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sunboki · 1 month ago

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⎯ marigold blume. (teaser) ⟡ featuring lee minho

📻 : Lee Minho x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. small town! au, city boy minho! au, summer! au, dumb and dumber (let’s be honest here), enemies to lovers! au, friends to lovers! au, wetlands/marshland setting, fluff, barely any angst

WORD COUNT. estimated to be around 4-6k words

WARNINGS. cursing, reader lives with their grandma

AUG'S NOTES. in honor of summer’s arrival, i present to you a snippet of something that’s been sitting in my drafts for a LONG time. they’re so cute, i love mimo <33

SYNOPSIS. Late July, and the mosquitoes have never been more infuriating. Every year you’re hauled down here, a place you count the days till leaving. “Here” being the wetlands: humid, swampy, and awful. But when a new appearance enters, a new someone appears, you begin to rethink that wish to leave.

or alternatively :

In which Lee Minho opens up your eyes to a life you’d been missing. One with him in it.

When a new person moves to Fenwood, there’s a few things that must be known.

No welcome party has ever been held.

The last thing you want is to be unfriendly.

One of which happens to have already been broken.

“You new here?” You shout, latching the hooks to each crawfish trap and tossing it over the wooden canoe.

“No,” He responds, not bothering to even look up from his spot crouched on the dock, staring down into the black hole of murky water below.

Waiting a moment, you glance up, scanning his model-like visage. Perfect nose, eyes, skin. His beauty sticks out like a sore thumb.

Leave it to you to be the first in discovering Fenwood’s latest occupant.

“…Have you lived here—“

“No.”

Rising up from his spot—still not even sparing you a glance—he turns to walk away, leaving you to make sour faces behind his back.

Who shoved a rod up his ass?

“Hey Grandma!” You shout, closing the squealing screen door and welcoming the mouth-watering smell of dinner.

A good distraction after that jerk, anyway.

Today hosted a good catch. Four, maybe five crawfish squabbling about in the pale blue bucket outside the residence. Rickety, and a bit dilapidated with typhoons dropping by on occasion. Torrential rains, age.

Meanwhile, your grandmother is busy focusing on scaling a trout, staunching the once delicious aroma with the stench of fish sliced by wrinkled, calloused fingers.

“Have you,” You use your index and thumb to pinch your nose closed. “Heard of anyone new movin’ here recently?”

She barks a laugh, skewing the fish’s head off in one swift motion, causing you to cringe back in disgust.

“Movin’ here? Only a fool would do that. I ain’t heard nothin’ from town.”

Not wrong. Fenwood isn’t the most popular among moving destinations anyway.

Chewing your lip thoughtfully, you stand there, bouncing on your heels and devising the next step to uncovering that rude boy’s identity.

Your grandmother turns to you, a singular eyebrow raised.

“What? You saw somethin’?”

Quickly shaking your head as if to evade her pestering questions, you wordlessly rush up the stairs, grateful for the chance to breathe fresh air again within the safe confines of your room.

Alright. Now for the investigating.

Power-lines officially flicker out at midnight due to lack of the money the town can provide for twenty-four hour electricity, meaning your opportunity for info begins now.

And while someone’s occupied, you sneak into your grandfathers room, carefully tiptoe to the landline phone, fingers haphazardly dialing those long-since memorized numbers.

“Chris- Chris pick up-“

“…Hello?”

Christopher Bahng, more or less the town’s heartbreaker. He’s stupidly charming (or so he likes to think), earning the town grandma’s fawning coos on endless occasions and plenty of confessions whilst attending the sad excuse known as Fenwood’s high school.

A hundred people, at most, with a rotting basketball hoop by the main entrance and a football team that hasn’t won a single game in six years.

Chris brought a change to the losing streak last year, and since then, he’s been nothing short of Fenwood’s version of Ryan Gosling.

Honeyed tan skin, supernaturally blond hair that winds in messy curls covering his forehead, and a smile you’d like to feature in some sort of history book.

Also, in easier terms: your best friend. A boy who, despite his current popularity, once harbored a massive gap between his front teeth, with nerdy interests and an even nerdier pair of glasses exchanged for contacts a while back.

“Don’t tell me you’re already asleep. How old are you? Sixty?”

“Ah… Shuddap… just had the best nap..” He groggily replies, faint rustling of bedsheets resounding through the crackling line.

As much as he may be Fenwood’s heartbreaker, there wasn’t an ounce of shame between either of you. The fact you knew of the boy since his middle school years paved enough embarassing memories to become unaffected.

“Get beauty rest another time, I need help figurin’ out something.”

“..Take out the cover and put the dish insid-“

“Not the microwave! A person!”

“Mm? Who?”

You groan avidly, brows knit. Time is of the essence, and it’s impertinent you at least get one piece of info before your grandma berates you for using the phone too long.

“Look, if I explain it, you’ll think I’ve got some crush. Which I don’t. But he’s got this-“

“Lee Minho? Great skin, looks real out of place? He just moved in next door, ‘says his Mom is gon’ be the new clinic doctor.”

“You’re kidding.”

A brisk chuckle is heard from the other end, low and littered with far too many voice cracks.

“That’s what I said too. He’s been the talk of the town since Mr. Kim saw his mom unloading the moving truck.”

Mr. Kim being the town’s loathed tax collector, that is.

“And what do you know about him?”

‘Him’ being this Lee Minho character.

Hanging onto every syllable he plans to enunciate, your ounce of consolation is quelled when the ringing of your grandmother’s voice beckons you down for dinner—instinctively slamming the landline down onto its stand and cutting off the call.

At least there’s a name. Lee Minho, belonging to the prick by the dockside.

It’s a start, for what it’s worth.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

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feinecutasy · 4 months ago

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New Tenant

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ stood anxiously in front of the flat. The landlord, ᴘᴇᴛᴇʀ, so far had been very wholesome and welcoming. Almost unnaturally so. The young man’s mind drifted to memories of their first meeting.

---

It was too good to be true. A fully furnished studio flat, right in the city’s centre, with monthly rent not even above 70% of market price. Photos and the description showed nothing unusual – not even a hint of outraging demands or potential contractual traps, aside from a preference for a quiet, not too party-going tenant. The offer had already been up for a week. There must be a catch. An offer this good would have vanished in less than 2 days. There's only one way for Steve to find out.

Steve stood anxiously in front of the flat. Setting up an appointment was relatively straightforward, and the warm and energetic way in which the deep-voiced owner communicated had definitely helped in keeping his doubts at bay. He had imagined Peter Choi, the owner of a flat that was – perhaps not too coincidentally – barely a few steps away from the Korean district, to be some slim, slightly conservative middle-aged ethnic Korean man looking to further increase his hard-earned wealth. The very moment when he heard an enthusiastic „Hi, you must be Steve! I’m Peter. C’mon in!” booming out from within the flat, his preconception was completely shattered.

The man in front of him was an imposing tower of sheer muscles, with pale skin, a buzz cut, bushy eyebrows and a full, even bushier beard. Patches of hair chaotically lined up his chest, a glimpse of which was made possible thanks to the top two undone buttons of his shirt; the poor thing struggling to contain his hefty, herculean pecs. His youthful face was acne-covered, his neck thicker than Steve’s thighs, and his dilated grey eyes not too different from those of a weed-lover after a fat joint. Fortunately, and unfortunately at the same time, Steve couldn’t sense from the man the distinct stoner’s smell, only one accumulated from spending too much time in a sweaty locker room. Still, the signs did little to curb in Steve’s mind the image of a druggy youngster to whom the thought of free time not spent pumping iron would seem greatly outrageous. The brutish built was more befitting of someone who suffers brain damage in the wrestling ring for a living, but nevertheless there was a classical, Michelangelesque handsomeness in his visage, and the faint insidiousness of a shrewd businessman in his manner. And there was also … something else. Something uncanny that Steve couldn’t figure out. Oddly enough, perhaps it was this „something” that had rendered Steve’s instincts dysfunctional, for in other circumstances, he would have immediately bolted away from the sight of such a man and the number of red flags.

Steve convinced himself of the flat’s mint condition after having checked all of its nooks and crannies. The company of Peter was greatly appreciated, as the man turned out to be a great conversationalist. Steve was already hooked, and when Peter said that he would love to have someone calm and understanding like Steve as his new tenant after the last one wrecked his place, he was determined. The generous landlord even offered Steve dinner at a Korean restaurant nearby, and after having all his questions answered („Yes, I took my wife’s last name. Hard to find a pasty white guy with a Korean last name, aye?”, „I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s just genetics. I don’t do drugs.”) and his belly stuffed with soybean stew, kimchi and grilled pork belly, Steve happily signed the tenancy agreement.

---

Steve stood anxiously in front of the flat, bags and suitcases by his side. It didn’t take long for Peter to arrive. The two exchanged greetings and quickly entered the flat. Just like the first time they met, Steve felt unease for no particular reason. A shiver went up his spine as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but the discomfort shortly dissipated he was reassured by his landlord’s radiating energy and rambunctiousness.

„This is the key to the flat, this one … for the gate, but you can also use a code. I’ll send it to you on WhatsApp. Much quicker that way, actually. This one for the letterbox. And … I think that’s basically it”, Peter smiled warmly as his he handed the keychain to his new tenant. After having the latter thanked him, he stepped towards the table to fetch something.

„By the way, I brought you some pizza!”

A mix of gratitude and embarrassment momentarily seized Steve. It’s their second time meeting and he was already receiving so much from his landlord. He blurted out a few words of gratitude, unable to hide his excitement upon seeing the pizza box in Peter’s meaty hand. Placing the box right in the centre of Peter’s field of vision, the bulky man opened it with his left hand in one quick, swift motion.

There was no pizza. Inside the box was a smooth, slick, black creature that somewhat resembled the legless amalgamation of an ant and a spider had it not been for the writhing fleshy mass of thin, long tentacles – which looked more like the skinny tassels trailing behind a jellyfish – floating in front of what’s supposed to be it head. Light bounced off its chitinous carapace, bringing out a vibrant purple sheen. In the place where there were supposed to be eyes, a slit ran across the curved surface, parting the roots of the tentacles into two orderly clusters. The thorax, which connected the head to the rest of the body was in essence a bumpy, ragged, solid and relatively passive hump. The most striking of its features was the abdomen – a voluptuous, oblong sac covered by a veiny, glossy membrane that revealed strange organs pulsating within a clear gelatinous substance inside.

When Steve could finally process the outlandish scene unfolding in front of him, it was already too late. In the blink of an eye, thousands of fleshy threads shot out and latched onto his face while at the same time contracting, bringing the creature closer to him. Each of the threads touched the surface of his skin, flattened out before taking on the same colour and texture as his own flesh. They then softly dug into his face, slowly assimilating with his facial nerves. Instinctively, Steve tried to scream, but a wall of flesh was already formed before his mouth, blocking any sound from coming out. His attempt to use his hands to yank the thing away was in vain, for Peter was already keeping both of his scrawny limbs in a tight grip.

With his sight partially obscured by the wall of flesh that was now linked with his mouth, Steve could see the creature’s thorax split into two, revealing a more organic, fleshy organ slowly making its way out. His eyes could only perceive colourful waves of light hovering above the organ, for his human vision lacked the precision required to notice the row of microscopic, hooked needles slowly protruding out from the creature’s middle. The organ slithered to his side until he could no longer see it, slowly positioning itself straight behind his back. Steve could only feel a slight tickle on his nape, oblivious to the fact that his nervous system was already subdued.

