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boundinparchment · 1 month ago

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STILL WATERS RUN DEEP - PART I

“You must never look upon his face,” the Dreammaster implored. “For he has looked upon Xipe’s true form. Trust in the Harmony to reveal order upon your union and on Penacony.” No one has ever looked upon the face of the head of the Oak Family. Not even you, his future wife. A promise must be kept. But you were never one to settle. [An attempt at a (loose) Eros and Psyche re-telling in three parts. Will converge with canon. Current wordcount: 5,381 Can be found on AO3 here. Rating is Explicit; MINORS DNI] Reblogs, comments, and kudos appreciated.

You met your husband precisely once before your wedding.

It was an otherwise rather uneventful day in the Dreamscape, one you spent weaving promise after promise, shifting a pathway here, pushing a set of stairs elsewhere. Dawn always lurked over your shoulder as you pushed the edges of unknown memoria away and carved out something new. You were good at it, a quick study.

But such was expected of you. You came from a long lineage within the Nightingale Family and your parents did everything in their power to ensure you knew how to manipulate the Dreamscape as soon as you learned to walk. You were a Level V on the Scale Degree and your peers considered you doomed; you were far too successful a Dreamweaver to remain among them forever and you would never be properly satisfied by those around you. Some whispered daggers behind your back that you were nothing but leverage to your family, the subsidiary all but slaughtered into compliance when they did not agree to Gopher Wood’s offer.

After all, plenty of other branches tried and failed to make a connection, court you. None met whatever arbitrary standards were set.

And as you stepped into Dewlight Pavilion, still dressed in your neat suit and finding your bearings after standing upside-down for several hours adjusting window frames, you finally understood why .

Your parents were already seated across from a figure you instantly knew as the Oak Family head, with a purple raven perched on the back of his sofa. The young man’s face was entirely hidden by a beautiful veil the color of a starless night; it hung from his halo by an extra ring that moved only enough to allow access to his mouth as needed.

The fabric must have been translucent enough for him to see through, for he moved without issue, and always focused his attention right where it needed to be. You could not make out the shape of his features.

Was he ugly, hideously deformed? Did he lack a face entirely? Rumors swirled about the Oak Family’s recent change due to Gopher Wood’s sacrifice that left him with only a metaphysical attachment to the world. No one knew what Sunday of the Oak Family looked like, except for his hair and wing color. His sister, Robin, once kept her visage a secret, too. However, she renounced her official position as Chordmaster when she began her career as an interstellar singer; many speculated whether she and Sunday had the same eyes. In fact, last you heard, there was good money in such debates.

The raven, you surmised, was Wood himself. The one and only Dreammaster. He spoke politely but it was Sunday who did most of the praise and admiration of your work, noting your potential for higher ranks, and your dedication to Xipe. After confirming your candidacy, Wood suggested leaving the two of you to speak privately, guiding your parents out towards the foyer lined with statues. They were too enamored at the prospect of being with the Oak Family privately to care.

Around you, the silence seemed to only grow more deafening. A knot formed in your sinking stomach as you realized this was not just a moment of recognition and appreciation.

As if sensing your unease, Sunday reached up and adjusted the contraption attached to his halo, revealing his lips and jaw to you. You had never noticed the little bow in his upper lip before. PIctures and videos of him speaking with his mouth showing never quite captured that detail. His wings did not relax as much as they gave the appearance they were.

Neither of you expected this.

“I am glad for the progress at Dream’s Edge, and that it’s been stable thus far,” Sunday said, his voice soft. “The Grand Theater’s renovations mean we must rely on other ways of providing new areas of the Dream to our visitors. The amount of resources necessary, cognitively and otherwise, are not lost on me.”

Better to be scaling rooftops and shifting buildings than in a Dream Factory. Nightingale and Iris members were relied upon for the structure and the small details of Penacony’s culture and arts, respectively. So many of your coworkers began their career in the Factories and it showed, their imaginations simultaneously rigid and methodical and yet so uninspired.

“It is work I do gladly, sir,” you replied. “But that’s not why I’m here, is it?”

Sunday conceded with a small chuckle and a nod, his smile easing a little as his wings shifted near the edge of his veil, attentive.

“No, it is not. Please, walk with me.”

He gestured to the rest of the grand hall, insignias of the five Branches emblazoned on the walls. You descended without much thought earlier, wishing only to get this meeting over with, but now it was impossible to ignore just how the light trickled through, brilliant and well-positioned to highlight everything. You rose and followed Sunday away from the sitting area and approached a model replica of Penacony. At a glance, you guessed most of it was roughly eight hundred times smaller than the real Dreamscape, for it didn’t look all that dissimilar from the models used in planning committees and project teams.

You walked the perimeter of the sand pit model at a slow amble.

“I will be candid and admit the Dreammaster’s abrupt departure was not expected. And judging from your general demeanor, you are unaware of your parents’ petition to put forward your hand for consideration as a marriage candidate.”

The idea of an arranged marriage was familiar, another expectation you balanced with everything else. You had little time for love and romance on your own outside of the various suitors who dared come knocking. But the startling realization that no one was good enough because no one else was the Bronze Melodia, Head of the Oak Family, the highest position one could achieve beneath the Dreammaster himself, felt like a slap in the face you should have seen coming from a mile away.

Surely, the distant relatives of the Nightingale Branch were rolling in their graves. A great betrayal of all they fought and died for.

You brushed your fingers against the edge of the sandpit to ground yourself. The room spun a little and you were more shocked that you were, in fact, surprised to begin with. You were almost into your third decade by now; anyone else in your position would have been left to their work or pushed to settle as dreams collapsed.

“Forgive me for putting you in an awkward position,” you said.

Sunday held up a hand, palm facing you for the briefest of moments.

“Actually, your lack of awareness of the matter is quite refreshing. You are modest regarding your skills and achievements but it is a mark of true humility, not one burying themselves in an attempt to hide eagerness. I do not want a spouse, my equal in all things, who seeks to put themselves above the Harmony in such a way. You know what you are capable of and you have found your niche within the Family to put it to good use.”

Warmth crept up your neck and settled in your cheeks. Most found it uncanny to talk to someone who kept their face and expressions hidden. For you, it was no different than a mere voice call, where you could not see the other party. He asked not about your other talents but about you and for lack of a better approach, you told a story from your childhood that made his laugh ring off of the walls, full and genuine, melodic in its joy.

Your heart sang.

Sunday spoke again as you took what was likely your fifth turn around the table. Maybe sixth. Time in the Dream was difficult to gauge when you were not keeping your hands busy.

“It is important to me that my wife is capable of bearing the burden of the Oak Family. We are shepherds in service of Xipe and the Dreammaster. As the Bronze Melodia, it is my duty to listen and to guide. I believe you are more than perfectly suited to the role and I…well, it has been a long time since I laughed wholeheartedly.”

He stopped, pausing in his musings to look entirely at the model. You approximated where his eyeline might be but you had no idea what his focus truly was. Hands behind his back, he was the picture of perfection that you knew too well.

“But how would you remain dedicated to the wellbeing of all of the souls under the Family’s care?” he asked.

A question no one ever posed to you before. You had no way to gauge whether this was asked because you’d been doing well. Regardless, you felt the room grow colder. So many considered Sunday to merely be Wood’s mouthpiece rather than an individual in his own right. Such ideations of the head of the Family were not further from the truth; even without seeing his full expression, his earnestness rolled off of him in waves and it was clear enough to you that he held his own ideals separate from those of his adopted father.

You felt a soft haziness, the kind that came with the sun on a warm spring day and what you were always enveloped in when Xipe watched over you. Trust in the Harmony.

“Truthfully, I don’t have an answer that would not come off as contrived or as though I’m trying too hard,” you admitted. “I can only say that I have dutifully served the Family with the hopes that I can pass on the generosity and kindness shown to me by my parents. Xipe’s blessing is one full of grace and a sense of belonging. I want others to know what it means to be loved and to belong.” You gestured with a wide arm to the sandpit. “That’s why I weave the Dreamscape.”

Sunday was quiet, your only indication that he heard you a series of slow nods.

“Then we are of the same mind. I want the union I choose to reflect happiness in service to Xipe.” Sunday turned to you, head first and then his body, giving you his full attention. “And I think in time, we could make one another happy.”

