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yurozo · 1 month ago

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the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time.

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass.

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes.

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression.

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say.

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back.

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again.

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people.

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms.

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far.

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis.

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him.

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation.

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down.

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands.

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash.

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it.

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too.

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips.

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance.

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes.

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping.

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return.

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control.

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart.

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet.

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die.

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us.

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment.

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him.

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind.

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours.

it’s like falling down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it.

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved.

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else.

“love you too, old man.”

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too.

#top academic of the police academy would absolutely go on random academic tangents and no one can fight me on that #thank you vaaaaaiolet for listening to the nonstop writing process #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy/reader #resident evil imagines #ali writes #leon kennedy smut

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hellfire--cult · 11 months ago

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Krampus!Eddie x Virgin!Fem!Reader

wc: 5k

+18 mdni, krampus meets reader at 18 (no smut at that age), obsession from reader, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity in adulthood, christmas folklore, dark fic, reader isn't a good person.

plot: At 18 years old you were visited by Krampus for misbehaviour, but you instantly fell in love with the creature. Years pass, your sick and toxic obsession grows, making a beast's curiosity bloom, and so, he visits you once again after many years.

a/n: yep, its a reupload after rewriting.

always reblog, don't just like.

MISBEHAVED

Of all the things you thought this monster would look like, you didn’t think he would look like this.

Even the idea of him existing like Saint Nicholas was a crazy thought by itself, but here he is, in the flesh, while Chrissy probably got visited by Saint Nicholas, you were visited by…

“What a naughty girl you’ve been this year, pumpkin.”

You were in the corner of your room with the candle in your hand, trying to light anything close to you as much as possible, the monster's steps getting closer as you gulped loudly, waiting for a hideous monster to appear in front of your eighteen-year-old self.

But in front of you appeared a gorgeous man, with big horns on his head, like a goat’s. Deep brown eyes that glistened with the candle in your hand, long dark curls falling from the top of his head and down to his shoulders, his bare chest, full of symbols, and then you saw his bottom half, pants that resembled black fur as he bent down towards your face.

You couldn’t look away at how beautiful he looked, how this being could be considered a monster at all. Is beauty considered evil? If he was like this, what did Saint Nicholas look like?

“Are you going to take me away?” You asked, almost as if wishing for it, and the man before you smirked, taking something out from the side pocket of his pants, and you could see the twig of a tree, handing it to you. Your confused face made him scoff with a shake of his head.

“No. But this is what you get this year for Christmas. Next year, try to be good, okay?” His tone was calm, and reassuring, yet with a hint of malice behind it that sent a shiver down your spine.

“What’s your name?” Your voice finally got out and he was surprised that you asked such a question.

“Well, I am Krampus.”

“No, your real name.” And his red eyes glistened with a hint of gold, with a hint of amusement.

“Hmm… If you behave, I will let Saint Nicholas give you the knowledge of it next year. How does that sound?”

And the man, if you could consider him that, smiled at you, and that was all it took. All that smile did was finally set your heart into a quick pace, and that’s when you realized:

You became obsessed with him and you would do anything to get to see him again.

So the next year, you behaved, just like he said, and at nineteen years old, Saint Nicholas visited you, only for you to receive the letter ‘E’ as a gift.

“If you keep behaving well, I will give you one letter every year until you complete his full name.”

You were angry, you behaved yourself for nothing, but what if you misbehaved on purpose and he didn’t come anyway? And you wanted to know his real name, you really did. So every year, you kept doing good deeds, even if not with good intentions, you helped with herding the sheep for Mrs.Driscoll, helped Wayne Munson with his farm, and did communal duties in the small town with Nancy Wheeler and Joyce Byers.

Electricity was slowly making its way into the town as the years passed, and each year you received a new letter from Saint Nicholas.

Until you finally reached twenty-one. Saint Nicholas didn’t arrive anymore because you were an adult, but you had a good guess as to what his name might be, something inside you told you so.

'ED'.

You knew he wasn’t going to appear, so you kept your good deeds, but with a bad intention. For example, you helped young Dustin Henderson by teaching him how to milk a cow, yet you didn’t teach him he didn’t have to stand behind it after milking it. The boy received a black eye the next day.

You agreed to help Jonathan Byers with the preparations for a festival that was going to be held in the center of the town, and you handed him the new scented candles that were gifted to you by a lady in the neighboring town. When they were turned on, the candles smelled like rancid milk, and Jonathan took all the blame.

But he never showed. No matter how many years passed, even if you were now twenty-five years old, you couldn’t find anything to help you in invoking him again.

You knew this love of yours would never cease, but the children in town were all good, so Krampus was never seen. You had no way of contacting him, even if you did rituals, even if you tried to talk to Saint Nicholas by creeping on Christmas nights into the houses of the townspeople who had kids, but you were always a second late.

So now, you were pacing around in your house, already sick of this game, sick of these obsessive feelings of yours over a beast that you didn’t know if he even remembered you. Over someone that probably didn’t give a damn about you and who you were, yet you studied him for years, through the tales, through the books, through the experiences, through the people in other towns.

You were never going to see him again. You were tricked by him into believing that you would see him again, and the anger that was sipping through your pores was great, too big.

“Fuck you, Edward! Damn you!”

And the fireplace immediately went out, as the newly installed lightbulbs in your home flicked until they exploded.

You screamed as well as cursed because those were expensive, a dollar each. The price of luxury was a lot, but you wanted the electricity, already tired of lighting candles throughout the small house you bought for yourself after your mother passed away thanks to tuberculosis.

Your head whipped around when you heard the sound of what sounded like hooves coming in contact with the wooden floor of your house, slowly changing into soft steps. You ran to your kitchen to grab your knife in self-defense, pointing it at the open space.

“Who’s there!?”

“You’ve been really naughty, Pumpkin.”

Your blood went cold as two bright yellow eyes shone in the darkness of your living room, and suddenly, there was a snap of fingers and the fireplace lit up again, burning the logs at a fast pace, and it illuminated the entire room, the Christmas tree in the corner now with its decorations glistening once more with the embers of the fireplace.

Yet despite those glistening decorations, your eyes could only focus on one thing. The man, the monster, the creature that you’ve been seeking to see again, standing in the middle of the living room, his hands in his pockets, and a stern look on his face that made you drop the knife to the floor.

Your breathing picked up, your heart thrumming in your chest, and you couldn’t help but swoon at the face you’ve been craving to see all these years, and now he is in front of you, even if angry.

“Edward…” You sighed in pure bliss, in happiness, and you knew you were obsessed, crazy even, but you couldn’t help yourself. You fell for him the very first moment he visited you, and now you are a grown woman, still holding onto those lovely feelings, never forgetting about his eyes that changed from brown to red, to gold.

“Look who’s all grown up, you’re even cursing my name out loud.” He snarled at you, and you could see how intense his gaze was as he scanned you. He took a few steps towards you, his now bare feet coming in contact with the wood, and you wondered if he looked different, yet he took this shape to not scare kids or people off.

“I– I behaved. I earned it.”

“You didn’t behave with honesty. You weren’t a good person because you wanted to be, you were a good person because of your selfishness.” He was finally in front of you with his hands still in his pockets, and his eyes were intense, a deep yellow, staring you down with an unreadable expression.

“I still behaved, that was the deal. You never specified if I behaved honestly or not.” You responded and his eyes twitched in surprise at how mischievous you were. How… brilliant you were.

“And may I ask why you were so obsessed with knowing my name?” He asked and you couldn’t help but press your legs together as heat rose all over your body, your cheeks becoming flushed as you looked at him.

“I wanted to see you again.”

“You are a big adult now, past twenty-one.” And at his response, you finally showed him a big grin on your face, and his eyes flashed with intrigue.

“And yet you are still here… Eddie.”

And the puzzle clicked in his head, a smirk appearing on his lips as his tongue darted out to lick all over them as the thirst came up in his throat, his eyes turning a deep red, and lust filled him to the brim, thanks to the woman that was in front of him.

Your eyes darted from his eyes to the horns, to his hair, to the markings all over his chest and arms, and then, he took his hands out of his pockets, to reveal long nails, like claws. You took a sharp intake of breath as he leaned his face towards yours, inspecting you.

“So you have been misbehaving lately so you could see me again? What is your plan?” He asked in a sultry tone and you just sighed in relief and bliss, and you were brave enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull him close, feeling his broad back underneath your forearms, making you clench your legs again.

“I waited for you… aren’t I good?”

And that made Eddie groan loudly, and with a snap of his fingers you were now in your room, and he pushed you off him so you could fall flat on your bed, taking you by surprise because of how the environment changed in one quick motion.

“No, you are not. If you were, I wouldn’t be here.” Your breathing was heavy, your gut turning with nervousness and excitement because what you’ve been craving was right in front of you. You want him to take you. To make you his. To mark you.

You heard another snap of his fingers and what appeared to be floating candles appeared all around the room, lighting it subtly, endearingly, almost as if it were some sort of ritual, but you weren’t scared of it. You weren’t afraid of what might happen, because whatever it is, whatever he does, you would gladly take it.

He tilted his head to the side as he looked down at your body, and then your eyes widened when his tongue darted out just like before, and now you could see just how long and pointy it actually was, and that only made you wet with the idea of feeling it against your skin.

“Please…” Your hips raised up slightly towards him as if presenting yourself like a bitch in heat. His eyes scanned your body, wondering if you were right in the head, but from what Saint Nicholas had been telling him over the years, it seemed you were doing everything with a conscious mind.

You wanted him, for whatever reason that was. He’s only seen you once, and you became attached to him like a moth to a flame. He took a deep breath in, inhaling your scent, be it the one you were emanating from your pores as well as the scent from the wetness between your thighs.

His clawed hand shot out to grip the front of your white nightgown, startling you when you start hearing a ripping sound. Your body jerked upwards as he ripped the gown apart, opening for him, and now you lay there, bare for him to take in with his red lust-filled eyes.

“You are untouched.” It was a confirmation, and you smiled at him with a nod, and that only made his hunger increase by a hundred. A virgin. Now he realized what you meant when you said you waited for him.

“I want you, and only you…” You finally admitted it to him, and his eyes found yours. Your breathing was heavy, your breasts moving up and down as your lungs tried to get oxygen inside, your cunt pulsing with need.

And his eyes gleamed in a golden hue once more, as if there was a click of some sort.

A growl was heard in the room and you yelped as he grabbed your thighs, pushing you closer to the edge of your bed. He fell to his knees and took a deep inhale of your intoxicating scent. You needed to be punished for your behavior, the biggest punishment.

His long tongue snaked out of his lips to flick your clit, making you gasp as you stared at the ceiling. This new feeling, so dirty, something you waited for so long, and even if you had the chance to, you didn’t want anybody but him.

He licked around your folds, tasting the wetness that surrounded them, an animalistic groan vibrating in his chest, his claws digging into your inner thighs as he kept your legs open for him. He couldn’t wait anymore, pressing all of his tongue against your slick, tasting you completely, and you finally let out a moan out of pure ecstasy as you gripped the sheets below you.