Steve’s eyes dilated. All struggles had ceased. Peter loosened his grip on Steve as the latter’s limbs relaxed. His breath stabilised. The adrenaline rush has been quelled, and his heart rate and blood flow had returned back to their normal paces. Steve looked dully ahead, though whatever his eyes perceived, his brain registered none of it, for it was being distracted by something else. Someone or something was crawling through his mind. Memories in random chronological order flashed on and off abruptly inside his head. Highschool feud. Second job. Drunk on the tube. Lost in the shopping centre. Deployment. First love. Bike incident … He then started to realise that some of these memories weren’t his. He could vaguely made out the personas who owned them. A macho construction worker from Eastern Europe. A young, inexperienced American soldier. A middle-aged Korean immigrant … All but one sets of memories ended in one exact same moment, which Steve now knew would also become a part of his memory shortly after.

The fleshy wall in front of his mouth pulsated, pushing the creature’s sac pushed closer and closer, until it finally entered his oral cavity. The carapace dropped to the floor, producing a faint clank. The pulsating continued as the viscous, translucent liquid was pumped into Steve’s mouth. His compromised nerves pulled on, gently nudging him to swallow, after which the whole content of the sac was free to travel further inside his body.

Intense heat spread through Steve’s whole body. His now heavy testicles sagged down greatly as the scrotum struggled to adjust to their new combined weight after the latest influx of extraterrestrial, invigorating material. Acnes broke out over his face and elsewhere on his body due to its unfamiliarity with and inability to process bursts of testosterone in the span of mere seconds. His cock twitched with anticipation, growing longer and thicker; the head swelled, glistening with pre-cum. Alien energy induced extreme growth in all of his cells. His frame expanded, muscles bulging beneath smooth skin everywhere in parallel with his growth in both the horizontal and vertical direction. His clothes were starting to yield. His underwear gave in to his virile front and his ever-expanding muscular rear. His jeans surrendered to his man-crushing colossal thighs. His t-shirt torn from the pressure of his thickening biceps, triceps and the two still swelling hairy mounds of meat on his chest. His body tried to regulate the never seen before amount of intense heat inside but to no avail: the suffocating smell of sweat had already dominated the room, and it won’t be long before his body develops a reeking body odour that no deodorant nor showering could ever get rid of. The flesh wall that covered his mandible earlier had been absorbed into his body. His face took on all the facial features of Peter – his bushy eyebrows and beard, his strong, straight nose, down to his piercing grey eyes that are now still dilating due to the creature’s earlier interference. The fleshy organ that was attaching to his nape finally detached from its shell. The lump of flesh burrowed deeper into his neck, transforming it into an even thicker and muscular one that would put any professional wrestler to shame. His Adam’s apple as a result grew and protruded out a little more to make room for his enhanced voice box, further deepening his voice.

In the room, two identical hulking men stood face to face, one clothed, one practically naked. Beneath their feet lied an empty pizza box and a carapace of some unidentified organism.

---

3 years later …

ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ stood anxiously in front of the flat. The landlord, ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ, so far had been very wholesome and welcoming.

Almost unnaturally so.

#alien possession #cloning #mind control #male transformation #male tf #muscle tf

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airaibunny · 4 months ago

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dom!gracie abrams x sub!fem!reader - "everything we never said" (fluff, smut, clit stim, breast play)

a/n: HI GANG‼️ it feels good to be back officially. i say officially because im a rat and i low key released two fanfics on a secret blog while i was gone. anyway, i deleted said blog and now im giving you the fanfics😛. i hope you guys enjoy and i hope yall still love me😞

word count: 1.8k

the soft hum of gracie's playlist fades into the background, melodically blending with her quiet voice singing along as she scrolls on her phone. you've both perfectly nested yourselves on the couch among the seemingly endless mounds of pillows and blankets. her warmth transcends every obstacle with an astound agility. you can feel it positively burning your skin. the dim lamplight is vivid enough to reflect upon every detail on her face, yet you feel as though it's not enough; you crave looking at her closer—you need it.

gracie abrams means more to you than humanly possible. you were by her side the day she decided to become a songwriter, the day she released her first song, and you're still by her side after all of her acclaimed fame. inversely, she has been with you for every heartbreak, triumph, and milestone. she has been your best friend for years and you've created an unbreakable bond.

somewhere along the way, however, platonic love and support evolved into an ardent passion so intense that looking at her became synonymous with imagining her lips on your own. her gaze became indicative of something you couldn't quite decipher, or rather, couldn't let yourself think about. her touch started leaving behind a branded imprint on your skin, one that would linger for ages after she was gone.

the half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table becomes the object of your examination as she looks up from her phone. her big brown eyes shoot you a look that merits a lump in your throat and a crimson tint on your cheeks. she tosses her phone aside and cheekily smiles at you, winding up for what you assume is an absurd request.

"come lay closer to me, you're so far," she whines and extends her arms for you, to which you swiftly respond by crawling to her side and throwing yourself on top of her. her hand finds its way to the collar of your sweatshirt and begins the all too familiar habit of rubbing it with her thumb as she speaks.

"i have a stupid party to go to tomorrow night, you should come," she sighs, lifting her free hand to rub her forehead. "stupid party?" you question, prompting an annoyed grunt from her.

"i don't want to go, but i have to keep up appearances," you get up and lean against the back of the couch, letting your legs drape over her midsection so that your thighs can feel her abs. she looks up at you expectantly and pouts. "you don't have to do anything, just don't go," you drop your hands between your legs and start fiddling with the string of her sweatpants. she grunts again, louder this time. "i do have to. you don't get showbiz, loser," she rolls her eyes and puts a hand up to your face, clearly just joking.

"fine, ms. superstar, i'll go," she squeals and jumps into your arms with a hug. you hug her back and melt into the feeling of her body pressed against yours.

she flops back down while still excitedly giggling to herself. you stare at her longingly with a smile and you want to reach out to stroke her cheek, but you surmise that would be odd.

your visage must be reflecting your inner turmoil because gracie speaks up again.

"you okay?" her eyebrows furrow as she props herself up on her elbows to look at you. you nod your head in assertion, but she tries again. "c'mon, tell me," she persists, sitting up and taking one of your hands into both of hers. "please?"

"it's nothing, gracie," she shifts, her dark eyes searching yours with an accusatory degree that makes you turn away. "tell me, i'm not dropping this," she grabs your face and makes you look at her. you panic as her searing palm meets your skin, but you don't want her to know that in the slightest. "i can't, just leave it-" she scoffs and throws her hands up, letting them land on your lap which only serves to add another perpetually scorched brand to your body.

"y/n. tell. me."

"i can't!" you want to push her away from you, but she amasses a colossal gravitational pull when she's near you, one that you can't escape no matter how hard you try. instead, you bury your face in your hands as tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. she doesn't hesitate to bring you into her arms as she strokes your hair, humming soft pleas for you not to cry.

"i can't..." you keep repeating, doing your best to hold back the floodgates. she pulls away and looks at you; she looks just as distressed as you. this is all it takes for your emotions to finally betray you, sending one singular tear streaming down your cheek.

her hands comes up to your face and gently wipes the tear away; however, after completing that initial task, it remains there. you catch a strange look in her eyes, like she's having the most visceral fight of her life within her own head. her lips part as she inhales heavily, still evidently not coming to a conclusion.

suddenly, without any falter in her expression, she lunges forward, meeting her lips with yours.

the world around you stops dead in its tracks.

your heartbeat reaches a speed fitting for the peak of a marathon.

you can't fathom that she is kissing you, unprompted, completely by her own volition. the girl who's lips you've spent countless nights fantasizing about is materializing those very thoughts. they feel just as wonderful as you imagined. their sweet, silken sensation is the most intoxicating thing you've ever had the great privilege of tasting.

her other hand grabs the empty side of your face, holding you in place. the kiss is slow and intense, both of you pouring every past second of silent longing into this very moment.

you have no desire to let her remove herself, but she does so anyway. she looks at your face for a moment, taking in every feature as if this was the very first time she'd seen it.

"i actually have something to tell you," she smiles, trying to ease whatever pressure was still on you. "you don't have to tell me anything," you smile back, "i know."

you don't hesitate to invite yourself back against her lips. she gladly welcomes you while simultaneously pulling you on her lap, making you straddle her. "is this what was on your mind? is this what you couldn't tell me?" she pulls away for long enough to ask her question, but goes right back when she is finished. you don't bother to do the same, instead, you just hum a slight 'mhm' against her lips.

"you don't want to talk about this?" she pulls away again, giggling. she knows you too well, she knows that's the last thing you want right now.

"talk later. right now, i just need you. so bad."

she smiles against your lips as you pull her back. the kiss turns heated, electric; you can almost taste all the pent up hunger you share. you momentarily forget to breathe, but you realize you'd be perfectly content to go out this way.

her hands snake up your sides, gradually pulling your top off with them. you don't fight her in the slightest, you just allow her to pull it over your head and toss it across the room. one of her hands goes to your back and she pulls away from the kiss.

"can i?" she asks, fiddling with your bra strap. "please," you reply hastily, still not wanting her lips to depart from yours.

she doesn't miss a beat in unclasping your bra and letting it meet your shirt on the ground. her hands land on your breasts and you realize for the first time that you've soaked right through your panties, maybe even your shorts.

she tugs at your nipples with a chuckle, loving the sounds she's eliciting from you. she pulls away from the kiss and you're irritated for a second, but the anger quickly fades when her mouth makes contact with you boobs. you hold back a guttural moan with the back on your hand as she bares her teeth into your skin. her tongue glides over the same spot she just bit, only serving to worsen the wet spot between your legs.

she fiddles with the waistband of your shorts without saying anything for a second, but she finally speaks up.

"what do you say we get rid of these as well?" you don't think you've ever nodded your head so fast. you lift your hips so she can slide them down, not caring in the slightest that you're now completely naked and she's still fully clothed. she looks at your body on display for her and smiles to herself before looking into your eyes.

"you're prettier than i imagined, holy fuck."

the scarlet tint from earlier is back on your cheeks after her statement, which she clearly notices. she gets closer to you, whispering in your ear. "you have no clue how often i think about this," her hand lands on your core without any warning, causing a jolt to reverberate through your entire body.

she chuckles as her fingers start drawing the length of your folds, idly moving back and forth. "i'm going to make you remember every second."

her mouth goes back to your breast. she begins rubbing small circles on your clit while sucking on your nipple in perfect synchrony. every one of your senses feels sickeningly overwhelming right now. it's embarrassing what she's managed to reduce you to in a matter of seconds. she so fucking good at this, you couldn't form a coherent thought even if you wanted to right now.

her fingers pick up speed and you have to dig your nails into her shoulders, which she very clearly enjoys judging by the sound that escapes her lips. your hips hitch as she presses harder against you. her tongue is still leaving purple bruises all over your boobs, tightening the knot in your stomach.

you feel like sobbing from pleasure as she goes even faster with absolutely no regard for your state. she pulls her head away from your chest to look at your face, flushed and eyes heavily glazed.

"you look even prettier now," she smiles, keeping the same pace against your pussy.

her grin is the final blow. you wince and hold onto her shoulders tighter, bracing for impact.

"gracie..."

you bury your head in her neck and wrap your arms around her as you let the orgasm wash over you. your thighs shake and your muscles contract. you allow a loud whine to rip from your throat, earning endless praises from gracie.

"so pretty," she mutters, slowing down to assure you ride out your high until the very end. you pant, practically gasping for air. "shh, i'm right here, you're okay. breathe for me, please," she continues speaking like this until you're calm enough to look at her again.