Something loosened deep inside your chest as your hands trembled. You smoothed your pants, attempting to ease the nerves that were suddenly very prevalent. So many others were better equipped for the public presence such a union was expected to have. Numerous women were undoubtedly more pious and selfless, wholeheartedly proselytizing that the Harmony was the way to salvation.

And yet…

The choice was yours. Sunday was well within his right to leverage his position, convince you and assuage whatever dark clouds lingered. Others might have.

You would have been quite a fool to decline, of course. And your parents would never forgive you for shattering their dreams. All of your hard work, and for what? Most wouldn’t have found it romantic in the slightest but it was practical, deliberate. And that was a great deal better than fanciful ideas about a grand love like they showed in the cinemas.

“I would be honored,” you replied, fighting the tiny quakes making their way up your arms.

Sunday extended his gloved hand, a silent request. You placed your hand in his and you felt yourself grow warm from the touch. You felt warmer still when soft lips met your knuckles and your lips tingled, stronger now with a faint itch inside your skull. His halo gave off the slightest of auras. You made a note to look further into Halovians and their qualities, for you wanted to be able to reciprocate.

The smile gracing his lips was like the rising sun, fresh and full of promise.

“As would I. Xipe has blessed you with the qualities I wish to see continue on. Together, we can balance the scales.”

Your wedding was a private affair, attended only by heads of the Five and their immediate families and leadership. The Grand Theater would have been used for such an event but the Eventide achieved the same effect. Most were enamored by the Blue Hour, where the Radiant Feldspar floated in the distance in the Sea of Dreams.

Your bridal party consisted only of Robin, who somehow managed to balance your comfort with her brother’s eye for detail in a way that sent a pang through you. Siblings always had one another, even across systems and galaxies, across different life choices. Something you never experienced except through the Harmony, through the partnerships and reciprocity of those around you. Even then, you knew the sentiment to be different.

She never made you feel it, though. For such a successful artist, an idol , she was incredibly in tune with the needs of others.

“There’s one thing you need to be aware of with my brother,” Robin said, practiced hands opening a pin and pushing it into your hair as you held your veil in place. “And it’s that he always takes on the responsibility around him. It’s a reflex. Whatever his reasoning behind this life change, please take care of him. He needs a friend outside of Oak leadership.”

Robin finished fixing your veil and draped the front over your face. It was nothing like Sunday’s, your face still partially visible through the mesh. She gently brushed your skirt full of Charmony Dove feathers when you stood, nerves finally getting the better of you.

A knock on the door to your bridal suite startled you. Robin’s security would have already cleared the visitor but the singer’s shoulders dropped a little upon the discovery of Gopher Wood himself, inhabiting the body of another.

“There is something important I must discuss with your brother’s betrothed,” he said, tone gentle. “Would you please go check on him in the meantime, Robin?”

She hesitated a fraction of a second longer than you were used to from anyone else in his presence. Everyone was quick to comply with the Dreammaster, one of the only surviving members who recalled the early days of Penacony’s founding. Wordlessly, Robin took your hand, squeezed, and then left the dressing room. The click of the door echoed in the depths of your mind.

Through your own veil, you watched as Wood took a seat where Robin once perched. He always unnerved you in a way you could not quite place. Whatever happened to him that caused him to lose his corporeal form, it made your skin crawl. It was difficult to feel at ease when you always felt like you were being watched.

You dared not let your voice betray you, ironing out every waver you could. “Has something happened, Dreammaster?”

The smile you saw should have put you at ease but it only served to prod you, a shiver sitting at the bottom of your spine and never crawling. Surely this wasn’t going to be some discussion regarding the wedding night? Or the possibility that you were no longer going to be walking down the aisle? Had you said something during confessionals that was thought to be unbefitting? You swallowed and tried not to lick your lips so you didn’t mar Robin’s hard work.

“There is a condition that you must abide by from today forward, dear Dreamweaver. It is imperative and you must understand that although you are to be Sunday’s wife , not even you are privy to them.” He continued before you could ask, imploring you. “You must never look upon his face, for he has gazed upon Xipe’s true form. Trust in the Harmony to reveal order upon your union and on Penacony.”

You were thankful for your face covering but it did little hide you from one as in tune with the Harmony as Gopher Wood. He sensed it, your desire to question, and he chuckled.

“My son carries a heavy burden but I chose him as my successor because he intrinsically understands THEIR will. Betray this condition and the consequences will not just be yours to bear. The future of Penacony relies on this balance and it must not be upended; I will know if it is. Am I clear, Dreamweaver?”

The words were spoken with such gentleness that they almost passed for little more than a lecture. It didn’t feel right, not because you sought entitlement to Sunday as a spouse, but because it did not quite make sense. When has Xipe ever desired to encourage that kind of separation? Other than Sunday, no other Family Head hid their face. Then again, no others were in charge of all of the Branches, either. But what else was there to say? What other choice was there?

You would discuss this with Sunday directly, you decided. Direct communication was often the best solution in private affairs.

“Of course. I will honor these wishes, Dreammaster.”

He left with little more than Xipe’s blessing upon you; his words circled like carrion birds in your head all the way down the aisle.

Leaving the Asdana System, or even Penacony itself, was out of the question for a honeymoon. You hadn’t actually anticipated one but how else were you going to truly have time alone together as a married couple? Even after the few belongings you did have were moved into Dewlight Pavilion, the schedules of a Family Head did not just stop on a dime. Work always continued for him. But would it for you? Could it?

Your hands idly went to your necklace, tugging the charm this way and that down the chain as you gazed out of the window, little more than stars to light the way. The Moment of Midnight was an interesting Hour to be in for what was meant to be, well, romantic . Here, the lights were kept low, if not entirely off, and you had to rely on your other senses to get an idea of your environment. Wood’s words took on a whole new meaning.

A great many things needed to be ironed out while the two of you were alone, away from the eyes of the press and the ears of those with knives behind their backs.

So far, things went well. The ceremony and reception were exactly what you were prepared for. Your hands were fastened during vows, rings exchanged over gloved fingers, and the kiss was gentle and chaste.

Your first dance was not as awkward as you’d expected it to be. You’d practiced, of course, but not with Sunday, for he’d been far too busy. All you recalled was the warmth of Sunday’s arm beneath your hands as you greeted guests, their visages nothing but a blur despite your best attempts to match names to faces. You knew of a great many of these individuals already, as most of the Family did, but meeting them in-person was a different matter.

Sunday was attentive, mindful that your water was never empty and that you had your fill of each course; you paid him the same respect in turn. It was easy to, you found. Perhaps Robin was wrong.

He ate only a single bite of your shared slice of cake, lips wrapping around your fork as you customarily fed one another. When you asked if he disliked it, he shook his head. His mouth was visible for most of the night and not just through meals; you wondered if that was for your benefit, given you were unaccustomed to a lack of visual cues.

“I quite enjoy it but it brings me greater satisfaction for others to partake,” he explained.

Your reply was instant. “You only get one wedding cake though.”

“And it makes me happier to see your eyes light up than indulge myself. Those are the memories I’ll have and that is enough for me.”

Sunday had taken your left hand and you could just barely feel the warmth of his skin through both your gloves and his. You did your best to control your facial expression, burying your disappointment. This was his wedding, too, why shouldn’t he enjoy what had been so carefully planned for both of you?

Hours later, here you stood, the afternoon and evening washed away and dressed in the white silk and lace laid out by an Intellitron maid. The selection was tasteful but left the material’s intention unmistakable. The air here was cool, soothing, and made the silk feel as if it was melting into your skin and accentuating every curve. Your skin was sensitive, goose bumps dotting your arms and your nipples hardening from the chill. Soft footsteps made their way over to you and in the faint light coming in from the stars outside, you only barely made out the vague shape of your husband behind you. His veil shimmered slightly. He had not yet changed for bed but abandoned his jacket, tie, and waistcoat.

His sleeves were neatly rolled up and your mouth grew dry at the sight of his exposed forearms. Hardly a man who did any kind of manual labor but you found yourself curious about tracing your fingers up and down a particularly prominent vein. Were you even able to touch him?

“We don’t have to do this.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. Today was eventful enough.”

“It’s inevitable,” you replied, feeling a shiver run through you. “There’s little harm in trying.”