He smirked against your cunt as it pulsated for more contact, and he immediately dove in. Your moans could probably be heard from outside, but you didn’t care, nobody was near you, so there was nothing that could forbid you from yelling his name, from crying out from the pleasure you were feeling.

His tongue was going in between tasting you and flicking your clit repeatedly. His lips sucked on your folds and you couldn’t believe you waited for so long to feel something like this, but it was worth it. It’s so worth it.

Your eyes opened wide when you felt his tongue slowly sliding inside of you. You’ve only touched yourself outside, you never inserted a finger of yours even if you were curious. This feeling was weird, but pleasurable all the while. You felt it move inside of you, as if flicking your walls from side to side, making your back arch upwards.

“Oh–!” You were amazed by how good this felt, how amazing he was making you feel with just these simple touches, these hungry kisses all around your center.

“You taste delightfully darling. And I am the first to taste it.” And last is what he wants to say, but he will take that comment with him, at least for now. He needs to keep his tongue inside of you, drunk of your taste, of your juices filling his taste buds.

“Edward– Eddie, please–” You didn’t know what you were asking for, but you needed something, yet you didn’t know what. He then pressed his nose against your clit as his tongue swirled inside of you, and you let out a loud moan, your hands shooting down to get hold of both of his horns.

He moaned against your cunt, desire shooting downwards, the pants becoming too constricting on him. His horns are quite sensitive, and you are pulling him against you even harder as you start to ride your hips against his face. What a naughty girl. His naughty girl.

His claws dug into your inner thighs as he felt you start shaking under his ministrations, your moans growing louder as he felt you pulsating against his tongue, clenching, body arching upwards as his name kept coming out of your mouth, over and over again.

“CHRIST!” You finally yelled as the tight band finally snapped inside of your belly, making you spasm against his hold, your hands gripping his horns as you rode your hips against his face, trying to feel all of your orgasm as he tasted and drank every gush you let out, not missing a single drop.

You were an elixir. He’s never been with a human before, mostly because he is in charge of children rather than adults, but you were a special case. He had to know why you wanted his name so badly, and now he is more than happy that you know it, that you even gave him a nickname so it would be easier for you to scream.

He pulled away from you, licking a few stripes of your center, making you jerk slightly at the overstimulation as you slowly came down from your high. He let go of your legs, seeing that there was some blood on your inner thighs where his claws dug into. He licked onto your wounds, and your skin instantly started patching back up.

He stood up, towering over your naked body as you breathed heavily, looking at him with dazed eyes, yet still hungry. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers again, and you looked down to see his pants slowly fading away, and you gasped as you saw just how big he was.

You’ve never seen male anatomy before, but this– you knew that this was not normal. And you remembered that Krampus– Eddie, is not human. He never was, yet you didn’t care. Was he a demon? A monster? A spirit? You didn’t care at all. From the pictures of the books you found, the supposed drawings didn't do him any justice.

But maybe, this was not his original shape.

“Even if you deserve to be punished, I will be gentle with you darling. I don’t wanna break this– lovely present you are giving me in this advent season.” You could hear the smirk in his tone as his hands wrapped around your frame to pull you back up into the middle of the bed.

Nerves filled your body but were quickly removed as you felt his tongue licking from your knee, towards your hips, then your stomach, all the way up changing into kisses as he reached one of your nipples. He swirled his tongue around the hardened nub to then clamp his mouth against it and that’s when you jerked again, pleasure shooting to your core again.

Your arms immediately wrapped around his back as your legs opened for him to slot right in the middle. You felt his hardness against you, and you didn’t care if it hurt, as long as he finally took you for himself, to complete this fantasy of yours, for him to know just how obsessed and how much you love him.

Because that’s what you feel. Love. Unconditionally, in the weirdest of forms.

It was crazy to think that you fell in love at first sight, but it was what happened. You fell for him as soon as his eyes clashed with yours, and it was one-sided. You didn’t care if it was, and if it still is. He would own you now, even if you never saw him again, you would be forever happy.

Your eyes widened when pain shot all over your chest, and you didn’t realize until now that the man had fangs. He has fangs or some kind of sharpened teeth, yet even in the pain you still felt pleasure. He let go of your right nipple to keep licking his way up as you moan from the feeling of his hot tongue on your skin.

He raised his head from your skin to look down on your face, and your eyes clashed with his again, and they glistened with a golden hue through the red once more. He leaned forward and your heart stopped as you felt his lips against yours, another place where you remained untouched.

You kissed him back, not having expected that he would kiss you at all, and in such an intimate way. He was soft, caring, not at all what you thought he would be, yet he was proving you wrong. Maybe the tales were wrong. He is not evil, he never was. His job was always to make children learn from their mistakes, while Saint Nicholas took the good guy part for himself when all he did was pamper selfish children.

Eddie groaned into your lips and you couldn’t help but open your eyes to finally see the tail behind him, something you didn’t spot before, maybe because he tucked it too well, or hid it. It was wagging, almost like a whip, with a fluffy end. It was black, and you couldn’t help but feel more attracted to him now.

You closed your eyes once more as you felt his tongue lick your bottom lip, and your lips parted to let him inside your mouth, your tongues dancing with each other now, making your cunt clench in need again. You didn’t know that kissing someone could turn you on like this, but he is proving you wrong with each touch he gives you and provides you with.

His hands were caressing all of your body. Your sides, your hips, your thighs until one of his hands disappeared, only to feel him line himself up to your entrance and his lips pulled away from yours, looking down at your face.

“Breathe out. Don’t hold it in. Be a good girl for once.”

And you listened. Krampus calling you a good girl was something that ignited thousands of flames inside of your body, and his hips moved forward, breaching you open. You threw your head back with a wince as you felt him slowly opening you up for the first time ever. It stung, and it definitely burned, but it would pass, it has to pass.

“It– It hurts– But… Don’t stop–”

“Didn’t think of doing that. You still need punishment after all.” He almost sounded unphased, as if he weren’t stimulated at all, yet you could hear some restraint in his voice as if holding in something in the back of his throat.

He was claiming you. Slowly and torturously, and even in your short gasps and winces, you took it all. He was amazed by you, how you waited for him, how much you wanted him despite him not being human. Maybe you weren’t right in the head after all.

And he hit the wall, and with one hard thrust, he plunged forward, finally breaking it. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as pain shot through your body, but you heard him finally moan out in bliss as your tightness engulfed him. You were so warm, so perfect for him that he could hardly handle it.

“Ed– Eddie–” You were choking out his name as you tried to adjust to his size, your cunt pulsing around him at the sudden intrusion. He raised himself up, his hands on each side of your head as your nails dug into his sides. Your eyes widened when you saw the symbols on his body start to shine, it was dim, but it was a dark glow, like a shadow around them.

“Such a good girl…” And those words made you relax once again, and that let him be able to move backward, slowly, eliciting a wince from your part, and then a gasp as he moved back in again. “So good for me.”

You felt tears rolling down your face, but a smile was spread on your lips, and if someone told you that you would have to endure this pain every time in order to see him over and over again, you would. You definitely would.

His hips moved back again and then pushed in once more. The winces slowly turned into moans, the pain fading away, and even if the burning remained, the pleasure was slowly increasing inside of you as his thrusts started gaining some speed and momentum. Your eyes were hazy as they tried to adjust to look at his face.

His eyes were pure gold now, yellow as they looked down at your face, contorting in pure ecstasy as his thrusts became deeper now, your body jerking upwards as he started hitting a part of you, inside, that you didn’t know you could feel. You didn’t know what it was, but it was a hundred times better than your clit.

“Oh– Fuck– Fuck!” Your head was thrown back as your nails scratched onto his sides, making a groan escape him, his posture straightening to grab the back of your knees, pulling your legs up, opening you wider for him and that’s when you felt his need, his desire, as he started moving fast, desperate, and he was fixated on your breasts as they bounced at his every move.

He couldn’t take his eyes away from you as you moaned his name over and over again, and he felt the marks on his body burning him, making the pleasure even more unbearable. He needed to make you his, forever. Give you the worst punishment Krampus can give to bad people.

His hands slipped down to get hold of your hips and you kept your legs up as the skin slapping could be heard all over your house, pulling you towards him each time he thrust in, helping him go deeper into you and harder.

He could feel your walls clenching again, and he smirked as he looked down at you, your mouth open, drooling, as your hands were over your head, all over your pillow as you moved up and down thanks to his movements, the wood of the bed creaking against the floor.

“Come on sweet girl, you can give me one more, just one more.” One of his hands left your hips to get in between the two of you and you winced when you felt one of his nails scratch your clit, only to then moan when his digit came in contact and started to draw circles on it as he kept thrusting in and out of you as he tried to reach his own high.

“I love you– I love you– Make me yours, please– please!” And he smiled wickedly as he moaned out at your words. He knew you meant them, wholeheartedly. You really weren’t right in the head. He was sure of it now, and he didn’t know who to thank for that, but he was eternally grateful for them.

His thrusts quickened as he kept hitting that part inside of you while circling your clit with his thumb. You felt your body growing hot, like fire, as your legs started shaking and your hips jerking towards him as you felt your belly tighten, burn you, scream at you for release, and your hands were gripping onto your pillow under your head as your mouth was wide open with silent moans coming out of it.

“Do it, my good girl, do it.”

My good girl.

And that did it for you, clenching tightly around him, like a vice grip, like a python against their prey, crying his name, loudly, with breathy moans escaping you as your body shook against him. He didn’t stop his thrusting as he looked down at you, mesmerized, and he knew now that he definitely couldn’t let you go.

And so he claimed you, moaning your name loudly, even if you have never told him, he knew it. He spilled inside of you in long ropes, jerking his hips at every shot. Who would've thought a human would feel like this? Taste like this? He is obsessed now, not going to be able to let go of this, he is drunk on it, high on it, and he is definitely addicted.

You were at his mercy, in body and soul, and one of the things Krampus loves most is new toys. New toys that bend at his every will. New toys that would benefit him. New toys that he can play with, anytime he wants.

He was breathing heavily, yet tried to conceal it as he stared down at your face, completely spent, with tears and drool running downwards the side of your face. Oh yes… he almost forgot…

He leaned downwards to be face to face with you, and you opened your eyes to look at him. He smirked as he leaned down towards your neck, giving you a small lick before clamping his teeth down onto your skin, making you gasp in surprise at the sudden pain as your hands came to grip his shoulders for support.

You felt him suck on your skin, suck on your blood, for him to then pull away, another lick of his tongue on the wound he just provoked. He pulled away to look at the new mark on your skin, a symbol, a black swirl. He looked down at you, smiling wickedly as he rubbed your cheek.

“Time for me to give you your punishment.” Your eyebrows pinched together as you looked at him with a completely spent look in your eyes.

“My punishment?”

“Krampus is taking you away for misbehaving… horribly.”

And then the house was silent, the lights gone, candles gone out, fireplace with no embers, and then the townspeople never saw you again.

But children now say that Krampus does not come alone. The figure of a woman always stands in the doorway as he does his job, and his deeds, and the only thing the children can see from the shadows is a wicked smile, her white teeth, and glowing golden eyes.

Same as Krampus.

End

an: fuck them cute christmas fics

Merry Christmas, you naughty children.

