty. I’d never hurt my family. Just gotta show the young ones their place sometimes.” You relaxed, nodding shortly before returning to the task he had given you. It was only slightly more difficult with Hyunjin clinging to your back as he started to doze lightly.

After you finished cutting all the vegetables Minho swooped in to take them from you, nodding to the hybrid half asleep on you. “Can you take him over to the couch for me, pretty? I need you to clean up and help Felix set the table.” You nodded to him, tapping the hands that rested around your waist to get the ferrets attention. “Hm? I’m up- I’m awake.” Hyunjin stirred, bleary eyes blinking to look around the room. “Come on, Hyunjin. Let’s go get you comfy okay?” He nodded, following as you lead him into the living room and helped him lay down on the couch. You pulled the blanket from where it had been folded neatly over the back of the sofa and covered the hybrid in it, making sure he was snug before heading over to the large wooden dinner table where the younger cat hybrid was currently setting out the plates. “Hi Pretty! Could you maybe get the cutlery from the drawer over there? While you’re setting those out I’ll get the cups.” His smile was like pure sunshine causing your breath to hitch when it was directed towards you. “U-Uh okay, sure.” You made your way to where he had pointed, grabbing nine sets of silverware before heading over to place them at each seat.

As you were placing the last set down you heard the door swing open and shut but unlike the last time the person entering the home didn’t say a word. You turned to see who it could have been, expecting to see Jisung returning from his chores only to be met with a sight that sent a shiver down your spine. Walking casually from the front door was a rather large black wolf, easily twice maybe even three times as large as you. Your eyes were probably as wide as saucers as you couldn’t help but stare. You had never seen a creature so big up close like this and a tremor set into your hands as you followed his movements carefully. So this was the head of their family…Chan. His eyes were sharp, almost calculating and you felt in awe of just how…majestic he seemed, he was mesmerizing. When he noticed you staring, Chan began stalking towards you causing you to back up until your lower back hit the table. You were effectively trapped with the wolf merely a foot away. He sniffed at you for a moment before letting out a low rumbling sound that caused you to flinch. When he caught the movement his eyes softened, quickly darting away to the room at the farthest end of the house much like Seungmin had ran from you earlier. Your body still trembled with fear as Jeongin rushed to your side. “Hey, pretty what’s wrong?” He had come out of his room just in time to see Chan’s retreat to his room and when he had looked in the direction he was coming from he saw you shaking with your hands clutching onto the table cloth as if it was your lifeline. “I-I don’t know….I think I made him angry? I’m so-sorry-“ you stumbled over your words, still shaken up by the fear he sent washing over you with just a single interaction.

Back in his room the oldest shifted back into his human form before curling up on his bed, tears silently falling from his eyes as he couldn’t get the look of fear on your face and the way you flinched away from him out of his mind. Maybe he really was some monster to all humans, even the most gentle as he had come to learn you were. You embraced them all so warmly, the wolf having watched from the shadows as you cuddled up at night with their youngest, whispering stories to him as you both drifted off to sleep. Or how you marveled at Minhos care for you, always thanking him profusely for even the smallest things and relaxing enough around him to return his teasing on occasion. How you allowed Jisung to play with your hair as Felix sat in front of you as you braided his, not seeming to mind when the chipmunk only seemed to add tangled messes instead of intricate braids as you did for the cat in your lap. Even just before he had entered the home he saw the way you allowed Hyunjin, who you had only just met, rest himself on you so familiarly before tucking him in gently.

Why couldn’t you embrace him that way….why not him? He let himself cry for a moment longer before there was a knock on his door. “Hyung? It’s….Minho says dinner is done. Will you uh- go with me? I’m afraid to go alone.” He quickly wiped away his tears, rising to throw on some of the cleaner clothes from his hamper since he still needed to shower after dinner and didn’t want to bother with anything clean at the moment. “Sure thing, Minnie. You don’t have to be afraid, yeah? She’s- I wouldn’t have allowed her to stay if I thought she would hurt us.” He tried to assure Seungmin once he opened the door to greet him. The other canine seemed to have been crying himself, eyes puffy and tired as he held his gaze downward. “I know, I trust you I just-“ Chan shook his head, ruffling the younger hybrid’s hair before taking his hand and leading him out towards the dining table. “I understand, but things will be okay. I’ll protect you.” This seemed to calm Seungmin enough to follow him willingly, although still hesitant. Chan braced himself to see you again, pushing away his negative thoughts of self hatred and doubt to try and make it through dinner until he could turn in for the night and continue to avoid you while also watching from afar, longing for the gentleness that seemed to flow from you so freely.

author’s note; ooohh little lore drops and big lore drops! How we feeling after learning Innie’s backstory?? Anyone else need tissues? Or maybe to beat up the people who would do that to him?? I’m so curious what you guys might be thinking the others backstories are that makes them so afraid/distrusting of humans~ I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I look forward to reading all your comments and such hehe till next time! Also I am SO sorry if I forgot to tag someone who I already told could be on the taglist- I accidentally deleted a couple people when trying to copy and paste the list from my notes and I tried to go back and find all the accounts but I feel like I still missed some ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

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