You turned to face him, tentatively reaching out to rest your hands on his chest in the darkened room. Although your eyes adjusted, your sense of spatial awareness was off. When you didn’t quite make the mark, he stepped forward, his gloved hands guiding yours. Sunday brought your hands higher, over the collar of his shirt and your fingers skimmed the hem of the veil, stopping right at his jaw.

“You were warned, were you not?” he asked, voice tight.

“The Dreammaster forbid me from seeing your face.”

“He was right to. Your hands will go no higher, for one’s touch is just vision in a different form.”

“And what of a kiss? Am I allowed that?” the question poured from your lips, a mix of insatiable curiosity and a demand to know the boundaries. “Or am I left with only the seal of our union? I want to know you, Sunday, even if I can never gaze on your face. I cannot fulfill the role expected of me without knowledge.”

“Your dedication means a great deal. Compromises can be reached, within reason, dear wife.”

Sunday moved your hand to trace his lips, soft and supple, breath hot on the pads of your fingers. You felt the heat creep up with your arm and crawl into your chest, your own breath catching. The silken nightgown suddenly felt much colder against the rising flush of your skin. Slowly, he pressed his lips to your fingers and then your palm, turning your hand over to brush his lips against your knuckles. With your other hand, you brushed your middle finger against the curve of his jaw, beneath his ear, mindful of the wing joint.

His hands fell to encircle your waist. You stepped closer, not daring to close the distance entirely, but enticed by the heat radiating from him. Sunday’s lips followed the path of your arm, ghosting across your skin, until he reached the curve of your shoulder. His veil was firmly in place, its hem teasing you with every kiss.

“Is this to your satisfaction?” He punctuated his question with your name and you shivered.

You nodded before you swallowed, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Almost.”

An unspoken question hung in the air but before Sunday could voice it, you brushed your nose against the fabric and captured his lips with yours. You felt him freeze, your free hand feeling the muscles cord in his neck as his wings tensed, curling inward. Your pulse rushed in your ears as you pulled away slightly, fighting the urge to deepen the kiss. Had you gone too far?

He didn’t move but the skin of his neck was scorching. Daringly, you closed the distance between your bodies, breasts pressed against him and hips touching. Something hard prodded against you. Sunday’s breath hitched, a gasp stolen right from his lungs.

You’d never shared yourself with anyone but the mechanics were ingrained in your mind from years of education. There had been little point to exploring it when other priorities were necessary. He was enjoying this and you pretended not to feel the tiny thrusts against you, as though he was hoping a little friction would alleviate his own need.

“Like I said, I want to know you,” you repeated. “ All of you. Or almost all of you. If you’ll have me.”

You felt his wings flutter, one of them curling to cup his own cheek, the feathers brushing your fingers.

“I…forgive me, I have never…”

“Neither have I. We can figure it out together.”

Tentatively, you leaned forward and kissed him again, full of reassurance. You trailed your hands back towards him, searching for spots that made him sigh and relax. When you neared his wing joint, he gave a choking moan that sent a twitch through your core. Trembling, you extended your fingers to stroke the wing bone and the hold on your waist tightened.

The tops of your thighs were damp, an ache sitting between them that throbbed in time with your pulse as both of you explored, shifting to eventually tangle yourselves into the sheets of the waiting bed. Touching became a process to map out one another’s bodies, finding dips and divets and curves as you undressed. He was methodical but you didn’t mind. This was a learning moment for you both.

You discovered that touching Sunday’s wings made him shiver, but that he instantly stiffened if you brushed his feathers; he’d pulled your hands away, mumbling pleas more to himself than to you. He memorized the shape of your spine against his fingers and traced circles around your hardened nipples, kissing and sucking through the silken fabric until you hiked the nightgown up to encourage him to feel you, skin on skin. His fingers grazed your folds and in turn, you took his shaft in your hand, his tip already leaking; he settled between your legs, uttering prayers into the curve of your neck, his veil cool against your burning skin.

Sunday inhaled sharply as you bucked your hips, obscene wet sounds filling the silence he left behind. At least this was better than the alternative, you thought. Your body’s cooperation and eagerness made it a little easier to push aside the dissonance at the notion that the man above you was both your husband and almost a complete stranger.

He started slow, for his benefit and for yours, you realized. You’d felt him in your hand but without a comparison, without experience, you had no frame of reference. He was bigger than you anticipated, stretching you slowly. Your eagerness helped, of course. Once buried, he stilled for a moment, allowing both of you to catch your breath and collect your thoughts.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, shifting slightly to hold himself up further. “We can stop if you…”

The initial sting already ebbed away and you reached to rest your hand over his heart.

“I’m okay. We can keep going. I’d like to,” you replied.

Sunday’s rhythm was slow, his strokes long and gentle. It reminded you of a song, soft and flowing, and briefly, you wondered if one day, you’d be able to resonate with the Harmony, and with him. Properly, the way you’d heard Halovians could with one another.

Deep inside you, you felt a tug like a string being wound on a spool, amid a low-burning fire churning. It felt as if you were floating among the stars themselves and you clung to Sunday, unsure of what your body needed but knowing he could provide—

He leaned down again, nestling his covered face in the curve of your neck as his movements became more erratic, hips almost snapping in their fervor. Both of you were breathless, and the edges of your vision began to go white just as Sunday gave a shuddering final thrust, warmth spilling into you with a quaking moan of your name. You brushed the backs of your fingers over Sunday’s upper arms before you reached around and held him, unsure of where, precisely, was safe to touch him.

You’d been on the precipice of something and it lingered in your mind, nagging. Regardless, for a first time…

“That was messier than I expected, my apologies,” Sunday whispered. “Allow me to help?”

You murmured an agreement and disentangled yourself, suddenly very cold in his absence. You heard Sunday’s footsteps, soft against the plush carpet, and felt the bed dip when he returned, towel in hand. He was gentle, attentive just like he had been earlier, if a little hesitant with the heat of the moment lost.

“I’ve been told it’s supposed to go…differently,” he said, brushing the towel against your sticky thighs.

You stifled a giggle as his fingers found a sensitive spot. “Ticklish there, sorry. You were saying?”

He adjusted his approach and continued. “Such moments are…intended to be a moment of convergence for two people. They should…last longer, or at least not be as…one-sided…it’s selfish for me to have… finished when…”

Oh.

“Sunday.”

In the dark, it was difficult to make anything out but you felt his gaze on you, and you sat up, covering the hand on your leg with yours.

“Nothing is perfect the first time. We can try again. What’s important is that we communicate, right?”

You heard his swallow and imagined his Adam’s apple bobbing. That was a spot you wondered if you could touch, could kiss if you promised to close your eyes and not peek.

“You’re very kind,” Sunday replied softly. “I knew that, of course, but…thank you.”

“Like I said, we’ll figure it out together.”

A beat, and then as he finished drying your legs, you said, “I want to ask something but I don’t know if it’s…appropriate.”

“I will answer if I’m able to.”

“When you sleep…”

His answer was swift. “I must remove my halo. We won’t be sharing a bedroom. Even here, I’ll be sleeping elsewhere. I could not risk accidentally exposing you to Xipe’s wrath for such a transgression.”

It felt as if an icy wall had slammed against you. You knew there would be hurdles in this new life you’d chosen, of course there would be. You hadn’t gotten to where you were in life without a lot of them. Shame snaked itself up your leg and you pulled away when he rose, tucking yourself under the covers. In hindsight, it felt silly assuming you’d be able to fall asleep together.�� All of that, and you would still be…

“Of course. Forget I asked,” you replied, tone mild as if you’d asked about the weather.

You could still sense his presence in the dark as he silently gathered his things, the rustle of clothing somehow loud. It felt like every pop of a button echoed in your skull. You had no right to feel this way, you scolded yourself. This wasn’t anything more than an arrangement, an agreement between two followers of the Harmony. You’d entered this marriage knowing that it might never…

You heard the door handle and in the sliver of light trickling through, you caught Sunday’s silhouette, veil lowered and his figure clothed. His wings were folded in, tucked behind the veil as if shielding himself.

“In time, perhaps a compromise can be reached. We shall seek guidance on such matters when the time comes. I shall see you in the morning. Sweet dreams.”