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vhaos-chaotic-writing · 14 days ago

Note

Yandere TFA Wasp x cybertronian reader, where both are a couple in the Autobots academy

Oh boy, another TFA! Again, haven't watched or analized the show completely or at least good enough - will do my best and I hope you like it! ╰(￣ω￣ｏ)

(TFA) Yandere!Wasp w/ a Cybertronian!Reader - "Academy Sweethearts"

WARNINGS: Yandere behaviour, open ending, long ass post ngl. Reader is cybertronian and gender neutral, also an Autobot medic. Use of (Y/N).

"Seriously, what do you see in that bot?" - ah, the question of your whole scholar life at the Autobot Academy. And, at some degree, you couldn't get to be angry at anyone who asked you that question (unless they asked it for the 5th time in the same day). You loved Wasp, just as he loved you.

Since your 1st day at the Autobot Academy, Wasp set his optics on you - and let me tell you, he was all over you nearly all the time. You would have grown to hate him if it wasn't thanks to how he made you laugh, brough you gifts, kept you safe from any other bully in the academy and always passed time with you. Wasp knew how medic apprentices at the academy were demanded too much time, foucs and energy in the course, so it was common to see the mech look after you after his training classes, and other bots would actually find themselves surprised at how Wasp was so different with you.

Teased you but always playing, giving you too many sweet nicknames, aiming to always make you laugh and listen about your day, cheer you up when needed - to be the best in-the-near-future Conjux of them all.

"I'm so tired! I'll never be the medic I want to be! I am a disaster!" You whined, to then be hugged by Wasp from behind, who was quick to start snuggling his cheeplate against yours.

"There is nothing my hot-stuff spark can't do! You got it, babe!" He cheered you, to then kiss your cheekplate, making you giggle, your mood lifted up. "You're gonna become the best medic in the whole Autobot faction, and with me becoming the best Elite guard commander - we'll be the best duo out there!"

You and Wasp could picture it - graduation day, both of you the next big Autobot medic and Autobot Elite guard commander, servo in servo, a couple that since the 1st day in the academy clicked - the academy sweethearts, together till the end of the line.

Alas - the universe was cruel and your spark broke in half after finding out from others that Wasp was a supposed Decepticon traitor that got into the Academy to do the evil deeds of the feared Megatron.

As you were crying your optics out, covering your faceplate with your servos, trembling and being hugged by Ratchet and another friend of yours who were trying to comfort you, you could hear Wasp yelling as he was being taken away.

"This is a mistake! Bee is lying! (Y/N)! Please, listen to me! (Y/N)!!"

It has been... many years since that awful day. Still spark broken, you managed to graduate from the Academy and do your job as an Autobot, now being with the main team on Earth. And thankfully, you didn't had to go through everything all alone - Ratchet and your other friends were there to support you - even Bumblebee. The poor guy was so nervous to be around you, fearing you hated him from having exposed your boyfriend as the traitor.

... You weren't going to lie, you did actually got to hate Bee for a while, but slowly come to terms that - it wasn't his fault. He did was it was correct - he found out someone was working with the Decepticons and was trying to hurt from the inside the Autobots. He protected everyone, and, at some lenght, he also protected you. Still, it hurts.

You loved Wasp so much, after all.

And you didn't had an idea about how much he kept loving you, losing his mind in imprisonment and only thinking about two things: to take revenge on Bumblebee and find you, his one and only true love.

Wasp Bee was vibrating in excitement the moment you arrived back to the base, another little thing that gave out that something with Bee was not okay - even less with how he seemed to try and follow you anywhere you went and grow rather... anxious could be the word?

Oh you were still just as beautiful as the day he lost you, his beloved academy sweetheart and his true sparkmate, the one to become his Conjux Endura. Oh, he was gonna take revenge on everyone for having ruin the future you two had ahead.

When the truth was out, before he started to run away, he begged you to follow him, to listen to him - to come with him.

"It wasn't Wasp! Wasp has always been innocent!"

... but you didn't follow him.

His sanity finally left his system when he saw the way your optics looked at him, full of sadness and no longer the love you had for him back in those days.

His spark was breaking more and more, just like his mind - it got worse when that Blackarachnia touched him (No! That was wrong! Wasp wanted to tear off his own plates - he felt dirty! No one was allowed to touch him! Only (Y/N)!) and lied to him... oh, it hurt, it hurt awfully - Wasp really thought he was gonna die inside of that strange machine and never get to see you again, to tell you how much he still loved you.

Trembling, you kept moving back, feeling your optics start to produce tears as you pointed your weapon at Waspinator. The tall, turned-Predacon moved closer and closer, staring directly at you without blinking.

"S-Stay away!" You shout, begging for any of your teammates to arrive, to help you.

"(Y/N)... my (Y/N)... Wasp loves (Y/N)... Wasp never stopped loving (Y/N)... and Wasp never letting sparkmate go... not again." Waspinator mumbles, to the let out a screech and tackle you to the ground.

You cry and try to fire your weapon at the predacon, struggling to get free from his grasp as he holds your servos down.

"(Y/N) AND WASP WILL BE TOGETHER AGAIN! NO ONE WILL RUIN (Y/N)'S AND WASPS' LIVES AGAIN!" Waspinator cries, to then laugh. "WASPINATOR WILL KILL BUMBLEBEE, AND AUTOBOTS - EVERYONE! (Y/N) AND WASPINATOR WILL FREE AND HAPPY AGAIN!"

Pinkie promise I did my best to write this!!! Silly guy, tragic silly guy.

(。・ω・。) Vhaos out!

#transformers #transformers x reader #yandere transformers #yandere x reader #tfa wasp #tfa waspinator #tfa x reader

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m5or · 7 months ago

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I have a small theory as to why the bulblins kidnaped the kids in Ordon while Link got left behind. Time states that Ganondorf has become afraid of children in Heroes legacy. Ganon became paranoid after his encounter with the Hero of Time.

SO back to the era of Twilight Princess. The Hero of Time has a descendant. The Hero of Time has a bloodline and Ganondorf is a ruthless man. In this vision/flashback, we see Ganon doing his evil deeds before he is banished to the Twilight realm. I think this is showcasing us that Gannon caused the ruins in tp looking for baby Twilight.

I think that this war was the start of the resistance group. The members of the resistance look for and take care of any survivors. This is where Rusl finds little link. Rusl takes the child to Ordon and raises the boy with his wife Uli. Ordon is an isolated village. The Twilight realm is a perpetual twilight, Ganondorf would be unable to tell how much time has passed, or at least have a difficult time doing so. Until he is in the realm of light again. I think at the beginning of his return is unaware that baby Link is now a young adult. So he sends his henchmen to find and capture children expecting to find a young link eventually. (wind waker style-ish) thus the children in Ordon are kidnapped. oh dear remember when I said this was a small theory.

NOW I am aware that I said that Ganondorf was unaware for a little bit that little link grew up. I have a reason, it's Collin. don't tell me he wouldn't get mistaken for a young link. The blond hair color, the way his hair is parted down the middle? blue eyes? why such a display unless you're going to parade the poor kid all the way to Ganondorf. As a way to say i found the kid you were lookin for. we the players know that Colin has round ears but it's also interesting that out of all the village kids, Colin's ears are obscured by his hair on both sides. (clarifying that the design choice that we easily see the round ear tops of the other village kids intrigues me)

#i have a theory #will anyone let me know if my thought holds any water or not?#soooo #linked universe #lu twilight #loz #lu time #lu chain #lu #twilight princess #ordon #ordon kids #loz theory #lu theory #ocarina of time #rusl #Rusl #uli #ganondorf

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illuminiscentboba · 15 days ago

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akaashi 2, emotionally unavailable reader 1

romance was something you are so over by this point.

you couldn't help but be being overly critical of every mans actions, over analyzing the interaction to try to find an error in his ways or should you say a red flag enough to ward him away to convince your friends to stop encouraging you to let things progress and give him a chance and to convince yourself that he's no good for you. has anyone ever been good for you?

but him...akaashi keiji was as good as it gets in fact much better everytime you learn something about him. he's tidy, and he smells good the aroma of fresh laundry and coffee almost embedded in his skin, observant, actually remembering things you mention to him in passing and wishing you good luck for exams you mentioned to him a week or two ago, he makes sure to greet you whenever you guys see each other, constantly lightening your load when you head places together.

It's nice to be taken care of and you can't completely conceal your smile and appreciation when you notice him doing these things for you. and while you want to give him a chance to get to know you more, you thought the same about someone a few crushes ago and it was as if you flipped a switch in that man by saying you wanted to know someone in depth before doing the deed. He claimed to know you well enough, mentioning shallow surface level information, asking if there was someone else that occupied your mind. you shuddered to think about the deep and charming voice of akaashi sounding cold and his words turning short and bitter.

In fact there he was a few rows ahead of you, seated with his friends, listening halfheartedly to the banter of his friends. It was no secret to akaashi that you closed yourself off from romance. whenever it would come up you would grow quiet, a conflicted expression on your face. What had happened to you for you to disengage from the scene altogether? He wanted to ask...he wanted to know and if he were to be so bold, pursue you and replace those bad memories with good ones if you were open to it?

He paused glancing around the room, didn't he share this class with you? before you could turn away, his ocean coloured eyes found yours and he gave you a smile and it was as if he passed on his warmth to you because you found yourself smiling back, doing a small shy wave of your own.

class proceeded to go on, until finally, you guys got a break. with how depleted your focus was you had to step out your friends accompanying you on your little walk. similarly, he stepped out during the break heading to the washroom lost in his head trying to coordinate seeing his friend at a different university despite his busy schedule when he heard his name.

"I like him but what if it's too good to be true? someone like that in OUR generation? and they like me?! what if we're all wrong or he's secretly evil then what?"

he held back a chuckle at your last remark. the way you flipped between reason and nonsense was adorable to him, and he honestly didn't blame you. hearing the way some of his peers talked about their partner or the women of their lives made him sick to his stomach.

but wait...you like him back? he could no longer focus on the not so private discussion he heard echoing off the walls of the girls bathroom as he stood outside the boys washroom.

he thought you wanted nothing to do with romance? but then again he was also acting too careful and scared to get hurt as well. he constantly found himself holding back his thoughts and being careful with actions to not scare you away. scared of his feelings and losing you. he already did research on emotional unavailability and is aware that people with it may avoid intimacy and get defensive and he loathed the idea of your adorable smile and laughter being replaced by silence or you avoiding him.

but you like him. he hummed, a big tightlipped smile that was a little too giddy to be written off as regular akaashi behavior, completely forgetting what he went left the classroom for. he headed back, already looking forward to seeing you again and being bold. you gave him just the right amount of courage to stop overthinking, and to make his feelings more known. oh right, and to prove he wasn't the sinister man you seemed to secretly suspect him to be.