"had enough? want to talk now?" she pecks your lips, stroking your reddened cheek.

"no, not even close."

#fanfic #smut #fanfiction #wlw fanfic #gracie abrams wlw #gracie abrams smut #gracie abrams x reader #gracie abrams #gracie abrams tsou #gracie abrams x fem reader #wlw ns/fw #wlw smut #wlw community #wlw post #wlw writing #wlw

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niceminipotato · 1 month ago

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Monsters

One-shot - Lady Dimitrescu x female reader (You)

Alcina Dimitrescu was a countess. She was the lady of the castle. She was the one in charge. Her word was law. No one had the right to dictate how things were to be aside from her. She cared very little for other people's opinions because her own was the only one that mattered. Why should she care what others thought?

True, she and her daughters were different. True, their diets were considered taboo by the mortal populace. True, in their eyes they may seem like monsters. But why should any of that matter? Actually, it didn't matter. Just like those below her didn't matter at all. Those insignificant humans, who were only good to be her food source and sometimes her servants, they didn't matter.

She was Countess Alcina Dimitrescu one of the four Lords of the Village. She was the best and strongest of the four. So why did she feel self-conscious now?

She was enjoying her glass of blood. It had been a trying day, so she felt it was as good a day as any to indulge in the real thing instead of limit herself to blood wine. Beside her, were you. The one human she didn't mind having around. The one she had allowed into her bed more than just a handful of times. The one whose company she enjoyed and requested.

As she drank, she found her eyes wandering towards you every so often. A wave of uneasiness hit her as she watched your eyes following the trickle of blood stemming from her mouth down her chin. It was the first time she fed on the real thing while you were with her. Not even in the throes of passion had she allowed herself to feed off you. It was peculiar and almost surprising that she never had done so.

She wondered if it disgusted you. If you finally saw the monster she did her best to keep hidden away whenever you were present. She wondered if you would finally recoil from her now. And she hated the way those thoughts were making her feel.

Why should it matter what you thought? You were just a lowly human? Just a servant girl working in her castle to pay off her family's debts? You were just some passing little thing. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

Except... you weren't, were you? In such little time you had become more. Not just some servant girl picked up from among the rabble. No, you were so much more than that.

And now you were seeing her with blood staining her teeth and falling down her chin. Deep red droplets splattered on her chest and dress. She knew how her eyes looked - a sea of black surrounding crimson irises - veins rising around the then like blackened spiderwebs. Oh, she knew she must look quite the unpleasant sight. And there you were watching her intently.

Alcina averted her eyes but did it in such a way that wouldn't show signs of the weakness and vulnerability rising under her skin. Yes, she felt self-conscious and vulnerable, but she was still Lady Dimitrescu with her noble etiquette intact.

Then you, heaven and hell bless you, found it in yourself to move closer to her. If you had seen through her visage she didn't know but you climbed on her lap, and she turned to you once more.

The question floating in her head was close to breaking the surface when it sank as you with your handkerchief reached her chin and ever so gently cleaned up the trail of blood leading up to her mouth. Then every single thought in her head drained right out when you softly placed a kiss on her cheek.

Stunned wasn't even close to how you had left her. All she could do was stare at you while you smiled sweetly up at her. For a few moments she had been left speechless then all at once her brain flooded with questions. How? Why? And you? Well, you just sat there while she marinated in her inner turmoil.

She looked into your eyes trying to find the disgust, the deceit, the underlying fear, but found nothing of the sort. What she did find was unimaginable though. There was something glimmering in your eyes that she never thought she would see directed towards her.

No, not for her. No one would ever look at her like that. Surely, this was just a trick of the light. A game her own mind was playing. Yes, that was it.

Suddenly she saw what she had been looking for. Clouding over the light glimmer until it was overtaken. Fear. Of course. It had taken you long enough. By the gods, what had she been thinking?

"I-I'm so sorry, my lady." You stammered nervously, your cheeks tinging pink.

Alcina steeled herself and waited for you to spring out at any second now. To think a human would actually be any different from the rest. To have had such a notion been so stupid of her. Could she even blame you though?

"I acted without thinking. I-I'm sorry."

She was waiting for you to run along. She had killed for less but you... this was absurd, and yet she would do nothing. Not this time. Maybe next time? Maybe if-

"I shouldn't have t-touched you without permission. That was too forward of me. I’m terribly sorry, my lady. I’ve no right to do such a thing."

What?

Her thoughts were echoed by her mouth. "What?"

You wrung your hands together and looked down sheepishly then made to slide off her lap. Before you could move however, Alcina found herself holding you still by the waist.

"What?" She repeated.

"I touched you without permission. I'm really sorry. Really, my lady." You bit your lip and dared meet her gaze.

"You apologize for cleaning my face? For a simple kiss?" She asked still bewildered by your words, your reactions. At your nod she gasped and couldn't help her whisper. "You were not disgusted? But I am a monster." Her words may have slipped without her wanting to but you caught them all.

"No." You said confidently, your face hard as if her words had been cause for offense. "Why are you saying that?"

"It's the truth, my dear." Alcina smiled sadly. It was the truth; she drank the blood of others and enjoyed the pain she could bring. More than enjoyed, she relished in it.

"Then so am I."

She couldn't help but chuckle at your words. Such a little fool. You knew not what you were saying that much was certain.

You, it seemed, did not to like the fact that she had laughed at your bold yet foolish words. Your bottom lip jutted out in an overly adorable pout while you looked around. Then you grabbed her discarded glass and tipped whatever remnants of blood which had remained into your mouth. The act sobered her up completely.

"What in the world-"

"Do you believe me now?" You asked placing the glass down. "If you are a monster, my lady, so am I. Should I bathe in it with you? Should I go kill with you? I will do it. I don't mind. You just tell me what you need, what you want, and I’ll do it."

"You have no idea what you speak of." Alcina tried to dismiss you still baffled by your actions.

"You are not disgusting. Or repulsive. You may be a monster but aren't we all one way or another?" You replied without hesitation and Alcina saw that glimmer she had doubted before in your eyes again. "I don't care what you are. If it is a monster, then I am a monster too."

Tears at this point of her life or at any other were little more than a myth. She was Alcina Dimitrescu, she didn't do tears. And yet she felt the dampness on her cheeks and the stinging in her eyes. You gasped at them, just as surprised by their presence as she was. Quickly, you began to clear them away and yet they kept coming.

How unsightly? A lady crying in front of another was unheard of. Why, Alcina was certain her mother was turning in the grave right in that moment.

By some unimaginable force you had also began to cry and at that Alcina found herself laughing once more. This whole situation was bordering on the absurd. Why were you both crying like idiots?

"Quite the monsters, you and I."

"Sorry if I hurt you." You mumbled softly as you wiped at your face.

She lifted your chin and watched you for a while. "Always one for surprises aren’t you, sweet girl? From the very moment you stepped foot in my halls. I find myself believing that there isn't a single bone in your body that could ever try or want to hurt me, draga."

Pink stained your cheeks, ears, and neck at the new nickname. Your reaction made her smile before leaning forward and placing a kiss on your forehead. You squirmed and a soft whimper left you at her action.

"So you will be a monster with me?" Alcina grinned after leaving a small peck on the corner of your mouth.

"With you... I'll be anything. A-as long as you'll have me."

Her heart took a tumble before she regained herself. "Then welcome, draga mea, to this monstrous world of mine."

At her words you smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and holding on tightly in a warm embrace. She held you just as tight and closed her eyes allowing herself to just feel. To feel you and the warmth for your tiny yet courageous body. To feel your beating heart and her own growing attuned to each other with every passing minute of you in her life. Oh was this grand, and blissful, and amazingly out of one of Daniela’s stories yet so very real at the same time.

She covered your face in kisses and smiled at the giggling she pulled from you.

Who was she again? Ah well… she was Countess Alcina Dimitrescu. Lady of the castle. One of the four Lords of the village. And yes, whatever the world outside these walls said or thought didn’t matter. Why should it? What mattered were her daughters, and Mother Miranda, and her new little monster, you. Yes you, for as long as she could have you - which if she had any say in the matter would be forever. Good thing she had a say.

There you go potatoes. I should have been working but ummm what can I do when the stuff hits. Also, I had no idea where I was going. The thought that started it was “oh, wouldn't it be sweet if maiden cleaned up the lady's chin after she ate?” Like it was just a little thing then my brain was like oh look it. Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed my randomness. Also, happy PRIDE!!! 🏳️‍🌈

#lady dimitrescu x female reader #alcina dimitrescu #one shot #resident evil village #lady alcina dimitrescu #tall vampire lady #sprinkle of angst #sprinkles of fluff #who doesn't love a villainous vampire lady #the lil ficlets

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lesbiansforglados · 6 months ago

Text

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the crab, the Doctor and I stirred throughout the lab…”

And a happy new year! Full poem under the break!

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the crab

The doctor and I stirred throughout the lab

The stockings were hung by the TV with care

By me of course, the Doctor just sat there.

I made a pot of chocolate so hot

The AC ran, so we needed a lot.

I huddled for warmth next to my fella

While we carefully watched our telenovela

I caught myself drifting away oh so quick

Till a thump from outside - It must be st nick!

I lifted the blanket and squeezed out his grasp

And hurried away, then turned, but gasp!

He was already there, inside of our crab

Though his body lacked that signature flab

His sack round his back, he caught my eye with a pause

Something told me this was not Santa Claus

He turned towards me with a look of fright,

“Don’t tell Egghead that I’m here tonight”

His visage smugly held a look so moronic

Oh right, I know, this santa-poser is Sonic

Out of his sack poked toys a plenty

For girls and boys from here to Kilkenny

With a snap of his fingers, the stockings were filled,

“Why aren’t you with your family,” I grilled.

“The only thing faster than Santa is me,

“So he asked me to do the Green Hill run, you see,”

“He’s got too many folks to do alone,

so he enlists guys like me to help him out, Stone.”

He rose up the trapdoor, saggy Santa frock in tow

I was sad that this Kris Kringle was faux.

Without looking back I returned to my place

The doctor’s mustache now tickling my face

Who cares if we get coal, as long as I have him

The chances of unhappiness are all too slim

Though I heard Sonic’s shrill yell from just out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

#sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic 3 #stobotnik #sonic movie 3 #agent stone #dr robotnik #eggman #lee majdoub #jim carrey #milos art #milos stuff

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kiwanopie · 2 months ago

Note

SOSBSSS I NEED MOAR CRIME LORD AU SAKUSA 🙏🏽

Stomach Pains/The Start of it All

CW: Some descriptors like the reader having a long hair, but that could be a weave or natural hair, Mentions of gunshot wounds and blood, references to human experimentation, crimelord! Sakusa and reader might have a lot more in common than you think. (Also a little more lore about the reader cause I rarely go into it.) have fun with the rules of my au lmao fluff

WC: 3k

“G-God…!”

The pain emitting from the hole in his stomach is enough to make a punch in the gut feel like a tickle. — His whole body feels set off like a live wire, every nerve cut at the lid. Between gasps and welling tears he just barely sees a figure standing above him through the haze; and despite his honor he hopes - he begs they’ll be so merciful as to just put him out of his misery.

But as it would seem, and as he very clearly deserves, karma has long since lost its patience with him, and a surge of hot white mind numbing pain washes over him as something presses firmly against his stomach, so unabashed as it does that it’s a wonder he doesn’t fall into pieces.