Eyes stinging, and tongue thick, you pushed away your pride and your pain long enough to say, “Sleep well, Sunday.”

The door clicked shut and you pulled the covers over your head when you curled up onto your side. You stifled your sobs with a pillow, wondering just what you’d gotten yourself into.

#sunday #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday/reader #sunday x female reader #sunday/female reader #x reader #x female reader #eros and psyche retelling #sunday fanfiction #sunday hsr fanfiction #smut #arranged marriage #angst

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vivs-fics · 2 months ago

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Selfish

Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings/ tags: Smut, alcohol consumption, slightly self-loathing Logan, the tiniest bit of angst

Part 2

The quiet moments with you are the ones that scare Logan the most.

The serene, almost scenic view before him makes his heart thump rapidly in his chest. You’re curled up on the bed, the soft expanse of your bare skin gently warming his own. Naked and infinitely beautiful, you lay with all the grace and decorum of a goddess. Logan licks his lips, eyes roaming over your statuesque form, needing to immortalize your visage. He commits this moment to memory, as he does with every other minute he gets to spend with you. Your eyes are closed, your breathing is even as you slumber away in his arms. Last night, he fucked you into the mattress after teasing your cunt with his mouth and fingers for hours. Logan had you panting and moaning, hands fisting into the crisp white sheets below you. He pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you until he was satisfied with his work.

Desire, he was well versed in. Delivering pure, carnal pleasure came as easily as breathing to him. But this: being with you afterwards, the intimacy shared in soft touches and the subconscious intertwining of limbs, the swell of emotion he felt holding you close to him, your scents blending together in the seemingly endless expanse of sheets… this scared the shit out of him.

Logan realizes that if one day his life would flash before his eyes, he would like only to see you. You shaking from pleasure beneath him, coming undone on his cock, dozing off after he strokes your cheeks and cleans you up and tells you that you were so, so good for him. You smiling up at him from a cup of coffee, your eyes lighting up when you talk about something you love. He wanted it, he wanted it all for himself. He wanted you to be burned into his mind, branded into his every thought. But he couldn’t allow it.

If, somehow, he could keep you at arm’s length… Just far away enough to shield your beautiful eyes from the scarred, withered amalgamation that is James Howlett, maybe everything would be okay. After all the pain inflicted upon him, the hurt practically ran through his veins. Ugly, festering wounds pierced him body and soul. Logan didn’t think it was possible to feel this way again. Happy. Contented. He allows himself to hold onto these feelings for fleeting moments, mere milliseconds where he clings to them with all his might. Logan clutches onto the pure light that these feelings emanate and lets them illuminate the dark expanse of himself.

He’s selfish. He knows. But try as he might, he cannot be the good man that you deserve and leave you to your peace. He needs you. He needs you in a way that no one had ever needed anything before, he thinks to himself as his thumb strokes small lines across your cheek.

Logan’s heart clenches in his chest just as it did when he first met you, only now the feeling is greater. The want, the desire to be close to you is infinitely bigger than anything he’s felt before. It stretches out from the hardened, stony contraption in his chest and pirouettes through his body as gracefully as a practiced dancer. The feeling makes his stomach swoop. It makes his fingers itch to touch you when you’re nearby. His hands must always be on you. His thumbs stroking your cheeks as he admires every inch of your angelic face, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he kisses you deeply, fingers interlacing with your own as he fucks you from above; strong, thick digits squeezing gently on your throat as he pumps you full of his cum. Feeling you under his fingers soothes something inside him that even the bottom of a whisky bottle can’t.

This divine, euphoric feeling you bring out of him encompasses the grizzled man in its splendor and gently lulls him away from all of his inhibitions. You’re a drug Logan never wants to stop taking. He’d burn the world down to see you smiling at him. He’d singlehandedly tear down empires to hear you laugh. He is completely hellbent on you.

So, when you mumble in your sleep and reach out for the warmth of his body, he preens. Even in your unconscious state, you still need him- need him even a fraction of a percentage of how much he needs you. My girl. It plays over and over in his head, it’s a mantra he uses to feed the monster inside of him. The growling, snarling, possessive beast rattles its chains and claws at the bars of the cage Logan has confined it in, just inside his chest. He wants to claim you, cover you in marks that solidify you as his- and his alone. He wants to put his arm around you in public and flash everyone else the biggest shit-eating grin because of it, because it’s him who gets to hold you like that. A part of himself wants to tell you to let him have you, to say that he’ll be so good to you. It wants him to whisper sweet things in your ear and it wants him to stay with you until the morning, every time. The twisted, perverse, caged animal screams to Logan that he should hold you when you’re sleeping and kiss your forehead when he feels the need to. It pleads for Logan to kiss you in the day time, when the sun shines on your smiling face and he feels as if his heart might burst through his chest.

The beast demands that he claims you, body and soul- that he asks you to be his, and it hopes you agree. God, does he hope. He hopes and yearns and quite frankly, if he were a religious man, he’d pray- pray to whatever god would listen to allow you to be his. And if you, by some divine compounding of all his good karma, said yes- he would fill your pussy with his cum, fuck it into you over and over, and keep doing it for as long as you allowed. Then he’d get you a ring, big and shiny and slip it onto your finger. He’d take you all to himself, forever.

But Logan is acutely aware that these feelings are coming from a bad place- a selfish place- that he finds the strength to tamp them down every time they pop up. It’s like the world’s worst game of emotional whack-a-mole, Logan thinks to himself as his eyes trace over the contours of your face and their angelic beauty in the low light of the morning. He cannot ask any of this from you, he reminds himself. He’s damaged, ruined. He’s seen and lived through far too many things to allow him to be the man you deserve. So, he supposes, this is the best he can do. Staying with you until you awaken and making up some bullshit excuse as to why he can’t stay for breakfast. His heart aches for you, a deep-rooted yearning springs from his chest every time he has to leave you.

He knows it’s coming, it’s the beginning of the end for today. You stir in your sleep, shifting further into his chest. Your lashes flit up and down momentarily, your eyes adjust to the warm light of the bedroom, and he gives you a wry smile, his voice gruff and heavy with sleep. “G’morning, princess.”

“Mm… Morning Lo.” You lift your hands above your head and groan into your stretch. A familiar pleasant simmering ignites in your belly. He stayed. He stayed, and he smells so fucking good, and his hair is ruffled from sleep in just the right way. You sigh dreamily and shift your legs to tangle with his. Your bare cunt kisses the muscle of his thigh, the sensation is delectable. He flexes, teasing.

“Feel something you like, baby?” Logan cups your jaw with his free hand, the other coming up to your shoulder and tugging you even closer to him.

You mumble out a noise of approval, “Yeah, fuck. That’s… that’s good.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you grind your hips with increasing need on his thigh. His pupils dilate, he takes a deep breath in, his cock hardening. He can fucking smell your arousal. It takes every fiber of self-control he possesses not to shift above you, pin your wrists down and fuck you until you’re begging him for release. But you want this- you need this, you need to get yourself off on him. The fact that every part of him can elicit pleasure from you makes pride swell in his chest.

“Hold on, baby. I’ve got you.” He sits up and leans back against the headboard, hands moving to your waist to hoist your body up and onto his thigh. Your legs are on either side of his muscular thigh, he urges you to ride him. “C’mon princess, show me how badly you need me.” His honey eyes bore into your own, an inferno of desire burning behind them.

His hands draw your body back and forth over his leg. Sensing your impending release, Logan takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. His tongue licks the inside of your mouth, and by God, it tips you over the edge. Your orgasm comes upon you in mighty waves, but it’s nothing compared to the tsunami of earth-shattering orgasmic bliss Logan was about to give you, as he flips you over and slinks down between your legs. His tongue darts out momentarily to wet his lips, his mouth watering in anticipation of tasting you.

He loves drawing out every morsel of pleasure he could from you. God, he lived to see you cock drunk and fucked out from the things he’d do to you. After giving you a thorough and proper dicking down, the kind where your nails dragged down his back hard enough to leave marks and the sounds of your combined pleasure reverberated in, around and out of your apartment.

He’s half-hard again, just from looking at you half lidded and out of breath.

“Give me ten minutes, Lo… Dear God- I don’t know if my body could handle another round right now.” You huff out, regarding his hardening cock with an air of admiration.