#i kinda want to make a part two to this #ermmm unedited i fear #akaashi just one chance please #akaashi keiji hq #akaashi headcanons #akaashi x reader #haikyuu akaashi #haikyuu imagines #akaashi fluff #haikyuu fluff #akaashi keiji #lumi writes #akaashi imagines

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caramel-maveeato · 1 year ago

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ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴜᴘ ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: something felt very unsettled with you today, and it shattered So Mun just from thinking of the possibilities… ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x Fem!reader ♡ Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, happy ending ♡ TW: suggestive, mentions of cheating, cursing, detailed kissing descriptions, crying, sexual tension but no you two aint gon do the deed, post-ss2 ♡ Word count: 5.1k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n. (Sorry mom and dad because instead of paying attention during lectures, I wrote this lil silly fic about a man who doesn’t even exist)

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

Apart from all the evils hunting, So Mun couldn’t recall the last time he had been this anxious.

Normally, he never held anything against you hanging out with your guy friends. He knew you also have your personal space and it wasn’t necessarily like your entire world needed to revolve around him.

So Mun trusts you with his own life, he really does. He never once doubted your love for him. But today, something was horribly off.

“Isn’t that Gwan Daehyun from my class?”

Juyeon habitually pushed her glasses up, vocalizing her thoughts to the friend group. Both Woongmin and So Mun raised their heads at the comment, turning toward the large window.

“Gwan Daehyun,” or whoever, was a tall and slender-built young man about his age—he presumed. Judging from his figure and his dashing fashion sense, anyone would instantly conclude he was a big catch. But that wasn’t what caught So Mun’s attention the most.

The man passed by the glass window. Next to him was you, linking arms with him and smiling so cheerfully.

Even though So Mun wouldn’t admit that something has unpleasantly risen up deep inside his heart upon seeing you being so close to another guy, you were always acting so intimate with him in your relationship, so it was understandable that physical affection was rather a normal way of communicating with you.

He heard Woongmin’s voice chimming in next to his ear, snapping him out of the trance: “Is that… I’m seeing Y/n, right? Are they friends?”

“What kind of question is that? If not friends then what are they?” Juyeon cut him off, carefully stealing a glance at So Mun to see if he had any reaction.

“It was just common sense to ask!”

“Uh-huh, common sense.”

“Hey, what’s with that tone–”

“Guys, we’re in the middle of a cafe, enough with your lover’s quarrel.” A faint smile flashed across So Mun’s face as he tapped his pencil down on the table, trying to get his friends’ attention. He didn’t really care how many friends you have, but seeing such joy radiating from you, he couldn’t help but be curious to know about the man’s identity: “Gwan Daehyun is your classmate?”

Juyeon responded nonchalantly: “In chemistry, but we almost never talked. How did Y/n and he even know each other?”

The typical “I don’t know” hasn’t even slipped out of his mouth, Woongmin was quick to toss him another question: “She didn’t tell you about this?”

So Mun wasn’t quite certain “this” referred to you telling him about the guy specifically or about this entire thing, but he chose to say what felt the most natural: “About hanging out with a friend today? She did.”

His two best friends nodded at the same time, exchanging a subtle look at each other which So Mun was completely unaware of. His concentration was taped on you the entire time, following you as your silhouette slowly melted into the distance. He returned to his sketchbook, throwing all running thoughts behind his head for now.

This was when it should’ve stopped bothering him. Or he would say, it didn’t actually bother him in the first place.

Not until he saw what was on your neck.

At first glance, he confidently supposed it was a mosquito bite. But again, he knew what a mosquito bite looked like, and he even knew better what a hickey looked like on your skin.

On the side of your neck laid a small, reddish stain. As much as he tried to deny the truth flattening in front of him and convinced himself that it was a love bite he'd forgotten he left on you, So Mun knew damn well all the places on your body that he had been marking on, and none of them displayed in such a conspicuous spot.

Or maybe you just carelessly bumped into something and bruised yourself, or maybe you got burned while using a hair straightener… Yeah, that was probably the reason. He knew you loved him, adored him, even. So why would you ever do such an awful thing behind his back?

“Hey, Y/n.”

You blinked, catching him staring at you from the opposite side of the table with a soft smile: “Hm?”

“How was your day today, I mean, hanging out with your friend?” He asked to start a conversation, already predicting your reply to be positive since the image of you laughing so happily with another man was still imprinted in his mind.

You smiled in return, acting as casual as possible: “It was pretty nice. We went to get coffee and took pictures and just… you know, the classic friend thing.”

“Yeah….” He nodded, awkwardness flooded his lungs that it was nearly hard to breathe. As much as he wanted to ask you about the bruise, he was afraid of receiving the answer. What if you think he didn’t trust you?

You gulped and looked down, unintentionally exposing your nervousness. In So Mun’s perspective, you were apparently hiding something from him. He aimed at the bruise again, fighting to conceal how his pupils started burning more and more fiercely on your skin the more he studied it. He hated to jump to conclusions so soon and accuse you of committing something you didn’t do. He knew you loved him. He was fucking sure you loved him.

Then why did you have to hide it?

His body ran cold from the way you adjusted your position to excuse yourself, uneasiness enveloped your face when you realized his eyes were fixed on your neck. So Mun watched as his precious placed her elbow down the table with her palm on her cheek, awkwardly building up a cover between his gaze and the love bite that was carved by anyone but him.

Suddenly, So Mun was launched back to today’s morning, into your warm embrace. You clasped him in a goodbye hug before you both parted ways, whispering an “I love you” like you’ve always done in his ear while he tucked himself into your comfort. You did not have that mark on your neck.

And now it happened to be a claret, hickey-like stain engraved on you in such a perfect place for an actual hickey to occur, circumstantially right after he caught you hinging arms with a man he’s never seen or heard you talk about.

Everything crashed. His senses crumpled and his stomach twisted in such a way that he felt physically nauseous.

“What’s that on your neck?”

Words glided out without thinking. There was no point in hesitating anymore, he just needed to listen to your voice confronting him that he had completely misunderstood the situation, that it was only a discoloration you got by accident, that whatever he was assuming was only an illusion coating his mind.

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

Your movement stiffened, not too detectable yet, at the same time, not unnoticeable enough to escape his focused stare. Just this small motion of yours was enough to deliver a slap across his face.

The corners of his lips lifted with no strength, not even sure if it looked convincing to you. He had no clue how to react. It wasn’t like he ever imagined you cheating on him, let alone preparing to face it: “Ah… I see.”

On your side, you weren’t any better. The forced and bitter smile on his face seized your guts, pouring immense shame down your head. God, you regret the whole thing already.

“Baby, do you want some water? I’m kinda thirsty.”

You said, clinging onto the very last piece of your cognition and trying to lighten the mood. The effort went pointless unequivocally as there fell a small pause between you two. So Mun slowly shook his head, silent.

“Okay, I… I’ll be back in just a min.”

Getting up to your feet, you wanted nothing more than to sprint to the kitchen and take two glasses of water, no matter if So Mun already refused it. Maybe after a breather and something to soothe your dry throat, the clotted mood would soften and that’s when you could disclose the truth to him.

Waiting no time for you to take another step, a strong grip tied to your wrist as soon as you stood up, condensed around your skin like cement. You quickly saw darkness towering over your vision as an incredible softness sank onto your lips.

You froze like a deer in headlights, tackled by the submerging desire when a pair of hands snuck around your waist and your mouth was captured securely, almost leaving no room for a muffled gasp to be heard. So Mun’s eyes fastened into yours before he shut them closed, engulfing your lips through the hunger enraging inside himself once your arms had mutually snaked around his neck.

So Mun was the personification of “loving” when it came to you. Regardless of how needy he was during your make-out sessions, he always put you as his priority and ensured not to overwhelm you with his rising passion. But at this specific moment, you were dazed by his sudden blast of enthusiasm, though your bewilderment was quick to dissolve into pure fever when he drew his tongue along your bottom lip just as skillful as the artist he was, fondling your flesh between his teeth before alighting his mouth onto yours again.

Your fingers automatically crimped around his hair, gently tugging his curls in a way you knew he could never get enough of. Your little gesture welcomed a quiet groan from your boyfriend, spawning a tightened grasp on your hips. You didn’t recognize how steamy the kiss had progressed until your back collided with the wall.

The room drowned in your intimate noises. His hand’s location switched from your hip to your chin as he nailed you to the hard surface, angling his digits along your jawline. He feasted on your unorganized breathing, eagerly knocking your lips apart with his own like you were a sumptuous banquet. His sweetness erupted through every smallest gap inside your mouth. Your knees turned wobbly while you gripped onto him to keep your balance, panting and whining for mercy since you were practically devoured for what felt like eternity.

You didn’t mind if So Mun might have misinterpreted your “thirsty” for something else but its literal meaning. He was feeding you full. However, the boiling-hot tension was impotent to replace the previous alarm between you two, now adding to the baffling foreboding you secretly felt.

Colors flowered chaotically through your closed eyelids. No way you could push him away despite your remained oxygen was already sucked dry. As much as you cherished how intoxicating making out with So Mun was, you were beyond relieved when he finally pulled back and showed your strained mouth some pity.

Your heart bolted madly inside your chest, both exhilarated and puzzled due to the unforeseen shift of sensation. Both of you chased after your jumbled breaths. So Mun supported your balance with his fingers dug into your waist and let you lean against the wall, still silent.

A coat of haze smeared over your eyesight after the kiss, you weren’t able to see his face clearly from this angle. But just shortly after, you heard him speak again, barely louder than a mumble: “Love…”

The familiar term of endearment dripped into your ear, carrying a hint of unusual raspiness. So Mun’s voice was as longing as a prayer pleading for his most revered goddess, yet suffocated in boundless desperation and anguish that made your head numb just from hearing it.

“Did I… I definitely did something wrong, didn’t I?”

Time stopped.

Something inside your gut ripped apart, tearing down every single bit that made of you as the eeriness and repentance needled through your bones.

You saw clouds in his reddened eyes. All So Mun needed to do was blink once and the tears would flood down his cheeks uncontrollably.

Your roaring heartbeat echoed in your head at the sight of his dark coffee irises, now a hollow void of fog and aggrivement. Your voice splintered in your throat as So Mun grabbed your hands and swaddled them in his own, his slightly calloused hands trembling against your skin: “What did I do wrong? Please tell me, love… Tell me everything you dislike about me, I promise I will change.”

Knowing how good-at-heart you were as a person, there wouldn’t be a chance of you going around and dating different men. That being said, maybe he was the reason you let go of him.

And there it was. The look on his face looked exactly like that one of betrayal when he discovered the murder of his parents two years ago. The only difference was that he didn’t seem to be upset at you, he was upset at himself for failing you, for even allowing a thought of leaving to cross your mind.

This was a look you would rather let twenty knives riddle through your organs than ever see in your life. And now you were the one who caused it.

You didn’t dare to move. Your veins twinged and screamed and begged for his forgiveness but no sound was brave enough to emerge at the moment. You watched as he pressed his face onto your shoulder, dampening that specific part of your shirt despite his effort to bite back from breaking down.

You stuttered, not yet realizing yourself was on the verge of tears as well: “No, baby, it’s—”

So Mun scanned the purplish hue obscuring itself under your hair and the dim light in the room, resentment swelling behind his chest as he choked back a muffled cry: “Am I not good enough? Is it my personality or the way I look? Did I mess up so badly that… you went for someone else?”