Sakusa’s vision clears somewhat in that agony, somewhere between prayer and hellfire. “P-Please. Just fucking get it over with-“

It’s you.

You didn’t… leave. Even when his misjudgments put this whole operation at risk. —- You could’ve. You should’ve. Six million dollar contract withstanding, it’s not really something worth dying meaninglessly for. I mean, you can all but turn into smoke. Be gone in half a second once bullets start to fly and turn up a quarter way across town in the other, as they say. Plus, what an ass he’s been since meeting you. Questioning your credibility, your efficiency, your position as an elite. Commenting on your clothes and your cadencey. Basically called you a bimbo riding on the coattails of your affluent sister, only viable if it meant being eye candy. It goes without saying that he hasn’t earned such loyalty.

And yet, here you are. Perfume wafting gentle smells of honey and lily, pretty dress stained in cerise. ~ Unlike the neutral dispositions expected of most scouts in your line of business, you’ve broken your usual cool with movements that can only be described as dire and frantic, pushing on his stomach with the kind of urgency undeserving of a jackass like him. - Your pretty blow out swings over your shoulders as you panickedly swivel your masked faced between him and the wound on his stomach, and his eyes are amessed with tears again at that foreign feeling of guilt.

“S-Stop.” Sakusa grits. “There’s no helping it, just stop. I’m already gone.”

You turn your head for a long look at his face for a deliberate second.

You reach for your mask.

The endorphins in his brain must already be going off because a woman this pretty has no right to exist than in daydreams or final throws. Kind doey eyes cottonized by worry, and a general visage that could turn any good man into goo.

And yet somehow your voice blows that out the water. “You’re here with me, Sakusa-sama. As long as I’m here, you are.”

Like the taste of miso soup. That’s what you sound like. Warm blankets, and fond touches, and the glossy feel of Devore. All of that while being regarded with such genuine concern nearly reverts him to something infantine. He hopes that this new slue of tears doesn't look too telling. “How’s your mouth taste?”

“M-My…?” He clears the knot out of his throat. “The same…”

“How about smell? Rotten eggs or garlic?”

Sakusa’s eyes squeeze shut at the pain. “N-… No. I don’t smell anything.”

“Good. Means the shot missed your liver,” You pull a hand away again till a medical bag is seemingly forming in your hand. “O.K.-“

You pull a syringe pen out for him to see. “This is Benzedrine. — It’ll feel like a kick in the balls but it’ll keep you from going into shock.”

Like a kick-? He doesn’t even get a chance to brace himself before you’re pressing it against his thigh.

And then he’s gasping into the air.

“Jesus fucking-!” His tensed muscles smear the electric chines of such an unexpected surge of pain. He very nearly bites off his own tongue. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Yeah, sorry I lied. It’s actually so much worse than I described, wasn’t it? — But you got through it, yeah? We’re almost home free.”

Sakusa nods at the encouragement. Though when he swallows it goes down sticky. “How close is ‘almost?”

“If it’s a through-and-through we’re right at the finish line, if not-… Well, I might be insisting on a bonus.”

Your fingers pull away from where they’d been idlily pressing pressure points against his lower sides — Belatedly he realizes your testing the feeling in his legs. “Lift on my mark.”

Just the feeling of bending his legs feels like ripping into his stomach lining. The fact that he won’t be passing out from this is much less comforting than expected.

“Okay. Lift.”

This is gonna hurt like a bitch.

“F-…! Oh, fuck!” His voice is shrill enough to cut ridges in the floor under his chin. A pained wail of a groan that only increases as it tapers. Not even the sound of you gently shushing him makes this feel any less excruciating as it does. Every twitch knocks the breath out of him.

Sakusa hears you sigh. “Oh, thank god. It went clean through. No bigger than a few centimeters.”

“There you go,” You help him lay back flat again. “There you go. You did such a good job, Sakusa-sama. We’re almost finished.”

As fuzzy as the praise turns him, he breathes out through a pained quiver. “That bag. Do you have anything for pain?”

“Anything I have could counteract with the adrenaline and throw your heart out of rhythm,” You frown. “I’m really sorry, I-…”

And then you pause.

For so long he’s nearly compelled to lift his neck and check if you’re still in motion. “…I can stop the pain. But you’re gonna have to… trust me.”

Well, seeing as he’s quite literally at your mercy. In just the few minutes since this whole thing went tits up (totally his fault by the way) you’ve given him kindness unlike anything he’s ever felt in his life. Unwarranted. With such genuine earnesty he could almost forget you’re known as one of the most ruthless elites on the map. “Please, just make it stop.”

You nod.

It’s a moment of quiet anticipation till his vision is obscured by the softness in your cheeks. By straightened tresses and buttery skin, faint beauty marks and the pretty slope of your nose.

By the feeling on your lips on his.

And it’s… it’s too much and not enough all at once. Soft, pillowy, sugary - the feeling of his heart beating out of his chest. Aching pains that tie his muscles in knots - sweet mint laden on your tongue. You make a quiet noise in his mouth that covers him in a flurry of goosebumps. He only notices how cold he’s gotten when his ears turn ten degrees over the regular. And if he were a less restrained man he’d be leaning into the kiss, even a shot in the gut wouldn’t stop a man from fawning over his dream girl.

Especially when he realizes you’ve taken his pain away.

You’re licking his spit from your bottom lip when you pull back, the air is infinitely sweeter. “W-What…? How did you do that?”

Ah, it’s terribly cute the way your lips dip when you’re flustered. “Gethsemane experimentation. All their Elites are… “Enhanced,” upon qualification, so... I just displaced your pain receptors. I had to make direct contact to be sure I wasn’t disrupting anything vital.”

“Oh.” That hurts his heart so suddenly that he actually recoils. He knew by the way Gethsemane were so quickly moving up the ranks that they were doing something shady, but this? To her. But even so, his question isn’t exactly asked with purely sympathetic intentions in mind. “Have you ever done it that way before?”

“Not like that, no. But I figured it would work.” Oh man, he hopes he didn’t exhale too loudly.

It goes without saying that Sakusa’s sigh of relief is layered. “Well-… Thank you. Thank fuck, actually.”

Your breathless titter draws visible hearts in the air. “Don’t thank me just yet. Things are about to get a little weirder.”

He watches you reposition yourself on your knees. “There’s a hole in your stomach about as wide as a number two pencil, so I can’t see the damage done to your insides. — It’s a through-and-through with no sign of blow out, and your liver and spine still seem to be in working condition so your survival rate is high. But you’re down about twenty G’s, and given your height, you can’t afford twenty more,”

“I’m gonna stick my finger in your wound as deep as I can reach so I can use my mutation to create fictional stitches. It’s gonna feel.. unsettling.” You show him your hand, and a sizzle of vapor wipes it clean. “Are you ready?”

He nods.

In you go.

Wow, that is… a very unsettling feeling, alright. He can feel your finger moving around in his stomach, grazing against tendons that in no way should be making contact with a human hand. — Whatever base this is, he feels he should be allotted at least a plate of dinner.

He can feel his internal wounds pulling securely back together as you carefully retract from his stomach, the sigh of relief you let out once you’re finally free is expectedly mutual.

“Now, for the easy part,”

You cleans his blood away with another pinch of smoke as you bend for the medical bag again, medical tape and a thin tube emerging in one hand and a band and scalpel in the other. He watches a hilariously cutesy stress ball materialize between your fingers, and breathes in the smell of rubbing alcohol as you tear a packet over him.

You rub it over a small spot on his inner forearm. “I’m ‘O’ negative. My mutation burns through disease and most injuries so, even if I wasn’t already disturbingly careful a transfusion should be seamless,”

“Only problem,” You cut a slit in his arm that he doesn’t feel. “You’re nearly a foot taller than I am and in the hour it’ll take for rescue to come, I could be out like a light,”

You must see him getting ready to protest because you say surely. “It won’t kill me. But when I pass out, I need you to put this mask on me again before anyone sees. — This has to be our secret.”

Your mask reappears on his side. That signature clay and ink, stained in speckles of blood and impersonal as ever, it’s almost unnerving how stark the contrast is between you and this mantle that’s made you so infamous in the first place. Voidish fox like eyes and an empty space where the mouth should be, — the way your eyebrows sinch in concentration as you slip the little tube in your arm. — A woman like you, as beautiful as you are, as understanding; being the face behind the boogeyman that the Scout “Lovely,” has been rumored to be, it just doesn’t seem possible.

Though, that’s before noticing you’ve both been undisturbed this whole time in what was just essentially a red zone. “Where is everyone?”

You notice him glance at the blood soaked into your cocktail dress. “I took care of it. The files are with me as well.”

“By yourself?” Sakusa doesn’t bother masking the disbelief in his voice. “Even his scouts?”

“It was the only way I could get to you undisturbed.”

Talk about dispensing doubt. Not only does he feel like an ass but now he kind of looks like an idiot. Gethsemane does not take the term “elite,” lightly.

But now that terrible, awful, unfamiliar feeling of guilt is back. Especially with your blood now coursing through his veins. “Why did you come back for me? All of this is my fault, and it could’ve gotten you killed.”

“It would take a lot to kill me, Sakusa-sama,” You assure him. “You contracted me. Regardless of what happens it’s my job to follow the orders of my temporary director.”

He frowns. “But to this extent? After I said those awful things to you?”

You give him a look of thoughtful pause.

“Can I speak freely then, Sakusa-sama?”

“Just Sakusa is fine.” He nods. “Please speak however you like.”

The little smile you give him could make a slab of stone blush.

“…I know how it is, being made to be something because it’s… “your birthright,” or whatever. How resentment can build for the world around you because it feels like things just don’t move and everything’s underwhelming, and when things just feel the same all the time… You become a version of yourself that feels inevitable,”

And as doey as they already are, your eyes soften when they skirt over him. Butterflies brushing against his wounds. “Putting humanity into people is like the very opposite of what I should be doing while on the clock but, there’s not a lot of people like me that I see in this business, and when it’s your own family that puts a burden like this on you… Your ability to be so exceptional despite that betrayal is something I admire a lot.— And anyway, what you said earlier is just Tuesday for me. I’m not gonna be offended by things that aren’t true.”

Sakusa visibly blushes. Today’s been an onslaught of unfamiliar feelings and newer perspectives, he’s sure it isn’t just the blood loss that’s making him kinda want to put a ring on this girl. “Well, I… I owe you my life. And I’m sorry about what I said earlier, you didn’t deserve any of that.”

Another smile, his heart skips. “I really appreciate that. Thank you.”

There’s a moment of pregnant silence that he unfortunately has to break since it’s practically her job not to.

“Uh,” Sakusa starts. “You look… not as I expected under your mask.”

You tilt your head. “Like younger or ugly?”

“Don’t piss me off,” And even though he’s speaking coarsely, the absolute indignation in his voice invokes a little pretty giggle on your end. Nearly gives him shivers. “I just- I figured you were young. I didn’t think the name “Lovely,” Would be so on the nose.”

“There’s not that big of a gap between us, Director-domo. And the name,” Seeing you get a little flustered at the admission feels like winning a Nobel prize. “I don’t know if you know them but, the other two Elites at Gethsemane, Honey, Playful, and I - We came up with our pseudonyms when we were kids. Honey thought it would fit because I was a pageant girl at the time.”

Pageant girl? That makes sense. “Must be used to excelling in all walks of life then.”