He grunts in response, a non-committal noise that was all too familiar to you in these after-sex conversations. “You okay, baby? I wasn’t too rough?” his head tilts to the side, as it usually does when he was concerned.

You shake your head weakly, “No, not at all. I’m just- uh- how do I put this delicately? Fucked out?”

A deep chuckle escapes him and a cheeky smile lands on his face- a rare, but certainly beloved sight. “That right, princess?” He turns his attention to the floor, seeking out his clothes that had been strewn carelessly across the room in the lustful haze that the two of you were intwined in the night before. Logan feels the urge to stay with you, his heart aches at the prospect of laying with you and kissing you gently, softly. He feels it and has to use the full power of his will to turn away from you.

Your stomach clenches, you know what happens now. You know that he’ll clean you up and make sure you’re okay and look at you with those fucking sad, wet, puppy eyes and you’ll forgive him for leaving when you want him to stay.

“Logan? I’m not sure if you’re busy tonight and I don’t know if- if it’s really your thing but some of my friends are going to Crimson at nine and I know you know the manager through Wade…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath in, attempting to center yourself amongst the nerves of asking him out and the haze caused by the orgasmic bliss he brought to you, “Ahem, and I was thinking, if you want to- we could-”

He cuts you off quickly, “Yeah, baby- I don’t think that’s my scene. You go. Have a good time.” The words almost come out strained, his shoulders are tensed, and his hands work to pull his pants on.

“Right. Of course.” The disappointment is palpable- it sits between the two of you like a screaming mandrake. It demands recognition.

Logan clears his throat, “Seriously, have fun. You don’t need me being there, botherin’ you and bogging everyone down. I’ll call you soon, though.” He feels like he’s gone through a meat grinder. Shredded fragments of an old, withered, freshly ground heart sit in his chest as he turns to leave. It breaks his heart a little more every time he does it. He thinks that maybe he deserves this hurt. Maybe if he keeps hurting, he’ll stay grounded.

To Logan’s credit, he did always call. You began looking forward to the little phone conversations you had. His voice always so gruff and self-assured, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach each time, without fail. This fucking old man was going to be your end.

Later that night, you're at Crimson. Your friends are scattered around, drinking, dancing. The linoleum floor is sticky under your shoes. You feel a light squelch when you put your feet down and tension when you attempt to lift them. God only knows what horrors amalgamated on the floor of this club. Dingy and worn down, the wrinkles of the interior are miraged by the blue and purple flashing lights coming from the ceiling. Bodies push against each other on the dancefloor, a sea of intoxicated people move to the music that blasts through the speakers. Raising the glass bottle to your lips, you take a long swig. The smooth chill of the cider provides a refreshing reprieve to the sauna-like conditions that you have subjected yourself to.

You grimace slightly at the constant contact from other people- pushing past you, stumbling into you, elbows jutting into your back and sides, drunken feet stepping onto your toes. ‘Why the fuck did I agree to come here? The prospect of going clubbing always is better than the reality of it- I hoped I would’ve known that by now.’ You think to yourself, jaw clenched, growing increasingly irritated by the people surrounding you. Oh, right. You recall, ‘I’m at this nasty club because Logan Howlett has infested my thoughts and feelings, and I need to flush him out of my system before he makes me lose my goddamn mind.’

A kindling of hurt ignites in your chest. Tiny flickering flames grow to great heights inside you fueled by the all-too-fresh memory of Logan leaving your apartment in the morning, post-fuck, pulling on his shirt and pants before you could offer him so much as a cup of coffee.

Maybe this is a good thing, you lie to yourself. Perhaps you just needed to come out and kiss a stranger for the grip he has on you to loosen a bit. Fuck it.

You feel someone come up behind you and place their hands on your hips. His fingers are spidery and long, they feel out of place. You turn your head and regard him. Not too bad, you think to yourself. He’s on the shorter side, but he has a pretty face. His strong, prominent nose and loose chestnut curls are highlighted in the streaks of cobalt and indigo disco lights that rotate through the otherwise poorly lit club.

As wrong as it was, you couldn’t stop imagining that it was Logan who was behind you- his strong hands guiding your hips and his breath delicately tickling your neck. ‘Maybe I should just call him and tell him what I really want. I don’t want to be in a fucking situationship or whatever people call this. A situationship isn’t even a real fucking thing! Fuck that. He’s over a hundred and isn’t settling right now? What kind of bullshit is that?’ The bold thought appears, rising from the ashes of alcohol previously consumed.

You don’t have time to ride that train of thought all the way because you feel a familiar hand on your shoulder, gently tugging you away from the man behind you. “Logan?”

He’s fucking seething. His chest rises and falls slowly his jaw is clenched and you can see the absolute fire that burns in his gaze. His eyes soften momentarily as he gazes upon you, flushed, a thin layer of sheen sits on your skin from the heat of dancing. The tenderness quickly dissipates as he regards the partially distracted man who is doing some sort of half-hearted fist pumping in lieu of dancing now. Quite frankly, the sight is embarrassing. You shuffle to the side, putting some distance between you and the stranger.

“Hey, bub.” He towers over the brunette who is now positioned to the left of you, his fingers still splayed over the small of your back.

With a clenched jaw, Logan spits, “I suggest you take your hands off my girl before you lose ‘em.” Oh God, oh dear, sweet, weeping God. He’s so fucking hot. His shoulders are squared, muscles tensed. The faint scent of tobacco and musk radiates off him and it sends a rush of pleasure right down to your pussy. The smell is familiar, it’s safe and right.

The stranger lifts his hands in surrender and begs forgiveness of Logan, but he pays no attention to that. As soon as you are untethered, his hand engulfs your own and the burly mutant pulls you into the unoccupied manager’s office. He clicks the lock on the door and closes the dusty, grey shutters.

“Logan, what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your brows knit together in a healthy mixture of concern and confusion.

To Be Continued…

Hi hi! What'd yall think? I really had fun writing this and hopefully the next part will be out in the next couple of days!

xoxo, Viv

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #mcu #james logan howlett #james howlett #logan howlett #the wolverine #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x you #logan x reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine smut #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you smut #logan howlett smut

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dotster001 · 10 months ago

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When You Escape Him; Ignihyde

Summary: Yandere Idia x gn!reader. He adopts a child that looks like the two of you. You run to give you both a chance at life. You never expected him to find you.

A/N: okay, here's the thing. I know technically Ortho is one of the first year crew now, and thus, he is technically as old as we are. However, in my head he has been ten years old for so long that it's hard for me to see him that way. I tried to think of a way this could work platonically, and I came up with nothing for this prompt. So no Ortho for this one. Sorry friends 🤷🏼‍♀️ also, I know this is not an 18+ blog, so some of you are minors, in which case, I am not judging you for liking Ortho, if that is the case. I'm just saying it's a no for me.

CW: tranquilizer darts, minor character death, yandere stuff

Other Parts: Heartslaybul Savannaclaw Octavinelle Scarabia Pomefiore Diasomnia Non NRC Staff

Three years into your relationship, he had come home and placed a baby in your arms.

"They were left in a box, all alone. And, well, he looks like if the two of us had a child," he sheepishly stared at the ground. "I just, I just figured it must be a gift from the seven."

You knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to tie himself to you through this boy. He looked just like him, and you were disgusted and scared.

Until he opened his eyes for the first time, and you found yourself staring into your own.

And you knew. You had to give this child the opportunity for a better life. A life without him.

In the end, your son did the opposite of what he had intended. And the first moment you could, the two of you had escaped.

You couldn't help but be…. suspicious. Idia had only grown smarter, and more creative over the years, which made you wonder…did Idia build your son? Flaming blue hair wasn't common.

But he aged normally. So he couldn't be an Idia creation. So maybe it really was a coincidence?

Not something you could worry about right now as the two of you hid from S.T.Y.X robots.

The fact that you'd made it a year was pretty good, if you were being honest. You didn't have clearance to leave the Isle of Woe, but a scorned ex employee of Idia’s had let you stay hidden in his home. He didn't even make you pay rent because, in his words, keeping that pretentious bastard's favorite things away from him was payment enough. Aside from that little spiel, he was a sweet guy. Which is probably why he was fired.