“No! No, it’s not like that. You did nothing wrong!” You hurriedly brushed your fingers over his cheekbones, guiding his face to yours as your vision shielded with unshed mist. His hot tears blurred his own skin, somehow felt dreadfully cold and painful when it hit your touch.

He hesitated, confused and unconvinced: “If not me, then— Why did you…?”

“It was me, love! I was so stupid. I should’ve known…” You hated yourself for coming up with the plan in the first place. Why didn’t you consider the consequences before starting it? That it could hurt him this terribly thinking you broke his faith?

In front of his stunned eyes, the tip of your fingers aggressively rubbed against that so-called “hickey,” each stroke smudging blush powder and eyeshadow all over your digits.

One week ago, 1 p.m., at the crime scene in Eonni’s noodle shop.

“What do you mean you dunno? He never got jealous before?!”

You quietly hissed at Juyeon, whose voice was almost too loud it scared a customer at the next table: “What’s so surprising about it? Does he look like the type to get jealous easily?”

You and the girl were chatting about whatever you could think of to kill time while waiting for So Mun to finish his last minutes of individual training. As luck would have it, you stumbled across the topic of relationships, and it eventually centered on your one and only beloved.

Woongmin looked up from Junhui’s colorful drawings, looking you dead in the eye: “Not gonna lie, he kind of does.”

“Don’t eavesdrop on us, turn away!” The short-haired girl gestured her hand at her boyfriend, making him roll his eyes with sass and unwillingly obey her command. She turned back to you, lowering her voice this time: “It’s not about looks, but I refuse to believe he doesn’t get jealous at all.”

You tilted your head, thoughtlessly stealing a sip of her latte: “Um-hm…”

“Seriously, you were never curious about it?”

You shrugged. You got where Juyeon was coming from. Woongmin’s possessiveness thrived pretty easily to begin with (evidently canon from how sulky he became when she complimented a sketch of your enemy Hwang Pilkwang), and it was always so entertaining to see.

You might’ve or might’ve not wondered what kind of expression your man would show when he got jealous, but well, the idea itself was somehow very fascinating.

The only time you’ve witnessed him show the slightest hint of protectiveness besides the counter-thing was when a customer asked for your phone number—where he would observe your reaction with a sharp glare at the said person, then smirk proudly when you turned the offer down. Still, as two grim reapers, you stuck to each other like glue almost 24/7—ranging from missions and serving to something as simple as eating and walking, not to mention the countless times you have woken up beside each other. Putting it plainly into words, you had no “private life” for jealousy to evolve.

Hearing your explanation (in which you already altered the “grim reaper” part), Juyeon flashed you a hilariously serious look, for some reason very invested in solving your problem: “That makes sense. So do you want me to help you?”

You sighed: “I… think?”

“No worries girl, I got you.” She thoughtfully gave you a wink, opening TikTok on her phone as she scrolled down numerous videos, stopping at one to show you: “I was thinking... this. What do you think about a hickey prank?”

An old-fashioned trick to mess with your significant other, yet always seemed to be effective. You stared at the scene unfolding between two lovers, battling in your mind whether or not you should give it a try: “You have a point, but I doubt he’d believe it. We see each other every day.”

“Well, all you need to do is pretend to hang out with some guy and come back with a fake hickey.”

“Damn, that’s genius.” Woongmin’s voice joined you two from afar, one more time getting Juyeon to threaten him with her razor-sharp look.

“Where am I supposed to find a guy, anyway? My few guy friends either rot away in their schools or aren’t even in the country.” You chuckled at their couple-ly bicker. Speaking of the truth, you found yourself a bit thrilled at the suggestion. You would love to see how adorably pouty So Mun became when he turned possessive.

Juyeon fancily sipped her coffee: “I know someone who can help. Two days ago, a uni friend of mine coincidentally complained about how badly he wanted to get a reaction out of his black-cat partner who never gets jealous. I guess you both can do each other a favor.”

The plan developed so smoothly. You absolutely could not expect to regret your whole existence just because you surrendered to the heat of the moment: “For real?”

Earning a firm nod from Juyeon, who then gave you her friend’s phone number to further discuss the prank, you mindlessly let yourself loose into the urge. You’ve read somewhere that jealousy can prompt both parties of a romantic relationship to stay connected, which is a good thing. It’s just a small, harmless prank, right? Nothing could go wrong, right?

“We should’ve talked about this during girls’ night, maybe you could pull this prank on Woongmin, too.”

“I can hear you, y’know.”

Pure silence detonated when your explanation died down.

A sour feeling crawled up your body in monstrous shamefulness. You warily waited for his reaction upon finding out he just got caught up in a hurtful prank.

“So… the whole thing was… a joke?” A rather wounding joke, to be exact. You held your breath and raised your stained fingers up, carefully analyzing his tone while choosing your own response: “Yeah, this hickey is makeup, as you can see.”

“Right…” Based on how long a pause lingered in each sentence, you could tell he was having a hard time gathering his thoughts together. ‘Lost as hell’ would be an understatement: “...and Gwan Daehyun is just Juyeon’s classmate, he doesn’t have anything to do with you?”

“No, he doesn’t. We have nothing to do with each other.” You answered: “We only met up for the first time today through… uh, yeah.”

He exhaled agitatedly, muttering in disbelief: “And Juyeon told me she had never talked to him before. That sneaky…”

It was nearly ridiculous to think about where the situation was at the moment. If minutes ago you both were strangled by the thickened bitterness of your own reasons, now the entire ambience has reshaped into an awkward one. Confronted by quietness, you gulped, instinctively feeling like you didn’t really have the right to say these words anymore: “Plus… I would never cheat on you.”

Speechlessness floated like ashes in between you and him.

In reality, the stiffened air only lasted a few seconds, you were nonetheless certain it felt like hours. So Mun blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the left-over dried tears steamed up over his view. He eventually let out a sigh, mumbling under his breath: “Y/n, you’re… impossible.”

You lowered your head, unable to make eye contact with him: “...I’m sorry.”

“”Sorry” won’t do it.” A scoff vaguely arrived from his direction, embedding in a hint of disappointment and irritation as he wiped the dewed corner of his eye one last time: “I really was convinced you’re bored of me already.”

You clenched your mouth shut, guilt swallowed your voice.

“You know what else you have to do so I’ll forgive you?”

Although the seriousness hasn’t faltered, you wondered whether or not you were delusional out of the blue because you swore he didn’t sound that serious anymore. Your gaze shot up at him, then looked down again and shook your head when you noticed his expression hadn't lightened up.

“You don’t? I think you do.” His warm hand swept across the side of your face, lifting your chin up. You were greeted by a light raise of So Mun’s eyebrows while he airily tapped on his lips with a casual, yet cunning twinkle in his pupils.

Dumbfounded, you delayed for a second to make sure you weren’t fooled by some kind of hallucination, cautiously examining the implication he just dropped as well as his blooming smile: “You… You’re not mad at me?”

“Oh trust me, I am still very pissed off. But you know I can’t full-on stay mad at you.” So Mun shrugged, booping your nose: “Not when you’re this pouty.”

The burn behind his eyes had stopped being torturous a moment ago, yet you still felt like a criminal knowing you had created such an unpleasant tint on his scleras. You murmured: “The pouty one was primarily predicted to be you.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

As if your internal self-reproach were audible, he swooped you into his chest, holding you while half-heartedly scolding you: “Just don’t pull these types of pranks on me again. Okay? One more time and I swear, I’m sleeping with Jeokbong-hyung forever.”

“Yes, I’m really sorry. I didn’t expect it to go this far.” Your arms enclosed him instantly as though they were customized to do so. You nodded against his shoulder, trying to contain a smile when his melodious chuckle filled your ear: “But the sleeping part is up to you. Bunk beds seem pretty cozy.”

So Mun rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing your cheek between his index finger and thumb: “Is that how you apologize for making your boyfriend cry?”

You cracked up, words unclear by the stretch on your face: “Oh, I’m sorry!”

Laughter echoed through the closed room, which you both preferred this way so much better than the previous heavy and wrenching atmosphere. So Mun nuzzled his nose against yours, whispering flirtatiously: “So what now? Gotta let me forgive you or you’re good?”

“No I’m not good, so please forgive me.” Heat bursting underneath your skin, tinging a shade of rosiness. You grinned and whispered before tugging blithely on the neckline of his T-shirt. His lips instantly fit onto yours just as perfectly as a puzzle piece.

A butterfly-like peck expectedly flourished into a hot mess. So Mun’s curls spilled between your fingers, trusting him to perform his magic on you. His scent ghosted your face, sending friction straight up to your mind while your mouth was accompanied by his bewitching wetness, claiming your mouth with impatience to make up for every drop of tears that had rolled off earlier.

Your body felt weightless when he lifted you off your feet, turning you away from the wall and pushing you to a surface that was much more doughy. Goosebumps enhanced down your body when the soft mattress of your own bed scratched against your back, manipulating a gasp to flee from your throat although the touch was hardly through a layer of fabric, evincing how awfully vulnerable you were in this position.

Responding to your tiny whimper, So Mun’s chuckle vibrated against your lips. He situated himself between your legs, pinning you flat on the bed and greedily nipping on your bottom lip to get the most reaction out of you. Your delicate flesh laid defenselessly against every stroke and skim of his tongue. It was no argument that he took pride in seeing you so worked up for his affection, and he wasn’t planning to stop until your pantings had stirred into one.

Your boyfriend only detached his face from yours after a while, beaming happily like it was Christmas morning at the sight of your lips glossy with his essence.

So Mun was one hell of a good kisser in contrast to his innocent face. He knew exactly when to be sugary and when to be spicy. After melting your brain to mud with his hypnotizing techniques, he placed a tender kiss on your cheek, lingering his pinkened lips over the warmth of your skin. He sweetly moved down to your jaw, then your chin as you dreamily threw your head back against the bed sheets.

His gaze fell onto the feeble “love mark” that had virtually faded away by your vigorous smudging, grinning to himself: “You know, if you wanted to show off a hickey right here, you could’ve just asked me to leave a real one on you.”

You giggled with a slightly hoarse voice, cheeks flushing brighter when he stroked his thumb over the spot, encircling the last remaining makeup stain in a gentle yet teasing manner: “I do love to have one there. But imagine all the teasing we're gonna get when the team finds out…”

“Understandable.” His stare at the fake hickey was no longer flaming with hatred, instead full of hilarity. Leaning downward, So Mun’s curly hair tickled the place under your chin and the heat of his breath fanned your skin. But you were too distracted by another sensation—a delicious softness printing on your neck—to notice it: “I just… still can’t believe it. You want to see me get jealous that bad?”

Your source of air was cut halfway and you closed your eyes in delight. (We all know) You do. Maybe you were too much of a coward to confess but the man in front of you always looked so fucking hot when he was mad: “I mean… I’m just curious?”

“Good to know. The next time I see someone flirt with you, I’m gonna beat them up.” Mellow kisses gathered around the makeup stain. So Mun closely examined the way your body trembled underneath him while open-mouthed kisses were planted along the line of your neck, testing the waters and looking for your approval.

This earned a small giggle from you. You brought a hand up to the back of his head, your digits massaging his scalp as you indirectly turned the green light on at whatever he had in store for you: “Yung is gonna beat you up, my dear.”