“Eh. It wasn’t meant for me, actually. — Some of the worst stuff I’ve heard as a scout is nowhere near as mean as what those catty girls and their moms have said during those competitions. Didn’t even make winning worth it anymore honestly,”

“You look,” You pause to comb him over with a look that gives him chills. “W-Well, I know you're the boss for a reason and all but you look… Athletic. As tall as you are you could probably clear a court in seconds.”

“I played volleyball in highschool. Outside hitter.” He says. “Being 6’3 at sixteen made me a default for ace.”

“Oooh! I can’t even imagine what you’re serves must’ve sounded like…” You giggle again, somehow even more sugary than the last. “Were you popular?”

“No.” The way you laugh makes him humor a small chuckle. “I was awkward as hell. I couldn’t even stand in a crowd without getting overwhelmed. - Plus, I was also… somehow ten times meaner back then.”

“Oh so, you were tall, athletic, handsome, and mean. — Yeah, I would’ve definitely stalked you as a high schooler. I had a bad record with guys like that at one time.”

“You-“ Are you… ‘You flirting with him? He’s gonna start breaking out in a sweat. “You like mean guys?”

You hum. “I did, at one point. Having the kind of admirers I did in grade school, any guy who so much as sneered at me would have me trippin’ over myself. But… as I got older, assholes were just... Assholes. And working a job like this, I’d rather go home to someone who actually likes me than some dick too high off of having a pretty girlfriend.”

Sakusa dips his toes in. “Do you… Have something like that at home?”

“No,” You exhale. “Too busy being Lovely to be anything else. And lying to a civilian about where I am and what I do for a living just sounds exhausting. — Tools for hire don’t get lonely anyway.”

That puts a sour pang in his chest. He’s about to open his mouth to speak again when you smooth out breathily. “Spendin’ this time with you though… even if through dire circumstances… It's been a wonderful feeling through and through. I don’t even know how to thank you...”

He blushes, and for the first time in god knows how long he simpers unabashedly. “It goes without saying that the feeling’s mutual, Lovely,”

“If… I mean, I understand loneliness. And after this, if it’s something you’re comfortable with,” Sakusa finds the nerve to detach his eyes from the ceiling to look at you directly.

And then he’s immediately lifting himself off his back.

You’re barely there. Leaning forward slightly like you’re doing your best to keep yourself upright as your glazed over eyes try their best to center on him, but even still you’re almost out of here. It’s all he can do not to rip the gauge out of his arm when you’re reaching for him in obvious worry, probably wasting what little energy you have left to trill at the distress on his face. “Sakusa, please be careful!”

“I-I’m fine. I feel fine,” He grabs your forearm. “We gotta get this out of-“

“No, no! This isn’t- It’s not enough!” You protest weakly. “Sakusa,”

He lets your softly palm guide his off of your forearm-

And onto your cheek.

He knows you’re barely cognizant right now, but seeing your pretty face, sickly as it is, nuzzle into his hand like an obedient cat; makes him feel like his only purpose in the world is to keep you safe or die trying. “You’re here with me,”

Your skin is soft as it hisses against his palm, he’d give you the world if you asked for it. “As long as I’m here, you are.”

Sakusa breathes out a quiet breath as he nods.

As expected he doesn’t protest when you move to lay into his side for support, even as the blood on your dress further stains the blood in his suit jacket. He’s surprisingly forthright as he supports the little cuddle, free arm securing you to his side. And if you weren’t literally dying of blood loss you’d notice the way his heart is beating out of his chest.

You seriously have no idea what you just got yourself into.

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comatosebunny09 · 3 months ago

Text

Rain.

What impeccable timing.

You’d asked for a little reprieve from the heat. It’s been so scorchingly hot, heat waves warped the scenery, and your uniform stuck to you like snakeskin. It made traveling unbearable, let alone hunting down fiends and scrounging for resources.

Beggars can’t be choosers. Doesn’t mean you won’t complain, anyway.

Fat torrents pelt down, blurring everything in sight with their glacial spray. It pastes your hair to your face. Makes your lashes clumpy and heavy. You can barely see your hands, white-knuckled on the reins of your chocobo. Can just faintly make out the stretch of your travel companion’s shoulders, of his striking white hair.

He calls to you through the discord of claws pummeling the ground and thunder coloring the sky.

“There’s an inn up ahead!”

How he can see through this mess baffles you. Then again, he’s always had the keen eyes of a warrior. You trust him thoroughly, nodding, a hand held over your eyes to shield them from the violence of the downpour. It’s to no avail.

You cling to the visage of your companion, a slowly shrinking blur of black and yellow. You press your heels into your chocobo’s sides, spurring the oversized bird to gallop faster to keep pace with him.

The sound of Sylus encouraging his chocobo forward guides you like a beacon towards the inn.

Wonderful.

Another day of setbacks to add to your pack.

—

Wet.

If there’s anything in this world you despise more than heat, it’s being wet.

You’re a sopping, scraggly cat, shivering in the inn’s foyer. You rub your arms to ward off the chill as travelers mill about, sparing the pair of you intrigued glances now and again. You stick out like a bruise, your garbs unlike anything worn in this stretch of the world.

It reeks of mildew and damp wood. Of scorched firewood and something savory salting the space in between.

You’re sure you’ll leave a puddle on the floor at this rate, beads of water coasting down your face and neck, leaping off your fingertips.

Sylus fares no better at your side, his hair sticking to his angular features as he surveys your lodgings. He wears his discomfort better, a hulking mass of composure and quiet strength. He eyes you with a whisper of humor on his lips.

It’s not fair—you don’t have cool armor to shield you from the elements like he does. Then again, it’d only weigh you down. You’re not built to tote layers of plating like he is.

“It won’t do us any good to travel in this,” he says.

You’ve never agreed with him more.

You turn towards the low rumble of his voice, shaking like a leaf. For a moment, concern flashes across his eyes like the glint of heated steel.

“I’ll get us some rooms,” he placates, a sizable hand dropping onto your shoulder to usher you towards the fireplace. “In the meantime, try to keep warm.”

You’ve barely time to register his fingers slipping away, teeth chattering, torrents of cold ripping through you. You’re grateful for the fire, stretching your hands towards it and flexing your fingers as the heavy thump of Sylus’ boots nears the counter.

You crouch to let the warmth swaddle you, and you must look silly. Like an abandoned child, curled up by the fire, hugging your legs, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

You’re nodding off with your chin perched on your knees when the innkeeper's voice trickles in, drawing you back to consciousness.

“—orry about that, lad. We’ve only got one room left.”

You peer over your shoulder in time for Sylus to sigh. In time for him to pinch the bridge of his nose, brows knitting together. He peers at you, jaw rigid, irises flickering like the sparks jumping in the fireplace.

Sensing his apprehension, you nod, the faintest smile twitching your lips. It’s not the first time you’ve boarded together; it certainly won’t be the last. He’s never given you reason to fear his company—the perks of being long-time friends.

Resigned, Sylus returns his attention to the innkeeper, the scrape of gold across the wooden countertop signaling his decision.

“We’ll take it.”

The innkeeper weighs the coins in his palm to test their authenticity. Sylus quirks a brow, offended. After pocketing them, the keeper slides a key towards Sylus, donning a friendly smile.

“I’ll ’ave my wife send up some dry clothes an’ stew. She makes a mean one, she does.”

You watch through the bleariness as your towering friend returns to your side, a fatigued smile rounding your lips. The softness of his features blurs into focus. He holds out a gloved hand for you to take. You accept it, its warm, rough glide wracking your spine with shivers for an entirely different reason.

He tugs you to your feet like you weigh nothing, steadying you with his palms gently clasping the crooks of your elbows.

You wordlessly follow him up the creaking stairs to the inn’s second floor, curling into his back to siphon some of his heat as he unlocks the door.

��

“Thought you were tired,” Sylus chides over crossed arms, watching you from down the slope of his nose.

He’s long since discarded his cumbersome armor, trading it for the dark hug of a tunic and loose trousers. He tries to mask the humor lancing through his tone, the raise of his brow. You amuse him to no end. You wouldn’t be friends otherwise.

You shrink under his scrutiny, pressing the cards in your hands to your bosom. The men you’ve been gambling with murmur amongst themselves, their raucous laughter petering in the face of Sylus’ height and subdued intimidation.

A nervous laugh swells in your throat, an awkward pull of your lips. “I was.” You scratch your temple. “But I couldn't sleep.”

It isn’t a lie. The anxiety of the journey ahead had you tossing and turning amid the itchy linens on the bed. You’ve traveled like this countless times before. A bed is a luxury, let alone four walls.

But something’s been sneaking around in the boughs of your mind. Scraping at your psyche like claws against glass since you arrived.

Sylus wasn’t in the room when you woke up. Always been a night owl, keeping his head on a swivel. He’s antsy when you’re shacked up together, rarely lingering in your room unless it’s to change or check on you.

You figure it’s his code of chivalry telling him to give you space. That, or he truly doesn’t know the meaning of rest.

“So you decided to tire yourself out with a game of cards?”

You nod, throat thickening. Study everything else but him, feeling like a scolded child. It sounds silly when it comes from him. Then again, everything you do sounds insignificant when uttered from those lips.

His mouth thins with consideration. He observes you for a beat longer. Takes in the burly travelers crowding around you at the table, the air dense with tension and the fading scent of petrichor.

Suddenly, a smirk pulls at his lips, and it’s like a bowstring snapping in twain.

“How can you expect to win anything with a hand like that?” Sylus taunts, plopping onto the bench beside you.

Your shoulders drop with relief, the pressure wrung from the dining hall like a wet towel. His thigh brushes yours, and your breath corks in your throat as heat enlivens your skin. Sylus feels it, too, stiffening on his journey to pluck your cards from your hands.

Something feels different tonight. Everything’s felt different lately, a spark of electricity gradually building into something more potent.

You regard each other with wary glances before you relinquish your cards to him to dispel the tension. He’s better at this game, anyway. Can scrounge up enough coin to have you boarding at inns for the remainder of your journey.

The strain abates, and you lapse into familiarity, laughing as the men groan, losing yet again to your sharp-witted friend.

You try to tune out the nagging voice at the base of your skull. The gnarl of your stomach as you study him and the easygoing curl of his lips, the strength of his hand holding the cards.

Something still finds its way to the surface to provoke you, irritation ghosting over your features as the moon pins itself to the center of the sky.

Why do you feel like you're about to lose something? Give something precious away?

#sylus x non mc reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus fluff #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #l&ds sylus #final fantasy inspired #monster hunter inspired #fantasy au #dark knight!sylus #musing

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vivs-fics · 10 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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thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch · 6 months ago

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Wishing On Golden Stars [FINAL]

Kamisato Ayato

k.ayato/fem!reader

genre: isekai, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, humor(?), series

chapter warning(s)!!!: ayato scolds you but thats really it!

chapter w.count: 3.7k

a/n: its finally here! the finale! let's give these fools a happy end, shall we?

When you wake up, it’s properly dark out. There's a cooling sensation on your forehead and you’re snug in a futon. A sense of deja vu washes over you as you hiss at the pounding in your head. At least whatever was on your head tried its best to stave off the headache. Not that its really working all that well.

There’s rustling to your side before the presence of something settles next to your laying form. You crack your eyes open and even though there’s only a few candles lit for visibility in the dark room, the light still makes you suck in a short breath. Electro currents really aren’t to be underestimated it would seem. The deja vu remains stuck to your mind as the cloudy visage of Ayato knelt in front of you clears up in your haze.

“Do you always make it a habit to stick around when I’m sleeping,” you slur, your voice coming back to you in groggy waves as you try and lighten the frown on his face. He sighs, his shoulders dropping as he places his head on top of the cool cloth on your forehead. Some of the water drips out of the edges of the fabric as he applies pressure.