But someone must have ratted you both out. You'd heard a shot downstairs, followed by his pained groan. A groan that was only as loud as it was for the sole purpose of alerting someone hiding upstairs.

You were hiding under the bed, with your son. The man had lined the beds with materials the S.T.Y.X bots couldn't scan through. You didn't have much faith though. Not that you had a plan if you did manage to hide from the bots. Either way, this was probably game over for you.

But you'd rather game over didn't come from Idia.

You stayed quiet under the bed, as you heard the bots start wrecking rooms. One particularly loud crash woke the baby. You hurriedly rushed to calm him, but he started crying. You couldn't blame a kid for being a kid.

Bots rushed to your room, and threw the bed you were hiding under across the room. They all pointed their tranquilizers at you, as one of the bots stomachs displayed Idia’s visage.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, please come home,” he cried. You didn't even know how to respond to that. You would have thought he'd be angry, but that would have been out of character for him.

“I know, I'm the absolute worst, but I'll be better for you! Please don't keep my son from me!”

Bargaining. Nice.

“I'll let you go outside for an hour a day. I'll buy you whatever you want. Please, please,please, please, please.”

“Oh my God! Idia! What I want is fucking freedom!” You snapped as you continued to try and calm the boy.

“I…I can't…”

“Yes you can!”

“I need you!”

“Well I don't want you!”

His eyes widened for a moment, completely taken aback. Then they narrowed, as he bit his lip in disdain.

“Fine.”

One of the bots hit you with a tranquilizer dart. You cried out, but were quickly distracted from the pain as a bot took your son from your quickly numbing arms.

“No,” you groaned, reaching out as quickly as your body would let you, which was not very fast.

Your eyesight was darkening as the bots began to leave the room, leaving you alone with the bot projecting Idia.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Your vision faded as you were left alone in the room, a single tear rolling down your cheek.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia shroud x reader

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lovesickeros · 1 year ago

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☆ glimpse of divinity

{☆} characters lyney, neuvillette [ separate ] {☆} notes cult au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 0.8k

× neuvillette

The first time he sees you strolling the streets of Fontaine with a glint of wonder in your eyes, he thinks he must have finally lost it. He has to rub his eyes and check a few dozen times before he's certain that you are, in fact, real and not some figment of his imagination conjured by a lack of sleep and overdose on caffeine.

..Though now that he gets a better look, it's not quite the same. Like a smudged painting, he thinks. Still, the uncanny resemblance to the visage of the Divine One has him lingering around the area just to stare a little longer, a deep, devoted sense of affection bristling beneath his skin.

And then you turn sharply on your heel, staring directly back at him, and he feels a sudden wave of embarrassment and something akin to shame.

Archons, he'd just made a fool of himself, hadn't he?

He quickly turns away, clearing his throat and hiding his embarrassment behind his hand. Though it does not seem to deter you, the soft tap of your shoes growing closer until you were peering up at him with wide eyes.

"..Hello." He offers awkwardly, a little too stiff and a little too formal, but you don't seem to mind in the slightest. He knows that your appearance, your vague similarities to the Divine One are mere coincidence, but it does not stop his heart from skipping a beat when you smile up at him. "I– apologize for being so uncouth and staring, it's just.."

His voice trails off into a breathy exhale, his hand twitching on his cane as if he wanted to reach out and touch you..but he restrains himself in time. He could not make a bigger fool of himself – he would never hear the end of it from lady Furina.

"You remind me of someone."

He decides, readjusting his hands on his cane as he bows his head for a moment is a show of genuineness, though it must look awkward with how stiff his body feels.

Yet he cannot help but want to get closer anyway, to hear the silky lilt of your voice grace his pointed ears. This is as close as he will ever get to the Divine..he is a weak man, he finds, as he offers a hand to you.

"I understand if this is a bit..forward, but would you mind joining me for tea?"

× lyney

He is a master magician – his entire work is built on keen misdirection and sleight of hand, but even he stumbles for a minute thinking he'd seen an illusion in your warm smile and striking features. Almost an exact copy of the Divine One, yet not quite..

Still, it's enough to pique his interest – enough, too, to give him the confidence to slip into your conversation with ease, all smiles and the slip of a card between his fingers.

"Hello, stranger – I don't think I've seen you in Fontaine before," He laughs, his hand reaching around to rest gently on your opposite shoulder, his voice a ghost of a whisper in your ear. "Say, could I interest you in a bit of magic?"

He perks up at the way you seem to light up like fireworks at his offer, a spark almost like recognition in your eyes he brushes aside – he's quite well known, after all.

"Good! Now, if I may just borrow your attention for a minute.." He grins, stepping around you and turning sharply to face you, his hand outstretched with a deck of cards in his hands, face down. "Let's start simple, shall we? I shan't overwhelm my audience – pick a card."

He holds the cards out again, his features twisted in something like awe, though he hides it well.

His heart flutters at the briefest of glances of your hand against his as you pluck a card from his hand, and he quickly retracts it, reshuffling the deck with a broad grin and a wink.

"Do your best to remember it! If you could return it to the deck.." The card is placed back in it's place amongst the rest, and the magic begins!

"Now then, let's see..hm," He hums for a long moment, the silence filled by the constant shuffle of cards until he suddenly plucks one from the deck, flipping it around for you to see. "Is this your card?"

He frowns when you shake your head, almost pouting, before he lights up again and steps forward.

"Ah! How foolish of me, I missed it..it's riiight here, see." He winks, reaching behind your ear..and pulls free a card from seemingly thin air. He flips it around for you to see again, and when you tell him it is, in fact, your card, he flips it around again.

And before you can see it, he's holding a rainbow rose between his fingers, his hand outstretched as he bows.

His eyes glint with a sort of wonder as he looks at your features, his smile widening a fraction.

"Well, dear stranger? Did you enjoy the show?"

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #neuvillette #lyney #basically reader IS the creator but since the statues of you were built on vague descriptions its a bit off from your actual appearence #so everyone jsut thinks ur like #blessed or smth #anyway can u tell i love fontaine.#furina isn't here bc pt 2 of my prev fic somehow turned into focalors only and i need 2 save my brain power fr That #anyway enjoy these drabbles i wrote in like 5 minutes gn zzzzzzzzzzz #i just needed a breather from that long fic bc im DYING over here lord

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sepublic · 16 days ago

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I feel for Raine Whispers because they had to deal with two old green creeps getting uncomfortably close to them and in their head. It’s the culmination of Raine having to work for the system they want to tear down, they’ve always been so close to cruelty in order to keep an eye on it; Distracting Terra from Darius and Eberwolf, and later taking advantage of the situation to try to stop Belos from possessing the Titan. It’s like the stage fright, because there’s also so many eyes on you, but they’ll do it.

It must take a toll on their health, Raine already has to sacrifice so much of peace of mind for the Boiling Isles, they’d be justified going on a villain arc except that would undo all that work! And as much as Raine has to go along with evil, they never succumb to it and always remember who they are, keep their agency, and consider the people they’re fighting for. They finally get a break away from it, and with people they love.

Did it haunt Raine, their failure to stop Belos from infecting the Titan’s heart? Does Raine ever see King or Luz mourn the Glyphs and the Titan and think they could’ve done something better, different? If Raine had been just a bit faster, King could still feel his father’s heartbeat. Maybe they could’ve found a way for King to directly talk with his dad!

The magic of the isles would still be available for everyone to rediscover, a long lost tradition of wild magic brought back after centuries of cultural genocide. The people of the left arm wouldn’t have been displaced, the ecosystem there wouldn’t have been irreversibly changed. Luz could still have the magic she held dear, as would everyone else who’d learn them. Even with King to grant new glyphs, he’s still figuring them out and there’s still a loss in no longer being able to really speak with the Titan.

Like jeez Whispers has it rough; Spearheading a rebellion and having to look the other way for the greater good. And now this; Raine wearing a badge with the Titan’s face on it, having the Council be represented by the Titan… It feels like them doing their best to honor someone they wish they could’ve done more for. But in the end, Raine did a lot by protecting King’s mother and sister, multiple times, and I’m sure the Titan appreciates that. So I’m sure Raine can wear her visage with pride.