“Oh, Yung can’t do anything to me. I’m the pillar and the Ace, remember?”

You smiled, about to say something before your thoughts were heavily interrupted by a raid of affection on your flesh, right where the fake hickey originally occupied. But this time, it was no longer “fake.” You thanked your lucky star for suppressing your voice on time because only God knows what kind of unholy sound you’d make at the sudden pleasure.

Exhaling a deep sigh, you were barely able to hide the shakiness in your voice as So Mun dragged his lips over your neck, painting your skin with a lovely shade of red through his teeth: “More like you and your cocky ass…”

He laughed: “Yeah, me and my cocky ass, any complaints, baby?”

His hands gently pressed your shoulders, positioning you firmly against the mattress. Every suck and nibble was followed by a trail of kisses admiring your skin. You could almost feel his marks starting to blossom each time he separated his mouth from your flushed flesh, watching it bounce back with a glowing shine.

You gulped unconsciously on behalf of him pulling the collar of your shirt aside, revealing more of your hidden collarbones for what was about to come next: “...No complaints.”

Screw it. Maybe you should just let the team tease you however they want later.

The edges of his lips raised in a satisfied smile, one that never failed to hook you in a love spell. So Mun is magnetic. That’s just the way he naturally is.

Sweeping a hand under your nape, he allowed your head to fall back in a perfect curve and your neck went unsheltered. His enchanting voice bathed in anticipation as he whispered in your ear:

“Perfect. Now relax and I’ll do all the work for you.”

His devotion exploded like fireworks in the sky, each glimmer landing on the ground meant another kiss perched down on your skin. Your evening ended in So Mun’s embrace, loving you and cuddling you until the night had gone by.

You resulted in a cycle of wearing turtleneck tops constantly for three weeks straight, whether or not it was chilling outside or you were one step away from passing out in your own pool of sweat during training. To the point the other counters were highkey concerned, like, damn, what if you actually unalive due to overheating? (you won’t.)

This is all because every time your amazing boyfriend noticed his garden of cherries on your skin had slightly faded away, he’d sneak you into whatever secluded spot he could find and plant a fresh, brand new one on you, right onto the same spots.

But since it was THE So Mun initiating the act so who’s gonna complain? Not you, obviously.

Thank you sm for bearing with me til the end i know this fic is long (and OOC) (ﾉ´∀｀*) Hope you enjoyed it!!

#so mun #so mun x reader #the uncanny counter x reader #the uncanny counter #unncanny counter #lim juyeon #kim woongmin #kdrama #kdrama x reader #pookie please come home ��

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year ago

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Omg hello fellow lumine main!

I don't know if you watched the recent Xiao teaser but i got inspired by it so if it's okay with you can you write an angsty scenario about this:

After fighting with the "evil" Xiao, Xiao feels extremely tired and after walking for a while he bumps into you in a deserted field he then confuses/ hallucinates as if you are his evil self so he starts choking you(?) tries to attack you(?) And no matter what you say your words doesn't reach his ears and he snaps out of it only when Zhongli calls his name when he happened to be passing by

Hope this is not too specific! Feel free to change any part that you don't like and it could end with whatever genre you want whether it's angst or angst with fluff!! Thank you and please ignore this if you don't feel like writing it<33

✿ 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙖 ✿

characters: xiao x nb!reader

warnings: angst, slight spoilers to xiao’s backstory, hurt/no comfort, fighting, descriptions of blood and canon violence, confession, big ouchies, major character death

notes: just wanna add that the reader doesn’t have a vision! since you didn’t specify the reader’s gender, i went with the “you” pronouns thing. also hiii❗️fellow lumine main❗️(ps: i wanted it to be different but my mitski’s playlist hurt me)

karmic debt is something that all yakshas bear in their lifetime until their timely demise. it is a collection of their evil deeds, of slaying demons, of taking the life of a corrupted being. of tainting one’s hand with blood whether that blood was already tainted or not.

out of five yakshas that guarded liyue and kept the land of any evil, three had died. minds corrupted by their own karmic debts, hearts shattered by the ones they once used to call a family, bodies torn apart, leaving behind only ashes with nothing to bury and reminisce about in the future. while one had disappeared without a trace.

out of five, only one remains.

and that one would sooner or later fall into his own karmic debt as well. it was only a matter of time. however, there was a small glimmer of hope in the yaksha’s tainted heart. a small glimmer in the shape of you.

sweet, loving you in all your glory who first met the legend of a being when he protected you from a mitachurl. kind, gentle you who thanked him later at the wangshu inn with a plate of hand-made almond tofu with a small offering at the side. thoughtful you who kept appearing every once in a while at the balcony, talking out loud to him about your day, your latest travels and business trades, knowing full well he was listening.

passionate you who gleefully accepted him with open arms when he first decided to sit beside you to hear about your day. understanding you who kept your distance when he warned you of his karmic debt, respectful of his wishes.

and the idiotic clumsy you who would sometimes trip over on the way up the stairs. who would smile at him with the same smile, calling out his name with a scratched hand or forehead. who would brush it off as something small and mediocre.

but the yaksha hated that you would always say your injuries are mediocre and “nothing to worry about”.

of course he would worry. you were one of the few people in his life that he held dear in his heart. one of the few who accepted him, karmic debt, dirty hands, tainted heart and all. the only one… he ended up falling in love with.

“if one day, this karmic debt that binds my soul becomes too much and i no longer can tell the difference between friend or a foe, call upon mister zhongli or the traveler. they’ll get rid of me before i can harm anyone” was something that the lonely yaksha would remind you often.

“it’s fine. that won’t ever happen” you would console him, hands weaving a flower crown together from the qingxin flowers he picked up for you.

“because i’ll be there to knock some sense into you” was your sweet promise as you would place the flower crown atop his head with a smile.

he always found it meaningless that you would weave the flowers into something as useless as a flower crown. but he couldn’t bring himself to ever take it off or throw it away, even after the flowers have dried up and he would pick up the fallen petals, storing them in a glass. he loved how even in death, without nourishments, the petals would continue to keep their beauty.

perhaps that’s why he always brought you flower bouquets back. ones made from random flowers. sweet flowers, glaze lilies, qingxin, silk flowers — he always brings back a flower for you whenever you visit. and on certain days when he feels an odd emotion gripping his heart, unable to tear his gaze away from you as you look at the setting sun, his gloved hand would slowly reach out, tucking one of the flowers behind your ear.

“pretty…” the lonely immortal would whisper without notice. only when you glance at him with a smile, would the yaksha realize what he had done, turn beet red and teleport away. too shy to confront his feelings, too conflicted to stay beside you, too afraid of your mortality.

there are so many times when xiao fears for your mortality.

the times when he feels his karma gripping his heart. hand clutching his jade spear tight to the point he fears he would break the weapon. blurry figures in his sight, muffled voices in his ears, an annoying high pitched ringing in his head.

it was just supposed to be another night. another night of keeping liyue safe. another night of banishing demons and abyss mages, mitachurls, what nots.

and yet it drained him so greatly. when was the last time he had ever felt this exhausted? down right almost collapsing right then and there in the fields of liyue? muscles straining, dragging his feet, vision blurry — the yaksha was exhausted.

amidst the chaos of the voices screeching in his head, demanding more blood, more death and sacrifices, xiao finds himself staring back at a familiar mask. his own mask. himself. or what kind of a twisted joke of himself it was.

their speed was evenly matched. spear swings and thrusts sharp, aimed at his weakest parts, the same feeling of adrenaline pumping as he fights against his own self. with some sort of blind luck or fate, the yaksha manages to make his other self kneel. a single plummet of his jade spear to the heart was all it took for the illusion to disappear.

this was a tiring night. xiao just wanted to go back to wangshu inn and collapse in your arms. you always had a soothing presence that quelled the karma in him.

“xiao?” a voice sounds from behind him. turning back to look at the person who spoke the immortal’s name, he finds himself growing enraged. another look alike of himself.

this was getting tiring.

and yet when the yaksha slipped on his mask and attacked, something was weird. this illusion was slower, weaker, never attacking back and he would almost daresay, felt wrong to fight against.

it didn’t took long for the seasoned fighter to leave a nasty cut on the illusion’s side, almost plunging his spear through their ribcage. he’d just have to try a bit harder then.

xiao wanted nothing more than to go back to you. to feel your arms around him. to feel your hands run through his hair, rambling on about your day or just simply choosing to stay quiet. either way, the lonely immortal loved it. he wanted to go back to you. to your loving embrace. sweet smiles. little nods when he whispered about somethings he wanted.

xiao just wanted to be with you.

just your presence alone was enough for him. he would savor the warmth your skin excludes as he sits beside you on the balcony. cherish every little moment you would spend with him. treasure the small gifts and the almond tofu you would make for him.

and yet why was it that such a familiar hand was touching his own gloved one when he finally drove his jade spear through the illusion’s chest.

it was only then the illuminated bird noticed.

there was no second ‘illusion’. there was no need to fight against the voice that called out to him. for it was you. for it was the one person he cherished the most. for it was his beloved that was now bleeding out, blood tainting the tips of his spear, warm hand covering his own gloved one. warmth that was so quickly fading away.

his beloved… that he killed.

taking his spear out, xiao moved quickly to catch your falling body. the warmth that your hug gives him, the comfort he feels now being replaced by the warmth of your blood.

“no. no no no no, h-hang on. i’ll get you to liyue harbor” what was he saying? it was no use. he had already pierced your heart straight through, there was no hope for you. but xiao wanted there to be one. xiao wanted you to stay alive so he can confess to you. xiao wanted you to live, wanted to taste your hand made almond tofu again, wanted to put flowers in your hair.

xiao wanted to spend his tomorrows with you.

“don’t. we both know i won’t make it” your voice calls out. weak, hoarse, tired. you were bleeding. eyes dull, losing life, losing it’s shine. you were dying and it was all his fault.

“please… please don’t go” the yaksha didn’t knew he was crying until his tears landed on your face. even when bleeding out, even when dying, you still smiled. and by the archons, you were still beautiful even as you lay dying in his arms.

“please don’t go. i love you too much to let you go…” the yaksha sniffled, sobs coming out as he holds you in his arms.

it was just like how you two would lay on the rooftops of wangshu inn. watching the stars, the cloud move by, pointing out the shapes as you two enjoy each other’s presence.

except the warmth that came from your body was now the warmth of your blood gushing out, staining his clothes. the smile you used to give him now dead, stoic, almost like a puppet’s forced smile. the bright shine of life that was once in your perfect [color], dull like a matted blood.