He's changed into his night robes and he looks comfortable without all his layers and armored pieces on.

“Only when you make it a habit to worry me,” he counters with a bitter, unamused scoff. You let out a huff as you avert your eyes to the ceiling.

“It’s not like I try to.”

“Your track record of staying out of trouble fails to support your claim.” The rag of now lukewarm water that had been heated by both your skin and Ayato’s palm is lifted from your head. The remaining dampness feels sticky on your forehead as the air quickly begins to dry it. “Do you realize how reckless you can be?” His voice has a bite to it that you knew was coming. “Thoma sends you out on a brief errand and you do not return back home all day. Naturally, I would worry.” You don't watch him, but you can hear him dunk the rag back into water and wring the cloth out. “I go to retrieve you from whatever it was that was keeping you, and through various people’s testimonies, I found you outside Konda Village. That itself is not the issue, however.” The rag is placed gently back on your head, the action kind and delicate despite Ayato’s bitter tone. He was clearly upset. “Can you begin to understand the depths of my stomach when I saw you in the middle of a battle on the verge of unconsciousness because you were subjected to injuries?”

You finally turn your head and look at him. The look on his face is soaked deep in so many emotions. His eyes were scared, his lips snared in a frown, cheeks flushed in anger at the memory. Even his posture was rigid.

“That was you who showed up?” You knew it wasn’t Aether at the end of it all. Part of you was glad it was Ayato.

“It was,” he sighs. “Luckily for us both, Aether is more familiar with the Priestess of Sangonomiya Shrine than I. He was able to transport you to her for healing swiftly.” You open your mouth in awe. That would explain that even after being shocked with so much energy, all that ails you was a headache and minor pains. “I shall be in her debt for some time for her service.”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to place you into any difficult situations that could strain the Tri-commission and the previous rebellion leader.” Ayato says nothing and you’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “I’ll be sure to pay my respects and gratitude to Sangonomiya as soon as I can.” Still, he says nothing in return to your words. He must be angrier than you thought.

Silence swallows the dim room in a gloomy air. Ayato remains beside you, just staring out of the room’s window while you continue to stare at the ceiling between prolonged blinking. This was the last thing you needed to happen. Talking to Aether gave you the advice, courage and push you needed to come up with an answer to the one thing that had been plaguing you- that being Ayato’s feelings. Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at him.

Sitting there, he still looks so stupidly beautiful it was envy inducing. How this man saw anything desirable in you when he looks like he could sweep even a God off their feet with a single smile, you’re not sure. In the same breath though, it does inflate your ego to know one of the most powerful men in Inazuma has the hots for you. Then, you frown.

“Ayato,” you whisper, foregoing his title that has him humming towards your call without looking down at you. “I’m sorry.” His shoulders almost slump. “For worrying you.”

“Indeed. As you should be.” You almost pout. He could at least try and accept your apology. Still, you’re understanding and know where his emotions are coming from.

“You must’ve been scared,” you whisper. Afraid that you might be crossing a line in assuming his feelings. The man who had his childhood ripped away from him when his parents passed. The boy who had to grow up in the span of hours to even begin to know how to protect and raise his little sister. The boy who grew up into a man who was probably more lonely than he lets others know. Losing someone he’s confessed love to right in front of him? It must’ve been awful.

Ayato’s fists clench in his lap. You can see the tensing of his muscles going up his forearm in the corner of your eye. He takes a deep breath in, before holding it and letting it out harshly.

“Petrified.” His admittance was so quiet you could’ve confused it with the passing wind outside. It’s like your hazy vision clears perfectly when you see the way his face twitches. The Commissioner disappears, even if just for a moment, and all that you see before you is the man, Kamisato Ayato. Fitful, fearful, and so stupidly scared in love.

You spring up with strength you didn’t know you had in your limbs. The rag on your head flying off towards the foot of your futon. Ayato’s body jolts, shifting back away from your sudden movement. You ignore the dizziness in your head that threatens to push you back into the mattress as you swivel your body towards the pale haired man. Still, your brow twitched at the pang of pain that shoots through you like a current.

“Do not move like that!” Ayato scolds.

The Commissioner’s hands move from his lap to grasp onto your shoulders. Whether to steady you or push you back down to rest, you weren’t sure. Maybe both, maybe none; maybe it was just instinctual. Still, it was a chance.

Your hands shoot up, palms latching around his wrists to keep him anchored to you and once again Ayato is faced with your brute strength when he feels shackled onto your body. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation.

“Ayato!” You raise your voice firmly, once again dismissing his pedigree and refusing to collect it from the floor on which you throw the title. “I love you,” you boldly declare. You swear he blue screens. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me on the night of the meteor shower; like thinking about it a lot. I wanted to properly answer you, but you’re such an important person in Inazuma- I just needed a lot of time. Time and advice. Thoma and Ayaka were encouraging, but I needed someone like me to talk to. Someone not from Teyvat. Someone like Aether.”

Ayato watches as you talk and talk and pour your words out like some sort of unclogged drain. Words washing over him like a silken blanket that fell from Celestia, coating him in warmth.

You feel his arms twitch in your grasp, lifting from your shoulders and you panic. What if he’s changed his mind? What if you had caused him trouble enough times that he was over it?

“Wait-” you scramble when he manages to peel his wrists from your grip. Instead of standing up and leaving you alone on the floor, Ayato’s wrists twist so that he was the one now holding your hands.

His palms were warm. You could fully feel the difference of skin between the heel of his hand that was calloused from swordplay and the deep softness of the dip in his palm. His thumbs run across your knuckles as his hands encase yours.

“Relax,” he instructs and to your credit, you do try. Ayato can feel the slight tremor in your hands as he holds them. Feel the cool sensation of your nervous skin under his. See the stiff stature of your shoulders and the way your eyes panic at being left. The Yashiro Commissioner is the pro at reading facial and body ques, but even if your squirming is adorable, he won’t let you steep in disconcerting emotions right in front of him. Not right now. “I understand” -he brings your hands up to his chin, clutched fingers resting just under his bottom lip- “you don’t need to worry.”

“Do you really?” You press, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I do.”

“Ayato-” you’re sure you’re about to start rambling again, words so desperate crawling their way up your throat to explain yourself. Your actions. Your avoidance. And your feelings. All so he could understand crystal clear that how you feel isn’t just because he confessed to you. Or because he was a powerful figure.

These feelings aren’t being coerced out of you or being fabricated because he’s a man of power. You need to tell him that you’ve had these stupid feelings for him for so long- even before he was flesh in blood in front of you and just data inside a computer screen.

Ayato is a smart man. He knows. He knows what actions, feelings and emotions being pulled out of someone by force looks like. It looks nothing like your flustered expression and shaky hands and glassy eyes. You're being so genuinely cute he wants to combust.

Chuckling to himself, he sees your jaw drop again. Before anything comes out, he leans forward to place a kiss to your cheek, just below your eye on the apple of your face. He’s sure if you were to smile, he’d feel the skin push up against his lips.

Oh, he hopes he can experience that soon.

Backing away from your skin, Ayato stays within your breath. Hands still clasped gently- so delicately in his own- between you both.

“Calm down,” he almost teases you. He watches you take deep, unsteady breathes, and finds your obedience endearing. “Good,” he praises. His suave nature of the situation cracks after you collect yourself from word vomit central as he lets out a deep breath of his own. Letting his head slump down, he rests it on your shoulder. Face turned so his nose was ghosting against your neck. His fingers start tinkering and toying with yours like some sort of fidget toy.

Nothing else is said for the remainder of the night. Ayato ends up falling asleep on your shoulder and you take it upon yourself to lay your employer and potential lover down to avoid any neck strain. Taking your place back in your futon next to him, you make sure to keep a space between you both. When the sun rises and the air is new, you’d be able to talk things through properly.

When Ayato opens his eyes the next morning, the sun isn’t the golden color of dawn he’s used to seeing. It’s warm and yellow and from the ruckus outside the door sounds like late morning activities and chores being done. He’s on his back and he knows the ceiling he’s staring at, knowing the futon he’s half on and knows the warmth of the body next to him. Turning his head, he’s convinced that waking up to you is the only thing that he wants for the rest of his time on Teyvat. He’s seen you sleep and rest plenty of times, between being ill and being caught in the middle of battle (albeit the latter is a new experience he strongly dislikes), but this is different. It’s intimate.

Sitting up, he places one of his hands on your head, careful not to stir you and wake you from the rest he’s sure you need. Even if you didn’t need rest and were completely healthy, he’d be more than accepting if you wanted to spend all day in bed and forget your job completely. Of course, you’d probably just freak out realizing you slept in and hadn’t been earning your keep as part of the Kamisato staff.

Ayato wonders if you’d still want to be under his payroll if he’s to properly court you? Would that be too risqué? Pursuing a member of his own staff… or perhaps thrilling?

There's a soft knock on the door you both occupy and he knows that it could only be Thoma or his sister since this was his room after all. Ayato doesn’t let just anyone interrupt his business in his own personal quarters.

With his hand still gently playing with your head and twisting your hair around his fingers, he speaks quietly and allows the person entry. Thoma’s head popping in was no shock to the Commissioner. Walking fully past the threshold and into the room, Thoma shuts the door behind him. Giddy and pleased as punch, he sits himself down near his boss and friend.

“Thoma,” Ayato starts, forgoing any good morning pleasantries. “Would it be considered distasteful to announce y/n as my lover while also keeping them on staff?”

Instead of acting shocked or repulsed or even confused, the housekeeper cups his chin and closes his eyes as if in deep thought. He hums even, adding to Ayato’s glee.

“While I personally see no issues with it, others- especially outside of the Yashiro Commission and Kamisato Clan- could potentially see it as something… tacky.” Ayato joins in on Thoma’s air of serious thought.

“Yes, I could see how that could be taken by others. They could even try and slander y/n’s good name and hard work should I let my guard down.” Then, he scoffs; promptly dismissing the outside opinion entirely. “Pity I care not for public opinion on such important personal matters.” Ayato twists his torso so that he’s looking back down to your sleeping form. His hand moves from your head to your forehead. Finger tracing down the slope of your nose to push against your lips and trail from the corner of your mouth to your cheek and up and around your ear. If he was a blind man, he could still easily see your beauty this way.

Thoma clears his throat with a flushed face, feeling like he was suddenly intruding. “I’ll go and prepare something easy on the stomach for y/n to eat when she wakes up. Surely she’ll be hungry.”

“Yes,” Ayato nods, “see to it. After her situation yesterday, we’re not sure how well her stomach will be, so please be mindful with the selection. I shall also eat with her.” Thoma nods, already to standing back up and excusing himself.

Once alone again, Ayato lays himself back down on his side to just look at you. He’s not sure how much time passes or when your eyes open. Perhaps he zoned out, and just didn’t realize you were now awake looking back at him.

“You have a staring problem?” You ask him, groggy and cranky just as you always are when you first wake up. He chuckles, bringing a hand up to pinch at your cheek.

“Don’t be cheeky now,” he hums and you groan, swatting away his hand. He catches your assault and brings your knuckles to his lips, kissing each one delicately and individually. “Good morning.”

“Who’s being cheeky now,” you mutter but don’t move to pull away from him. Ayato’s exceptionally pleased as he sits up, pulling your arm so you join him. You slip your hand from his and stretch, looking outside and realize that you should probably get up. It hasn’t been that long since you recovered from being sick and now you’re back in bed? That can’t look good to the other staff members.