#The Owl House #Raine Whispers

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howlingday · 27 days ago

Note

What if instead of trying to court Weiss he was trying to befriend her because of his arranged marriage to Winter? Something Weiss was unaware of until Winter visits during the festival.

The Arc-Schnee Betrothal

"Then it is agreed." Jacques Schnee, the chief executive officer of the Schnee Dust Company, penned his name onto the document. Across the table, after the document was passed to him, the patriarch of the Arc family and head of the Valian Farming Circuit signed his name on the marriage document. The document in being signed being an agreement to betrothal, with the parties to be in unison being one Jaune Arc and one Winter Schnee.

The Schnee family would receive an initial dowry of half the Arc's harvest, to be used as sought fit, as well as a percentage of fruits and vegetables imported into the Kingdom of Atlas to allow the sale of foods not normally grown within. The Arc family receive an initial dowry of the latest farming equipment, completely tested and proven safe to operate, as well as a percentage of dust needed to power both the homes and equipment of the farmers within the VFC.

Jaune looked across to his betrothed. The way she glared at him with such cold, stern eyes sent a chill up his spine. She looked at him like he was less than her, a thing to reviled. Jaune knew when a woman hated him, and this woman who was to be his wife HATED him. He shivered a bit, then looked away. He hoped his enrollment at Beacon would make him good enough for his bride's standards.

Winter looked away from her groom-to-be to the other men celebrating with one another. She scowled at her father, angered by this shallow ploy of his. Even when she tried to flee the Schnee family curse by joining the military, her father found some loophole or another that would force her into this trap he laid. She grit her teeth, glancing once more at the... boy she was engaged to.

Seventeen, true, but still a child in the eyes of the law. However not in an archaic law like betrothal agreements. On his eighteenth, the two would decide a date for the wedding, in which they will be forced into attend and partake in the joyous bliss of the marriage trap. She couldn't be angry at him. Not when they both were unwilling participants in this.

Pushing her chair away, Winter stood up. "If I may be excused, I have duties to perform."

"What duties?" Her father asked.

"Duties for the Atlas military." She sneered. He waved her off and she turned away. Ahead of her, then, was Jaune Arc, her betrothed, holding the door for her, like a gentleman. She approached him, looked him up and down, then opened the other door. "I can open my own doors, thank you."

As she left, Jaune shut the door he held. "Uh, you're welcome."

--------------------------------------------------

"This is ridiculous!" Jaune shouted, squeezing his way between Ruby and her sister. How hard is it to find one locker in this one room? "There's no way I put my stuff in locker 636! I would've remembered to count that high! Why does this have to happen today?!"

Jaune was about to cry, but he held in his tears. What kind of man would Winter think of him if he started crying because he couldn't find his locker where his stuff is? Probably less than she already did, but that's not the point! Taking a deep breath, he looked to locker 636, standing there so smugly. Approaching, he put in the pin he KNOWS he put in and-

Click!

...Today was just not his day, was it?

"Great" A voice called. He turned to see a girl with white hair, tied back into a ponytail, and icy blue eyes widened in a manic glee. Aside from her unnerving visage, everything else about her said 'I'm a Schnee!' This must be Winter's sister, at least from what his dad told him.

'Try to make friends with your sister-in-law.'

"You know who else is great? Me. Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you."

"You again?!" Had they met? She did call him scraggly earlier. Was that what she meant?

"Nice to meet you, Jaune!"

"Oh, uh, yeah." Jaune gave a quick glance to the other girl. Gotta be polite for Winter's sister's friends. "So, uh, Weiss, right? I couldn't help but hear how you complimented me yesterday."

"Excuse me?!" She nearly screeched. Jaune assumed she could reach higher pitches.

"No, no! It's no problem!" Wouldn't want her to feel self-conscious about complimenting her future brother-in-law, right? "So, uh, I heard they're gonna split us into teams today. Wouldn't it be crazy if we got put on a team?"

"Actually, the teams are made up of teams of four, so-"

"Oh, really? Cool." Okay, Weiss' friend butted in twice, which is fine. It's cool. No time to focus on the details. Not when you have a future sister-in-law to win over! Time to lay on the Arc charm~. "So, Miss Tall, Bronze, and Gorgeous, would you like to join the winning team~?" Weiss' friend giggled. Once again, the Arc charm works like a... charm.

"Jaune, right?" Weiss huffed. "Do you know who you're talking to?"

Jaune looked to Pyrrha. She smiled and waved at him. She looked kinda familiar, but no bells were ringing. It might come to him later, but for now, might as well be up front. "Should I?"

"Should- This is THE Pyrrha Nikos!"

"Oh!" He nodded. He shook his head. "I got nothin'."

"She graduated top of her class at Sanctum?"

Oh, so she was a prodigy like Winter! He nodded, but the two girls could tell there wasn't any thought behind it. "I see..."

"She's won the Mistral Region Tournament four years in a row! A new record!"

Jaune blinked. "The what?"

"For the love of-" Weiss waved her arms. "SHE'S ON THE COVER OF THE PUMPKIN PETE'S MARSHMALLOW FLAKES BOX!"

"THAT'S IT~!" Jaune snapped his fingers. "I ate, like, fifty boxes to get my hoodie~!" He tugged on his chest-plate. "Uh... If I could take this off, I would to prove it."

Pyrrha giggled. "I don't think that's healthy."

"It wasn't." It was like cardboard soaked and dried over and over again in pumpkin flavoring. Not even the marshmallows were safe. "Almost threw up a couple times."

"So, Jaune," Weiss tapped her foot, "after hearing all of this, do you really think you have any right to ask her of all people to be on your team?"

"I..." Jaune got into Beacon on pure luck. He has no skill, no education, and a future bride waiting for him next to a shallow grave. As much as the Arc charm carried him, Jaune Arc is still Jaune Arc; the biggest disappointment to trip his way out of Ansel. "...guess not."

"Actually, Jaune, I think you'd make a great leader."

Jaune felt a bit of heat rush to his cheeks. He was easy to please, especially with sweet words, no matter how empty they were. "D'Oh, stop~!"

"Yes, please, STOP." Weiss agreed. "Don't encourage him."

"Sounds like Pyrrha's on Team Arc!" He turned to Weiss, arms spread. "There's still plenty of room, though, Weiss! Here, come give a hug to your future-"

"Okay, that's too close!" Weiss backed away. "Pyrrha!"

"I'm really sorry about this."

With a tug of his hoodie, Jaune soared through the air and became pinned to the tiled wall. He hung there as Weiss passed him by, her nose turned up in disgust. Pyrrha then pulled out her weapon and waved to him, apologizing again. Jaune fell to the floor and sighed.

Yup.

Today is just not his day.

--------------------------------------------------

Click! The door opened. "Hell-" SLAM! The door shut. Jaune knocked again.

"Go away, Jaune!" Weiss called from inside the dorm.

Jaune's plan to get to know his sister-in-law better wasn't going so well. After saving her life from falling to her death in the Emerald Forest, only an hour after she left him pinned to a tree when she made eye-contact with him, he then went on to become team leader, a position she didn't earn, but Ruby instead. If the rumors Jaune heard about a Schnee's pride were anything to go by, he sort of understood Weiss' hostility. Regardless, he wasn't going to let the chance to actually meet the bride's sister go to waste!

"I just wanna talk, Weiss!"

"We have nothing to talk about, Arc!"

"I think you mean, 'Arc-Schnee,' actually."

"UGH! As if!" Weiss retched. "There's no way on Remnant or ANY OTHER UNIVERSE that you and I would be together!"

"Well, maybe not you and I, but what about me and Winter?"

Silence. Silence was good, right? It means deep thought. Concentration. Silence was a curtain-fall to prelude the intermission. Maybe. Jaune spent some time learning theater, but dance was more his passion. Not a lot of silence in dance, though. A lot of squeaking and panting and-

"OOF!" Jaune held his family jewels after a searing pain shot through his body from there. He toppled over like a toppling thing. Sorry, can't really think when all you can feel is PAIN!

"What have you done with my sister?!" A heel pressed into his head.

"N-Notheeng!" Jaune answered, smushed by a powder-blue fuzzy slipper. "I'm juss engaged to her!"

"Just engaged?" Weiss stepped away, anger not leaving her eyes. "I've heard a lot of filth about my family, but this is a new low. Why would my sister ever agree to marry a creep like you?" Weiss turned away, walking through the doorway.