“i wanted to spend my tomorrows with you…”

#nobu.writes #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader angst #genshin x reader angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #xiao x reader #xiao x reader angst #xiao angst #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #and yes i quoted trigun

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thelemoncoffee · 7 months ago

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mmmmm Kokichi being forced to drop his evil asshole shtick to save his classmates in an emergency (ie something akin to the school catching on fire)

no thoughts just- it's something they have to act fast in and he either becomes a true monster and leaves a classmate in need of help behind, or he lets his DICE instincts take over and gets them to safety at the expense of his own. lil zest of angst if he got hurt in the process and now people are worried about him

i like the idea of this being an instance of Kokichi being a hero and Kaito short circuiting about it. Kaito does help in getting everyone to safety, but he's evacuating and not running into the danger to save someone trapped. Kaito can't wrap his head around Kokichi "dips every time hard work is involved" Ouma putting his life at risk for someone like that.

my idea for this is Kaito assumed when Kokichi was nowhere to be seen during the evacuation that he dipped and left everyone behind, then it's found out by a head count that Kokichi isn't present at all and neither is another student, they then find him and that student on the other side of the school with Kokichi injured and the other person passed out. Kaito now has to cope with the fact that one of the worst people he knows just did an act of heroism that he himself didn't have the guts to pull off.

i also love the idea of Kokichi preferring to be disliked and pushing away praise for his good deeds. like he gloats all the time about not that impressive bullshit, but the second he does something truely good and people call him a hero for it, he gets hella bitey. he gets super grumpy and strays away from everyone more than usual after this, hoping his cagey behavior will make people dislike him again so things can just go back to normal, but then Kaede has the AUDACITY to call his closing himself off "a Kokichi way of being humble". he's gonna fight her he swears (lies)

Kokcihi hating being heroic despite it being in his nature thanks to his time saving DICE's asses mmmmm

#danganronpa #ndrv3 #danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #kaito momota #au #au prompt #au idea #kai prompts #chewing on this like a chewtoy

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sumiresaitozakiloveher · 5 months ago

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Degree of lewdity x reader character reaction to PC with a heart locket with a picture of them inside

Whitney: You would be walking out of school to walk with Robbin when one of Whitney minions grabbed your hair. Whitney will pull off the necklace off your neck, breaking it in the process. "Let's see what's inside." Hearing the words come out of his mouth, the PC would try to fight for it back, but Whitney keeps it out of their reach. Whitney evil happy face turns to cringe and confusion when he opens the locket to find a picture of himself. "What a loser. At least you know who you belong to." He tosses the locket back at you, hitting your left eye. I've got something better for you to wear." Whitney produces a black and pink collar and straps it around your neack. The collor has Whitney slut on the tag. Whitney and his friends laugh and snort as they walk away.

Robbin: Robbin trauma was a bit high after Bailey's punishment, so he asked if you could have a little sleep over with him. Feeling sympathy for him, you'll agree. Robbin will wake up an hour early from a nightmare, and you'll still be asleep. On his desk, he'll see the golden locket you always wear. He wants to mind hus own business, but his cerousity get is better for him and opens it. His eyes light up with love and surprise when he sees two pictures of him smiling. Once from their childhood and a recent photo of you and him together. In the cornor, he sees the words my boyfriend wrote in the cornor. He places the locket back in its place and spends the last hour cuddling up with your sleeping form.

Kylar: Watching you from afar, he notices you're wearing a gold heart shaped locket. This is the first time he ever saw you wearing it, making him think that you're seeing someone. Thoughts about you and Robbin dating start racing through his head, making him even more hypocritical. Jellous, he'll sneak over to the orphanage and into your room where he carefully goes threw your clothes searching for the locket. Kylar soon finds the locket in your panty drawer. After picking which panty to keep as a souvenir, he opens the locket, revealing a picture of him taken from behind. Kylar celebrities as quietly as possible before putting the locket back in its place. He walks up to your sleeping form and lands a kiss on your forhead. "I'll see you soon my love."

Alex: is extracting lurker fluids to make some more aphrodisiacs when he cuts open a lurker and notices something golden. Pulling out the object, he discovers its golden heart shape locket. Opening the locket, he sees a picture of him and you together. The picture was taken a while ago. A smile forms from Alex face that his innocent good girl employee feels the same way. The lurker proply swallowed the thing when it attacked you. Alex closes the locket and returns it without telling you that he opened it. "Becareful with it. I'm surprised that the locket didn't get turned into lurker droppings." You thank Alex and put the necklace back in your room. You would die of embarrassment if Alex found out you're in love with him.

Sydney: You tried to fight Whitney as he tried to undress you in front of everyone. Since you're usually a pacifist, Whitney obviously kicked your ass. The stress got to you, making you pass out. Sydney finds you unchonchance and brings you to the library since the nurse isn't here. Sydney gathers you stuff that you dropped at the scene. With his hands full, he dropped your heart necklace, causing it to open on impact. Sydney starts blushing as he sees a picture of him in the locket. You love him? Well you are a good student with you allways turning in your rented books on time. Not to mention that he hears students talk about the good deeds you have done. He wouldn't mind giving you a chance. He places the locket in your backpack and sets it right next to you, and waits for you to awake.

#degree of lewdity #kylar the loner #whitney the bully

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flowercrowngods · 2 years ago

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Suggesting/Requesting Eddie having a crush on the valiant knight Steve Dustin goes on about, not realizing it's Steve "the Hair" Harrington and the way he reacts when he realizes they're the same dude. Cue adjustment period.

hi! first of all thank you for the prompt 🥰 i slipped and kinda decided to take your ‘valiant knight Steve’ quite literally and made this a medieval/regency au with knight steve and bard eddie, kinda enemies to lovers. it totally got out of hand, so this is part 1, with all my apologies to your original prompt 🤍🌷

Eddie smiles as the fields and forest that surround Hawkins come into view, kissed by the early afternoon sun with more affection and richness than the city probably deserves. It looks different this time of year, the green seems deeper than he left it, and nostalgia paints him a picture of glory and welcome that would make any traveller linger at the sight.

He knows it’s only the magic of coming home, the thrill of having been gone so long that he needs to learn his town a-new, and the curiosity of a poet that makes his heart beat faster; but it’s his life’s blood to embrace all of that. So he spurs on his trusty horse to make it home even just a minute sooner.

The people’s reactions to his arrival come in multitudes, though Eddie can respect the healthy dose of mistrust with which they regard him. He has made a name for himself after all, a bard more than a jester these days, but most people don’t tend to forget the pretty face they chased out of the city on multiple occasions.

He lifts his head in greeting as he passes the elderly Wheelers as they’re tending to the flowers lining their windows, and grins with glee at both the disapproving scoff and the wary nod he gets in return.

He’s in good spirits. Great spirits, in fact, the sun shining down on him, welcoming him and lighting familiar paths for him to tread again after years of absence. Hawkins will see his glory, his success, his victory, and it will pale in jealousy and regret. They cannot chase him away this time, not with the title of royal bard and winner of the bardic competition three years in a row.

If his travels have taught him anything, it’s that he is pettiness acts as a wonderful motivation.

Of course, he shall also see his friends again. One of his saddlebags is half full with their letters that have accumulated over the years, all of which Eddie has kept for reasons of muse and a heart entirely too soft for his own good.

Most of all, though, even more than proving his worth and success to his city and its people, it is curiosity that brings him home.

Dustin and his friends have been mentioning a most valiant knight, waxing poetic about his glorious deeds and his kinder heart — or, as poetic as they get, which is hardly at all. Which consequently made Eddie write no less than five ballads about the stories they told him, three of which have made it into songs yet, one of which he was made to play in every tavern on his long journey back to Hawkins and to Princess Nancy herself on more than one occasion.

The Knightmærs, as he calls his little collection of poeterey, his pride and joy about a man he has yet to meet. Tales about maidens saved and brothers defeated, hearts stolen and retrieved with the gentlest gestures, and children protected against the evils of night, expecting naught but friendship. And friendship he got.

If Eddie’s heart picks up yet another notch at the thought of meeting this knight as the familiar city walls tower before him, he allows it for a second before announcing himself to the guards. They looked wary upon his approach and blanch now as they hear his name; Eddie does not hide his laughter this time and preens as he is told to ride on.

“Oh, Hawkins, old friend,” he mutters under his breath, not even bothering to hide his smile. “You and I shall have so much fun, shan’t we?”

~*~

He barely makes it to the home he has been sharing with his uncle since the ripe age of twelve with minimal fuss, unsaddling his horse and guiding her to the trough, when he hears it.

“Eddie!”

Halting in his motions the currycomb, he looks up from the rusty brown that shines red like embers in the sun and spots Dustin racing down the street towards him.

He lowers the comb and steps around his horse, grinning at his rapidly approaching friend.

“Why, good day to you, young traveller, what brings you to my humble abode?”

Dustin doesn’t falter in his approach, doesn’t even slow down, and Eddie braces himself for impact. Years of experience have made him quite practiced in handling tackle-hugs, but Dustin has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, and they both stumble backwards when Dustin’s arms wrap around Eddie in a way that seems to press all air out of his lungs. Eddie laughs as he hugs his friend back with as much ferocity.

“I’ve missed you! I was writing to you this morning when I remembered you said you’d come this week. I didn’t think it would be today!”

“I came as soon as I could. Such is the Munson way, or did you forget?”

Dustin shakes his head and finally lets go, though Eddie yearns for another hug. It’s been too long. The boy has grown. He’s hardly a boy anymore, though he shall always remain as such in Eddie’s heart. He smiles and ruffles Dustin’s locks, realising with a pang that they’re almost of a height now.

An ache like homesickness settles in his gut and wears on his heart heavily.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smoothing out the curls he’s put in disarray. “It’s just been too long. And I’ve missed you, too. You’ve grown quite a bit since last we talked.”

“I have!” And he looks so proud of it, too, preening a little under Eddie’s faux scrutiny, and it’s what makes him pull Dustin against his chest again.

Eddie continues taking care of his horse, feeding her, combing through her mane, making sure she has as much comfort as he can provide after their long days of travel. Dustin sits on the fence and watches him tend to her, feeding her the occasional apple when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. He hides his smile and pretends not to see.

God, but he has missed his friend.

Their twosomeness is rudely and entirely too quickly interrupted by Lord Harrington of all people, who hurries down the street in search of Dustin.

Eddie never did like the lord and his pompous appearance coupled with his rude personality. He always acted like a prince among men, subject to many a jest in Eddie’s younger days. On one memorable occasion, Eddie managed to steal the lord’s clothes and swap them with his own, making him walk about in linen rags and torn-up trousers.

Days later, all of his lute strings ripped just as he was getting ready to play at the tavern, and he never messed with Harrington again — even though there was a parcel three days later with new lute strings and his old clothes he had made the lord wear. No note attached to it, because Lords didn’t stoop down to converse with lowly peasants even for revenge.

So, seeing Harrington now on the very first day of his being back, it sours Eddie’s face and his humour.

“Why, Lord Harrington,” he speaks before the man can get a word in. “To what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you here? Have you suffered a fall from grace yet, or was it a hit in the head that left you disoriented, bringing you to my humble abode?”

Harrington frowns at him, though Eddie deems to detect confusion more than distaste.

And then he has the audacity of not even answering to Eddie’s ruse, simply ignoring him and instead turning around to Dustin.

“Dustin, Master Clarke is expecting you. I will not cover for you once more.”

“But—“

“Spare me,” Harrington says, hands on his hips now, and Eddie is starting to feel defensive over Dustin. How dare his lordship come and steal his best friend away when he hasn’t even been home for an hour yet?

Before he can get so much as a word in, however, Dustin is already jumping from his perch on the fence and trudging towards Harrington, rounding the man and leading the way up the hill towards the castle.