If you had said that out loud, Ayato would have snickered a cheeky ‘I knew it’ in your face at his initial assumption to the current time and your work.

“Thoma will be back shortly with something for us to eat,” Ayato tells you, seeing you start kicking the covers off your legs. “Stay until then.”

“I’m kind of sick of eating in bed like a patient. If I have to eat, I’d rather do so at a proper table.” You sigh. While what you say isn’t untrue, the real reason for you wanting to get up was to maybe get out of the futon and get some air. Ayato nods.

“I see.” He stands to his feet, his clothes that had been well slept in from the night well beyond wrinkled. “Just a moment,” he walks away from you and heads to a pair of sliding doors that reveal more clothes. During the moments he spends rummaging around, you finally realize where you were. Fanning your face, you look away as soon as he starts undressing into something not wrinkled and meant for sleeping. Maybe you could sneak out as he changed- so blatantly- in your presence with his back turned. Being in Ayato’s room made you feel woozy on top of everything else.

“I’m just going to-” You mutter to yourself, pushing the futon cover off your legs fully. Before you could even get into a position to get up, Ayato’s voice stops you.

“Stay put.” Looking over your shoulder, he’s not even looking towards you. A new shirt on his torso and fussing with the tassels that hang over his shoulders. You conceded almost immediately, deflating back onto the futon. He struts over once presentable, bends to grab your arm and trail his hand down it to grab your hand before lifting you to your feet. “Now, we can leave.” Ayato leaves his room with you tethered and pulled along by him.

You pass Thoma with a tray of food set for two and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at your expense. Everyone who’s within the path is obviously staring at the Kamisato Clan head guiding you through the halls by your hand and the attention makes you squirm and heat up. Clearly, it must be entertaining.

“Thoma, we’ve decided to eat in a proper setting.”

“Of course!” He’s well ahead of the game and shifts gears to lead you both to the dining room. Ayaka hears rumor of Ayato’s hand holding scene and rushes- as dignified as possible- to join the fun.

The day goes by in a blur. You’re returned to work, under the strict supervision of Thoma, while the two siblings huddled together in hushed giggles and schemes you were sure is just more trouble. Every time Ayato spied you in the halls or out in the yard, he would come trotting over unrestrained. Saying something quick to you before taking your hand, squeezing it and letting it go. Ayaka shot you giddy looks at any chance she got and Thoma... kept his mouth shut. Mostly because he was the only one who you would probably get away with smacking if it came down to it.

When night falls, before turning in for bed, you had changed into your night clothes before deciding one more task needed to be done. It wasn’t for you, or maybe it wasn’t even that important, but for Ayato’s sake you wanted to try and ease his worries. You knocked on his door, cradling something in your hand when he slides his doors open to come face to face with you.

“Y/n,” he smiles. “What brings you here?”

“Hold out your hands,” your face was hot. Why was this so embarrassing? He does as you say, holding out a single, empty palm. You place what you had into his.

“A handkerchief?” He questions. Was this a custom from your world maybe? He takes the folded cloth and starts unfolding it before his eyes widen at what was being held inside of it.

“You can keep that. It’s” -you wring your hands- “It’s hard to explain, but I think this is part of the reason I found myself in Inazuma. Maybe if you keep it with you, you’ll feel better about things.” Ayato’s free hand comes to grab the small, circular piece of purple and blue twined bead-sized ball. It felt light like candy and reminded him of the stars the night before he met you.

It was the very same item he somehow knew you had in your pocket when he saw you in the Tenryou prison cell for the first time. “I don’t have all the answers on how I got here, or why. And I can’t make any promises that I won’t end up… leaving..?” You scrounge around for more reassuring words but fall short. “For what it’s worth though, I want to stay. Here. With you.”

Ayato’s hand curls around the piece of fate and brings his fist up to his lips. Smiling with his eyes, crows feet crinkle his skin. He grabs your wrist and drags you into his room for the second night in a row, sliding the door shut at your back. The candle he has lit is soon extinguished afterwards and you don’t come back out.

It took all of one, simple day for rumors to run around the estate, and even beyond its walls, that Kamisato Ayato had finally shown romantic interest in someone. Rumored still that the person he’s supposedly now courting is not only someone he picked up from a prison cell years ago and not from Inazuma, but is one kept on his payroll.

None of that mattered though. Not when he’s able to look up and watch the next meteor shower with you, holding your hand instead of worrying you’d fly away with them at the end of it all. That’s all he wants; you, safe and happy with him in his home with his family.

And Kamisato Ayato usually gets what he wants.

-END-

a/n pt.2: if you've decided to take the time to read through 9 parts of an insanely messy ayato fanfiction, words can't describe my appreciation! i worked pretty hard on this series and seeing it come to an end makes me feel satisfied. It's not the most popular by far, but its finished and for those who read it- i thank you from the bottom of my heart <3

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#ayato x reader #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato fluff #ayato angst #ayato comfort #ayato hurt/comfort #ayato x y/n #ayato x you #kamisato ayato #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x y/n #kamisato ayato x you #ayato series #genshin impact ayato #genshin impact kamisato ayato #ayato kamisato

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tangerineliqu0r · 5 months ago

Text

Trust Me

(Sauron/Annatar x reader)

You, an old friend of Celebrimbor, work on tending his forge. You don't trust his new ally, Annatar. He decides to make you trust him in one way or another.

if you prefer reading on ao3

Warnings: smut (p in v, choking, bathtub), manipulation bc its Annatar, dubious consent maybe?, death threats that neither of them know if they're keeping, they hate each other, even if he keeps a good guise

As you pause in your work, your lithe fingers brush fallen strands of hair from your damp forehead. Lord Celebrimbor had been working tirelessly, perhaps even maddeningly, as of late. Since Lord Annatar had come to stay in Eregion, Lord Celebrimbor had worked with a fervor you had not seen from him in ages. And with his renewed vigor came the necessity of your service.

You, an old friend of Lord Celebrimbor, had been called to assist in the forge many years ago, and with the arrival of Lord Annatar, he had called on you once again. You had answered, fetching him the supplies he needed, cleaning the forge, and primarily ensuring the coals were ever burning.

Now, your brow was heavy with sweat as you shoveled the still-burning coals in the fire, turning them to the back so that you could add more. Lord Celebrimbor had long retired, as had any of the smiths in his service. Any disturbances in the forge were ignored by you as you focused on your sole task of making sure the forge would burn increasingly hot when Lord Celebrimbor returned.

Your sensitive ears failed to recognize the door opening nor the quiet footsteps entering the forge as you continued to push your muscles to their limit, your arms burning from the effort or the flames, you were not sure which.

“My Lady, I did not know you worked so late into the night.” The refined words of Lord Annatar reach your ears.

You’re startled by his voice, though it does not show as you continue your work and respond over the roaring fire you have painstakingly built up.

“The fire must be tended, my Lord Annatar.” You speak loud and clear, working to push another shovel of coal into the forge.

A hand on your shoulder does visibly startle you though, and your shovel clangs against the forge as your hands slip down the handle. Your head whips around to face the Lord, though your face remains composed.

“How may I assist you my Lord?” Your gaze finds his and your voice, though hesitant is firm.

You search his face for some sign of malign, though you find nothing within his perfectly crafted composure. While Celebrimbor had graciously welcomed this servant of the Valar, you had not accepted him as readily. You had warned your friend against him even, his crafted visage and ambition raising your hackles.

“I only wished to speak with you, if you can abandon the flames for a moment.” He speaks with a gentle smile, one you had come to mistrust.

Your gaze flickers to the forge, where you and he knew the flames had reached an appropriate height already. His careful choice of words, something to pry you from your work, had already dragged your defensive walls up again. You did not trust the Lord of Gifts, no matter Lord Celebrimbor’s rapid acceptance of him.

You set your shovel down with little sound and a nod before following the Lord away from the fire. As he reached a workbench and sat, you begrudgingly did as well. Despite your mistrust of the man you did not wish for him to turn any ire to you, for fear of being expelled from the forge and thus separated further from your dear friend Lord Celebrimbor. You wished not to abandon him to this shrouded man’s hands and whims.

As you sit your muscles ache, yet ever weary of his presence your gaze lands on his face, his expression unreadable, despite your searching.

“I wished to inquire of our dear friend, Lord Celebrimbor. He seems rather frantic as of late, unsteady,” he inquires gently. His tone is smooth and kind, but your hackles are already raised from being alone in such close quarters with him, someone you believed to be manipulating your friend.

You cannot help the narrowing of your eyes on him. “I assure you, our friend is quite well. He only immerses himself in his work.”

A gentle hum leaves the man’s lips and he looks deep in thought for a moment. You cannot help but think it a ruse, a trick of some sort. Why was he suddenly asking you about Lord Celebrimbor? He had never sought you out before in this manner, and it worried you. You were fearful for your friend despite what you told Lord Annatar. He would not have approached you had he not sensed your mistrust. You were sure he was trying to weasel his way into your graces through some mock care for your friend.

“I only wondered if you had any insight into his state of mind, as you and he have been close friends for some time.” Lord Annatar smiles and speaks in a way you’re sure is meant to be reassuring, comforting even, but all it does is make the hair on your arms stand up.

You sigh and shake your head, “Celebrimbor will drown himself in this work before he sees it fail. And the two of you have begun the arduous task of crafting these rings. The fire of this forge has burned hotter in his time with you than it has in many a year,” you reply, your voice as tired as you look.

He inclines his head, much like a dog you think. “And how do you fare, my Lady?”

You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms, looking at him as if trying to read a language you do not speak, confusion and wariness etched across your tired features.

“I am well, I am glad my friend has rekindled his passion again,” you cautiously speak, unwilling to reveal any of your true thoughts to Annatar still. You knew he was not to be trusted, despite your lack of evidence.

You see him open his mouth as if to speak some other falsely kind words, intending to enchant you to him as he has done all the others in Eregion, but you cut him off.

“I’m afraid it is time for me to retire, my Lord, I have grown weary from my work.”

With a stiff bow and one last glance at his disguised face, you leave. Your feet carry you to the bathhouse, eager to wash the soot from your weary body. You longed for nothing more than to be finished with the crafting of the rings, though now the only thing on your mind was submerging your aching muscles in the steamy waters.

No sooner had you entered the bathhouse, had you stripped bare of your clothes and sunk into the hot water.

Your long hair pooled in the water and you submerged yourself before resting your head back and closing your eyes, intent on enjoying the scalding water for as long as your skin could endure it. Your thoughts of Celebrimbor and the rings and Lord Annatar begin to drift into nothingness as the hot steam invades your senses. The heat did nothing to deter you; your body was used to the high temperatures from tending the forge, your arms and hands already scarred with burns. You knew not how long you laid like that, the haze of the heat blurring your senses and emptying your mind.

The contact of a hand on your bare hot shoulder sent water splashing as you sat up. The hand did not attempt to hold you in place, though and you spun around in the water to confront the person disturbing you. Lord Annatar.

“I’m sorry to disturb you my Lady. It is not safe to sleep in the baths, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Annatar chided with a teasing lilt.

You are quiet for a beat, as your eyes are quickly distracted by the way he seems to be removing his robes. He was not here to bathe, surely. He was sure to have a personal bath in his rooms. And here you were, naked, your guard down. You were sure he had done this on purpose, followed you, and waited for the right time to intrude, seeking to entrap you as he had everyone else.

“I was not sleeping my Lord, just relaxing in the bath, alone.” Your voice comes out angrier than you intended, your last word little more than a hiss.