"Because she didn't."

"Excuse me?"

"She didn't agree to it." Jaune stood up. "And neither did I. The only reason this marriage is happening at all is because people in Atlas want food from Vale."

Weiss was quiet, then shut the door to her dorm. She turned to Jaune. "I'm assuming your family has some say in VFC?"

"My dad is the head of the VFC. Your dad-"

"Arranged a marriage between our families and chose his oldest daughter to marry you, and I'm assuming you're the oldest son?"

"Only." Jaune clarified.

"Of course." Weiss sighed. "And what does my sister think of all this?"

"She's... not happy. In fact, I don't think I've seen her smile once. Or sad. She's just... angry."

"Well, I can't imagine her being happy with this forced marriage."

"Yeah."

"And what about you?" Weiss looked him in the eyes. "Are you happy to be marrying Winter?"

Yes, he would be happy to marry someone like Winter. Someone smart, beautiful, strong, and just breathes excellence. That's what Jaune would have said if he didn't hold his tongue and think for a moment. What did he know about Winter Schnee, beyond her looks and what others had said her?

"She's... cold." Jaune answered. "She's angry. And everything about her tells me that she hates being stuck in this arranged marriage. So, no, I'm not happy marrying Winter like this."

"Like this?" Suddenly, there's was something about the look on Jaune's face. A determination that made him out to be the most honest man she'd ever met.

"If I did marry Winter Schnee," he said, "then she would be the happiest woman on Remnant."

Then, in an instant, the look on Jaune's face slipped back into his usual goofy, spineless self.

"Uh, I mean- W-What I meant to say was-"

"Shut up." Weiss rolled her eyes, and Jaune clamped his mouth shut. "You're marrying a Schnee, and I won't allow someone so spineless to share my family name."

"Huh?"

"Like it or not, you and Winter are engaged." She pointed a finger at him. "That means you need to become the perfect husband for her."

"Uh-"

"You're already the team leader, so I expect nothing less than perfect grades on all assignments, on all tests, and in all team exercises!" She opened the door to her dorm. "I will see you in class tomorrow, Jaune Arc-Schnee."

As the door shut, Jaune stood there, unsure of how to move forward. He finally got his wish and was able to meet his future sister-in-law and talk to her. In doing so, however, he poked a bear that would now maul him if he didn't outdo her in everything she did, and he doubted she would risk her attendance at Beacon for some slacker who just showed up and said he was marrying her sister. Compounding this is his lack of skill in anything related to being a huntsman.

In short, he was screwed.

"Jaune, are you coming back to the dorm?" Pyrrha asked from the doorway, flanked by their teammates, Ren and Nora.

Jaune fell over, face-down on the floor.

Nora quirked her brow. "Uh, we have beds in here, ya know?"

#rwby #winter knight #winter's knight #jaune arc #weiss schnee #winter schnee #papa arc #jacques schnee #ruby rose #yang xiao long #nora valkyrie #pyrrha nikos #lie ren

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melodic-haze · 5 months ago

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Arlecchino with a dom filthy rich reader. Reader showers her with lots of gifts on a daily basis. Jewelry, clothes, you name it. Reader would buy it all for her. Arlecchino is spoiled rotten by reader. Arlecchino would always say how reader doesn't need to give her gifts everyday. She finds it unnecessary but the way Arlecchino would wear those expensive outfits and jewelry as Reader fucks her says otherwise.

[Sorry for my bad English]

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Arlecchino x dom!afab!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader with a strap

☆ — NOTES: NOOO DON'T BE SORRY DUDE❗️❗️ It's easy to understand and it got the point across, this is actually pretty good english :333 gonna tell you rn it's so much better than the english from people where I'm at 😭 actually atrocious

Arlecchino would ABSOLUTELY try and refuse your gifts at first, saying that she has no need for such material things when she already has you :333 (could not be my ass I'm so money-oriented it's so bad LMAOOO)

You have money to burn though—you can so easily buy your lover whatever she may want without needing to look at the price!!! You wanna spoil this woman in a way that she had never been spoiled before, so you pay attention to her likes and dislikes, take notes on her preferences, buy things that link with your observations and/or remind you of her

Eventually though Arlecchino would come to accept that buying her things, especially when they're so expensive, is one of the many ways that you show love. Far be it for her to reject your gifts when you've taken the time to pick them out with her in mind, even if yeah she says it's unnecessary. If it's coming from you then why would she refuse???

I think she'd initially like. Not wear them though 😞 not bc she's ungrateful, but bc she personally thinks whatever you've bought her doesn't suit her unless it's something practical. This ESPECIALLY applies to jewellery bc like. It's. An accessory. She doesn't really need it in her life, does she???? But she warms up to it :33333

The jingle of the precious necklace around her slender neck definitely helps with convincing that perhaps such gifts were okay.

It was a custom-made gift crafted using the finest metals, notably the highest-quality starsilver one could find in Dragonspine's unstable landscape. Perhaps you could have bought something much more.. easily produced such as gold, but you didn't—couldn't—settle for less when it came to the prime target of your bountiful affection and the person who was in need of true love.

Though you admit, it wasn't because of the item's worth that had you wanting for a custom gift for your paramour, no. Rather, your thoughts had often wandered to the crafted image of a red glow illuminating pale skin, along with how beautiful a sight it must be.

And when you see the magical jewels reflect its crimson light on Arlecchino's naked skin, when the chains clink quietly as the pendant bounces on top of her chest, you pride yourself in being right as you smirk and continue to fuck her with your faux appendage.

Your hand went to graze her neck, fingers trailing down as you slowed your efforts. It would have been nice to overwhelm her, to fill her over and over until she forgot herself, but you adored the view you were blessed with right this very moment. Despite how formidable this woman was, you still managed to leave her grasping for breath, glistening chest heaving as her necklace followed suit.

Such a thought itself had prompted you to reach for the camera on the bedside table before taking a quick picture. She would often question your want to capture her visage in such an unruly state but really, you can't help it!

After all, she looks positively delightful, all dressed up and gilded with your money.

My GOD being rich would also mean you can do that thing where like you rip the clothes off bc you got way too excited. She'd ask you why you did that but then you can easily tell her that you'll buy her another one and more 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ full disclosure heat shot up to her very core at the display ☺️

This is like the greatest sort of ask I've ever had bc I LOVEEEEE jewellery just saying

I read something somewhere about how if you buy your partner a necklace or smth then it's like you're binding them to you. Like a collar but a lot more innocent unless yk you WANT it to be less-than-innocent

Buying her all these things being not just a way to show your love but also to show ownership is kinda crazy in a hot way, and really why wouldn't you?? When she's this formidable and Beautifully Handsome figure, why wouldn't you want to show off the fact that she's fully and utterly yours???? Just clocking onto how perhaps her children point out that the sparkles make her look brighter, or how random people may stop and stare at the shimmering pendant on her neck and knowing that you've given her whatever bounties she could ever ask for (if she wanted to ask) is!!!! Definitely A Feeling 😋😋😋

BONUS if the necklace itself is sturdy too. You'd have to think of how she would much prefer practicality, so you've made sure the metal is STRONG and REINFORCED enough to withstand force........esp when you go to tug on it harshly like a collar. Bc really at the end of the day, that's what this is—the only difference is an actual collar would be thick and would wrap around the neck while a necklace is thin and hangs loosely

In any case you tug on it harshly, bring her even closer and more personal as you start drilling into her again, and it lifts her up instead of breaking thank god ☺️☺️☺️ and she does NOTHING but take what you give her!!!!! She hangs there like a ragdoll, eyes glazed over as little grunts and quiet moans escape her lips before you hit that One Spot at that certain and then suddenly her hands are grasping onto you frantically :3

And at daily life THEN that's when she starts fully accepting your gifts and wearing it without feeling like she's extorted you somehow. When people ask her about it, she'll say that she got it all from her lover before looking at you with a tint of red on her cheeks, remembering the times when you've fucked her to the point where she felt like an object herself 🫶

#hazy demos!#hazy explicits!#i am SO SORRY this might've sucked #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut #sub arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact smut #sub genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin smut #sub genshin #genshin women x reader #genshin women imagines #genshin women smut #sub genshin women

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