“I’ll come back later, Eddie,” Dustin says over his shoulder, and then he is gone, rounded the corner, out of his sight.

Harrington, however, lingers. Eddie raises his eyebrows in question and challenge, and the Lord scoffs a little. It’s like he wants to say something — but what could it be? What could Lord Harrington have to say to him, years after they last saw each other?

He does look stunning, Eddie has to admit with a grudge against his self and his integrity. The golden light of the afternoon sun catches in his hair, likening it to strands of gold that kings and queens pay alchemists across the world to procure. Eddie, for a moment, feels like he has found it in Lord Harrington’s hair and the skin of his face, but he quickly snaps out of it, cutting off that particular train of thought before it can run away form him.

“I hear you are a bard of great renown these days.”

The words catch him off his guard, for Eddie was sure that the Lord would not attempt to converse. Yet it seems that propriety still has a tight grip on him.

Does Harrington like his ballads, his plays, his poetry and sonnets? Has he heard them? Or has he heard of them? Has word travelled across the countries, telling of Eddie the Bard and his brave-hearted muse his soul yearns for and his quill bleeds for?

Eddie is not sure which option thrills him more, but whichever one it is, it makes him smile, feeling quite bashful and yet proud.

“So you hear,” he says, approaching the stiff Lord. “What exactly is it that you hear, my Lord?”

He swallows, following Eddie’s steps with his eyes, turning his head when the bard circles him slowly. “I hear you sing of beasts slain and brothers banished, a knight at the heart of your ballads.” Eddie smiles at that, knowing that Harrington has at least heard of two of his Knightmærs. I hear it sounds like mockery, the knight but an object of your hyperbolic fascination and flowery imagination, his pain and bravery nothing to you.”

He stops dead in his tracks, his feet planted right before Harrington. The Lord looks like he is taking personal offence to his works, and it irritates the bard.

“And what, Lord Harrington, would you know of fascination, pain and bravery? I cannot imagine you have faced a lot of hardship in your life, and the only acts of bravery you had to chance upon were mislead in the name of false honour.”

“False honour,” Harrington repeats, his words like poison, sharp and dangerous as the sword’s blade at his hip. “You would know something about that, I imagine, telling stories of which you have no idea. Immortalising glory where there should be sympathy.”

Eddie studies him, the frown between his brows, the hard line of his jaw, set and calmed to keep more words from spilling. Imposing, this Lord is. A sight for sore eyes even in his purely misplaced anger.

Eddie huffs, his eyes travelling between the Lord’s where they are standing so impossibly close.

“Sympathy,” he repeats. “Nobody, my Lord, wants a ballad of sympathy. It is glory that the people seek!” He steps back from Harrington, gesturing with his arms as he dramatically recounts the lessons he has learned over the years, passionate for his craft. “Glory, heroism, heartbreak and love! Yearning and longing and deeds of an aching heart, that is what the people want to hear. That is what deserves to be immortalised in art, in poetry, in song! I shall forgive you for being so painfully unaware of this, my Lord, but I shall not stand to be in your company much longer, calling my work lacking or a mockery when it is borne out of nothing but loyalty, fascination and love.”

They are close again, because Harrington did not step back when Eddie approached him once more, his feet planted like a tree, fierce and strong and unbudging.

It is intoxicating, though Eddie blames half of it on the passion and the rage, on the bravery that possessed him to send the Lord away, or the fierceness with which he came to his muse’s defence.

Harrington swallows again, his eyes wandering over Eddie’s face once more, lingering at his lips, both their jaws set in determination and perhaps a sudden tension.

“Forgive me for insulting you with my company,” he speaks at last, his voice nothing but a rasp. “You will find there is an irony to your words soon. I shall not rob you of that discovery. I ask you do not take it out on our mutual friends when you do, Munson.”

And with one last glance, Harrington turns on his heel and hurries up the hill, too, leaving Eddie puzzled and quite dazed upon the lingering warmth of their close proximity.

When did Harrington become so handsome? There was a fire in his eyes that Eddie got to witness for just the blink of an eye, but he wonders where that comes from, what it means, and what other secrets he holds.

Perhaps, if he cannot meet his muse, the knight Dustin has only ever referred to as Steve, Harrington might serve to inspire a ballad or two himself.

~*~

Harrington catches his eyes on more than one occasion over the next days. Eddie is invited to the castle to play for Princess Chrissy, though she greets him like an old friend and makes him sit close to her at the banquet. Right beside Harrington, who merely nods at Eddie, his fists clenched as Chrissy asks the bard about one of his ballads — the one about the valiant knight slaying a horde of monsters to keep the kingdom’s children safe.

The Lord must really hate Eddie’s work. It fills him with spiteful glee, for some reason, and he makes sure to play and recite all of his Knightmærs that night. Harrington excuses himself when Eddie hasn’t even made it halfway through his songs, and he doesn’t return that night.

He takes personal offence now and vows to make the Lord’s life as difficult as he can.

But still there is no sign of Steve.

Eddie is starting to get frustrated.

He was supposed to be here, stand tall and proud with a smile on his face upon seeing Eddie, sweep him off his feet, make him swoon, dare Eddie to fall in love with the face long after the name.

His mood is sour, and only sours further when Harrington rounds the corner and stumbles upon Eddie who is tuning his lute for tonight’s banquet. The annual royal tournament is set for the next morning, so everyone is in a good mood.

Well, everyone except Eddie. And Lord Harrington, by the look on his face.

“Munson,” he says, straightening before he bows his head in greeting. “Forgive me, I was looking for some quiet. I shall look somewhere else.”

And, somehow, that is enough to snap his patience that was already wearing thin. “Why can you not stand being in my presence, sir?” he asks, rising from his seat. “Does it disgust you so to be around mere peasants?”

Harrington looks taken aback, shock and confusion clear on his face before a frown takes its place and washes away all further emotions.

“It is not your presence that bothers me, nor the nature of your birth.”

“And yet you leave every time I so much as strum a tune, Lord Harrington, ready to throw both caution and propriety to the winds. Leaving me to wonder what it is that I have done to deserve such treatment.”

Eddie finds himself walking closer and closer to the Lord, coming to a stop not one foot before him. He is drawn in by his presence, his charm as alluring as his cold silence. Everything about Lord Harrington intrigues him, horrified as he is to admit it. But with Steve not around to catch his eye and captivate his heart and mind alike, he simply has to find inspiration elsewhere.

And the way Harrington’s face is taken over by a dangerous expression is the most inspiring, alluring thing he has seen in a while, even though it is directed at him.

“How can you have the audacity to feign confusion over my disdain, bard,” he hisses, and Eddie shivers slightly. Harrington does not even have the sense to step back, staying right where he is, so close, so improper. “How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own, singing songs and telling stories, making into nothing but a jaunty tale recited by drunkards with no regard to the blood it was written in.”

Eddie blinks, not quite catching up with the point Harrington is making.

“What—“

“You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.”

Lord Harrington speaks to him as though he takes offence at the content of Eddie’s ballads, offence at the reality of their background. But what right does he have to take offence when his songs are based on heroic deeds, recounted to him first hand by his very best friend. What right does Harrington have to question the truth behind them?

“If it is a matter of truth that concerns you, let me reassure you, my Lord, that all of my ballads are based on true events. I ask that you do not call me a liar, no matter how great your dislike of my craft.”

“It is not a liar that I call you, but rather a thief.”

Eddie gasps, offended now. “What do you suggest I have stolen, then?”

“A person’s right to their own story. To their own nightmares. A man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.”

“How dare you call his deeds horrific,” Eddie hisses now, feeling protective over his knight. “How dare you accuse me of ill intent when every word out of my quill is written with nothing but love and admiration.”

“For whom?” Harrington challenges, disdainful and cold. “Only for yourself, your vanity, your overgrown sense of artistic ambition.”

“No,” he shakes his head, hands clenched into fists as he finds himself incredibly close to Lord Harrington, their faces only inches apart now. “It is love for this person I have never met, whom my dear friend has told me about. A man who has kept me awake at night as I was pouring over letter after letter, hoping he should be well. It is a love so strong it has to be turned into art, into song, love that should be sung in every voice of the kingdom.” He scoffs, stepping back to catch his breath. “I do not expect you to know such a love when all you have in your cold heart is disdain for all things beautiful. You would never know bravery if it looked you in the face, you would never know love if it was the very fabric that makes this world. It would slip through your fingers, my Lord, for you would be busy yearning for the day your life found its meaning.”

He is seething, heaving breaths, out of control over the words tumbling out of his mouth. Insulted in his pride and his muse, offended, hurt. Confused, still, as to why the Lord hates his songs with such vigour.

“Is that your opinion of me?” Harrington whispers, though even in that toneless voice of his lies so much that Eddie cannot begin to decipher.

“Yes,” he whispers back, the fight leaving him now, the very air sucked out of the room they share. “I believe I made that clear just now.”

Harrington takes one step closer once more, but Eddie does not budge.

“Then I suggest you forget that knight of yours,” he says, quiet and final. “And forget the idea you have of love. To love someone is not to turn his nightmares into song. To love someone is not to look him in the eye and insult his very existence even further. You love yourself, your craft, your mind. But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.”

Eddie huffs, just barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “And what makes you so sure of that, Lord Harrington?”

A smile twitches his lips, though there is no mirth, no glee. “You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.” He takes a step back and evades Eddie’s eyes. “I believe you should return to the fest now. Good night.”

And with that, he turns around and leaves.

Eddie finds himself rooted to the ground, air returning to the room now but still he is unable to catch his breath, staring ahead as he is.

Words echo in his mind as the picture paints itself and a horrible, horrible realisation dawns on him.

You will find there is an irony to your words soon.

How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own?

But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.

You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.

But… There is no way. There is no way that Dustin’s friend, Dustin’s knight and protector, his saviour, Steve, should be the same as Lord Harrington with his careful, quiet, disdainfully quirked eyebrow.

Except, Lord Harrington collected Dustin from Eddie’s home, speaking with him in a tone filled with such familiarity, they cannot be mistaken as anything but friends.

And Lord Harrington had listened with such rapt attention when Eddie played his jaunty tunes and the well-known classics at the banquet days ago, looking like he enjoyed Eddie’s play. His face had only soured when people started requesting his newer original songs, his fists clenched upon the opening chords of The Knight and His Nightmare, leaving the hall altogether when people requested more.

You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean.

Eddie’s heart falls when he realises what he has done. How blind he was to the frowns and the tension, how deaf to the hints and insinuations, how ignorant he was of the pain he inflicted on Lord Harrington. Lord Steven Harrington. Steve.

His Steve. And yet not his at all.

He falls back onto the bench, dazed, as the weight of his realisation settles inside his chest.

onwards to part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #honey i’m so sorry you gave me a rather clear prompt and i went and disrespected it but i hope this is fine too??#this is also the part where we remember i’m german and am using this language like lego bricks on a playmobil set #dio words #this wasnt meant to be so dramatic but uh. apparently i write miscommunication tropes now. pride&prejudice made me do it #i am planning on a part 2 but i do not control the brain #knight!steve harrington #bard!eddie munson #bard/knight

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