You do not avert your eyes as he continues to disrobe, instead scrutinizing him as though it will deter the man. Your eyes follow the hard planes of his body. Despite your mistrust, a man built as he was must have been sent by the Valar. Your cheeks burn a shameful pink, though you do not drag your eyes away as he continues to undress.

“Do you not have a personal bath within your rooms? I’m sure Lord Celebrimbor would not let an emissary of the Valar sully himself with the waters of a public bathhouse.” You’re almost shocked by more words snaking out of your lips. You’re more than sure that your own kind façade has been burnt away by the steam.

“I do not mind.” His voice is too kind to be trusted and before you can respond he is discarding the last of his clothes. You let your eyes trail over him, intent on running him off, and despite it he is slinking into the water, close enough to reach out and grasp your shoulder again, should he wish to.

Your sigh is heavy but you do not grant him any more words, instead returning to resting your head back, as if to show him that his unwelcome presence will not disturb you. Your brow is damp, and your throat bobs as you rest.

The bath is quiet, except for the sound of yours and now his breaths and the occasional splash as he submerges himself.

“You do not trust me.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and the honey-sweet tenor of his voice makes your skin crawl.

You crack open an eye to look at him. He had moved much closer, too close now, and his amber eyes were trained on you. They did not linger on your eyes though. They skirted down your face and neck, under the clear waters of the bath, and down your form. While you were unnerved by his unabashed staring, you did not let it silence you.

“You have done nothing to earn it.” Your voice is stiff and your words catch in your throat as you close your eyes again. You would not let him charm nor scare you into being his ally.

“Have I not given your friend a newfound purpose?” You can feel his breath on your face as he speaks his voice full of conviction, almost accusatory. “Have I not brought such vigor into him as of late?”

Your eyes snap open and you gasp in both shock and perhaps pain, when one of his hands finds purchase in your long hair, grasping at it tightly as he continues to speak, the other winding around your jaw.

“What have I done to deserve such ire from you, my Lady?” Your gasp is shamefully loud this time as his breath fans across your pointed ear.

“My Lord-” your voice is pitched up and you attempt to move against his hold, “Release me, at once!”

You can feel his lips on your ear when he speaks this time, “I will do no such thing unless you can dignify me with an explanation.”

After a beat of silence, you feel his tongue slipping up the point of your ear, unfortunately setting your skin ablaze and drawing yet another heady gasp from your lips.

“I-” You cannot give him a reasonable response. There is no response you can justify that does not make you seem mad.

It was not entirely unexpected when his soft lips close around the point of your ear and his teeth nip at it, though it does force a slight moan out of your lips.

The grip on your jaw is released and replaced by his lips, painting you with searing kisses “I have done only good in my time here, gifting your people with such power.”

“You- you-” You cannot get your voice to work, his rough grip on your hair and the unrelenting press of his lips muddling your mind.

He draws back, this time moving his spare hand to your throat, wrenching your head as if to force you to look at him and speak. “Go on, my Lady.” His voice is teasing and sinister, and you know now that you have no chance of escaping his ire.

Your narrowed eyes meet his and find some trace of amusement, at the way he had been able to manipulate you already.

“You are not who you say you are. I- know it.” His tight grip on your throat makes it near impossible to grate your words out. “You are using Lord Celebrimbor- though I cannot say what for.”

At your words, you see an expression other than amusement or false nicety dance across his face for a moment, an expression mirroring your own, distrust.

“Am I?” He questions, in a way that makes you question yourself. Is he? Were you wrong? Was this charming man truly that and all he said he was?

Any response you may have had is swallowed by his lips as he kisses you, his hand tightening further around your throat. You’re sure there will be bruises if he doesn’t drown you in the baths. His lips are blazing against your own as he bites your lips forcing you to open your mouth and let his scorching tongue lap against your own.

And you do the only thing you know to do, return in kind. Your own teeth bite, not nip, at his lips as you kiss, and he strangles the life out of you. You’re not sure when he released his grip on your hair, but it doesn’t matter anymore as you begin to see dark spots in your vision and realize slowly that you cannot draw breath, be it from his hand or his lips.

He pulls back when you draw blood from his bottom lip, releasing your throat and eyeing you venomously. Finally, you had stripped him of the false mask he wore so often.

“Must you be so unwilling to accept the gifts I have brought Lord Celebrimbor? And you in turn?”

You draw a shaking gasp, fighting to draw in the breath you had been so brusquely deprived of.

“Will you not let me earn your trust, my lady?” His voice was honeyed again, and the contrast made your head spin.

“Earn my trust? I would sooner be drowned in these baths.” You hiss at him, an intoxicating amount of fear, anger, and arousal bubbling in your stomach.

“That can be arranged, sweetling. Though I think you’ll find letting me earn your trust much more pleasurable.” His silky words are combined with a disarmingly cunning face and you cannot help but scoff in response, the water splashing as you move further away from him.

“Though-” he trails off for a moment a smirk painting his face, “I think you forget about your dear friend. If I am as sinister as you imply, should you truly wish to leave him alone with me?”

Your eyes scan his face, which is easily composed into a kinder look as you study him.

You weigh your options. Despite your experience in battle and your hardened muscles, you could not overpower him, that had been made clear enough to you. He would drown you in this very bath should he wish to. And Lord Celebrimbor, your trusting fool of a friend, would be left to deal with the dark man on his own. The other option was to let him earn your trust. If his actions had been any indication as to how he would do so, he would defile you most pleasingly.

“Earn your trust then, though do not think it will be easy.” Your voice is ice, despite the heat of the baths. You wonder if the heat was getting to your head, driving you mad.

“I would expect not,” and there that smirk was again. This time he seemed rather pleased though.

You had no time to respond before he was upon you again, his hand finding your throat again and hauling you close to him. Your back was pressed against his damp chest and he used the hand on your throat to wrench your head to the side, teeth going to your ever-sensitive ear again.

You kept your mouth shut, though your eyes rolled back in barely restrained pleasure as he nipped and tongued at the tip. You were going mad, you were sure of it now. He was all fire, and it was surely going to your head, melting away any semblance of reason.

His free hand dipped below the water and found your breasts. His almost gentle touches there were a sharp contrast to the way he handled your throat. You could not help the way you squeezed your thighs together in response. A gasp is finally torn from your lips as he quirks your stiff nipples and runs his hot tongue over the tip of your ear again. Your own body seemed to want nothing more than to betray the mistrust you held for him.

When his hand leaves your breasts and skirts down your stomach to your cunt, any resignation or protest dies on your lips. You arch your back into him needily, pressing your ass into his hard cock and squirming against him as his fingertips ghost over your inner thigh. His tantalizing fingers map your hips and thighs twice over before he ghosts over your cunt, barely touching you.

A needy whine slips out of your lips, the loudest sound you’ve made thus far, and a chuckle leaves his venomous lips, taunting you.

“Now mellon nin, I thought you promised a challenge?” That false kindness is ever present, despite the teasing tone he has taken with you and you despise it. Despite your resolve, you cannot find any words to answer him with, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

This seems to have spurred him on though and his grip on your throat tightens as he taunts you.

“I want to hear you beg mellon. Trust me and I will give you release, that I can promise.” His words were some mixture of sweetness and cunning, and it disarmed you. You finally understood how Lord Celebrimbor had fallen so easily into his clutches. His taunts remind you of the situation and against your better judgment, you begin to fight against his hold once more, struggling against his grasp on you. However, the more you fought, the tighter his grasp on your throat became.

Too fast, using the threatening hand on your throat, he has spun you around to face him, leaving your thighs bracketing his. “Beg. I want to hear your pretty voice.” He was back to cunning again, and his lips nearly brushed yours as he spoke, breathing the words onto your lips. His amber eyes bore into your own, and you could not help but feel that you must obey him. Your resolve is weakened further, and you find the words slipping through your lips before you can do otherwise.

“Please, my Lord Annatar. Please. I trust you. Please.” Your eyes are glassy with need and your words come out more of a desperate gasp than coherence. Your composure had been lost somewhere in his grasp.

The hand that has been firmly wrapped around your throat for too long skates up the side of your face to stroke your cheek, almost kindly, and you preen. Your mind is hazy with want and the heat from the bath, and you cannot make sense of your own actions or words anymore. Leaning into his touch, you tuned out the part of your mind that willed you not to trust him, the part that screamed he was dangerous.

His hands wind down your body again. This time to grip your hips and begin to guide you down on his cock. You let out another needy whine and begin to beg without his prompting. You knew not if your actions were out of fear or need anymore.

“Please, please, my lord. Fill me, please. I need- please,” you gasp out your voice barely over a whisper.

And when he thrusts up into you fully, your head falls back in ecstasy and you moan loud and intoxicating. He lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding and your hands go to his shoulders to steady yourself.

He gives you a moment, searching your eyes for pain before that dreadful hand wraps back around your throat and drags you to his lips for a scorching kiss. You focus on riding him, too drunk on the fullness of his cock to care about properness or your resolve anymore. He bites your lips and kisses you while fucking up into your willing cunt. You try to continue to match his pace but your muddled mind cannot keep up to control your body.

Despite you riding him, you knew who was in control really. He had maintained his composure so well and he was manipulating you as if you were some metal in the forge. His free hand slipped between the two of you and began to touch your clit for the first time. It only takes a few rough circles of his fingers before you’re gasping into his mouth and squeezing his cock like a vice.

You were almost ashamed at how fast you’d fallen apart at his touch, a man you had readily expressed your mistrust for time and time again. You hated him, that was certain, though your body wasn’t on the same page as you trembled around him.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you? So pliable. So trusting.” You barely hear the words as you rest your head on his shoulder, whining as he refuses to let up with either his finger or his cock. His pace was brutal, his cock stretching your needy cunt with each rough thrust of his hips.

“Annatar, please. Please. Please.” Tears have begun to trickle down your cheeks as he continues to rub the swollen bud and pound into you with the fervor of a beast.

He does not relent. Instead, increasing his pace. Your pleas have become sobs as you clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin and clutching at his honey-colored hair. He who has been mostly quiet save a few groans begins to moan into your ear. You know he’s getting close when his fingers stutter on your clit, losing their rhythm a bit. It’s not enough to stop another release being dragged from your needy body though and you cry out, cunt clenching tightly around his cock as you cum again. Your legs tremble and you sob into his shoulder as you ride it out, his punishing fingers never relenting.

With a few more brutally hard thrusts up into you, he moans, loud and long, and spills inside you, continuing to pump his seed deep into your cunt as he finishes. His breaths are hard, though he doesn’t slip out of you yet. Instead, he raises his head to look at you. His amber eyes burn as though they were the heart of the forge. And you, your judgment clouded by your still trembling body and the heat, kiss him. You’re gentle, seeking some reprieve from the punishing way he’d been fucking you and choking you. Your tears paint his cheeks but you do not care now.

“So sweet. So pretty the way you fall apart.” His voice is broken by his pants though it is no less charming.

He doesn’t move for a moment, just looking at you in that calculating, cunning way he does. Your face is tear-streaked and flushed, your eyes glassy, and you rest your head on his shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing in you, almost a threat, almost a promise. His hand finds your throat again, gently this time, as he makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Have I earned your trust now mellon nin?” That disguised, honeyed voice is back and plying you.

#annatar x reader #annatar smut #rings of power #lotr #smut #sauron x reader #sauron smut

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lovesickeros · 2 years ago

Text

☆ 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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howlingday · 9 months 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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