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s-4pphics · 8 months ago

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soul ties. part I (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: a product of brokenness. WORD COUNT: 13.4K WARNINGS: ellie’s a painter/art dealer, heavy angst[oc is suicidal and has dissociative episodes + abusive parents/SEXUAL ABUSE(nothing explicitly written but aluded to) + patriarchy/men being predatory/traditionalist households + mentions of cheating + alcoholism + disordered eating/self-harm(cuticle picking) + thoughts of murder + mommy issues/daddy issues + parental grief + homophobia + more patriarchy but with dykes + unhealthy relationships with sex(coping) + brief mention of masturbation + sexual tension + making out + fondling + slapping + DUBCON + just matching freaks to avoid trauma], miscommunication, just 2 socially inept crash outs lol A/N: hellloo lol. fixed plot bc im venting… s been a very rough few months. i was convinced i lost my very acute skill so uhhh consider this a test. uhh what else… idk when i’ll be back bc im now a piano player #NEWFOUNDESCAPISM LOL. suggestion: this technically could b read alone but if u care ab context read this first. then this. that is all LOL byeee :p hi taggies we back: @dyk3ang3l @acidblum @mellifluousgirll @elliesatchel @callmewhenyoukan @natgf123 @elliesstella @spaceforescape @floridaopal @lonelyfooryouonly @ellies-converse @amiorca @darkerstarsstuff

fuck the bitch that made this game. dont buy his shit.

aid links from my inbox: one, two, three, four

What to do, what to do…

Ellie is a wreck. An agitated, craving, mess.

What to do… Love your wife, fuck the daylights out of your wife, kill your wife before she kills you… What to do…

It can’t be that hard to hide a body. Is it still murder if it’s self-defense? Ellie’s sure the next bath you run for her will either be filled with bleach or result in her being forced underwater until she’s lifeless. There are lots of people willing to get their hands dirty for her if that’s the case. Not a trace of you or her would be left and she’d finally be able to escape with only the clothes on her back. The weightlessness in her pockets wouldn’t move her in any way. Nothing compares to freedom. What a suffocating life she lives.

The guest room mattress becomes less and less plush every time she lays in it. The sheets are itchier and cold and she’s stuck pondering with each swirl of the ceiling fan, wet hair wrapped in a bath towel; restless, fidgety, and honey-like ache in the pit of her stomach, mind warped with lecherous thoughts of her wife that she despises but not as much, her supposed life partner and fuck, how did you two get here…

Stuck with a tension so thick it permeates your home; if you’d even call it that. You’re both successfully trapped between your own walls; Elegant windows take the place of rusted, metal bars that confine you from the life you both dreamed of before all this; one soft and doting and colorful, one where your light isn’t dulled.

Why does she feel so guilty, suddenly? You’re not lovers, and neither in love, so why does her chest ache with every glance she steals when you’re unassuming? The pain that’s always etched on your face, and if not, in your eyes — fills her with regret. She would abandon you for days — weeks at a time, not at all concerned about what you might be experiencing to rid herself of shame. And to think that you were merely a younger version of your mother; villainous and cruel and greedy when… when you’ve barely spoken. She finds herself, unfortunately, reminiscing on how bushy-tailed you were after marriage. So eager to please and prick her mind and annoyingly mechanical. You cooked at the same time everyday. Cleaned, did both your laundry, sunbathed, swam in your pool. She hated how rehearsed your lifestyle was; it reminds her of the worst parts of her childhood. When her mother was alive. So, Ellie chose to step out on you the second you took her last name; ravaged other women, released her anger and desires on strangers when she should’ve had you beneath, above, on your knees for her. Where has that craving to harm you gone? For months, she’s ached for your suffering to mirror hers, but now… What’s happening to her? What’s happened to you?

Ellie believes you’ve lost it, and somehow she’s found herself chasing that unforeseen part of you; unfiltered and angry and wild. This manufactured doll your mother molded you into is shattering at the core and Ellie craves to see more of you. Guilty. As hurt as you were, that night was the most alive she’s seen you be. You shouted and cried and tore at the seams, desperate for someone to hear you, and Ellie did. Loud and clear. She saw you for what you are. Mangled from the inside out, entirely hopeless. Just like she is. An unspeakable link that binds the two of you.

Soul ties.

She shook and pleaded for you to enter the bathroom and see her battered against the shower wall with a hand between her legs and your name dripping from her lips, but the knob never twisted. Her orgasms were unsatisfactory, and she accepted with irritation that it was because you weren’t there. She ignored the throbbing between her legs and vacated the bathroom. Ellie, with legs that trembled, found you wrapped in satin and snoring. They sounded like whistles.

She stood for a while, just watching you twitch and wiggle in your rest, eyes glazing to the space beside you that could easily fit another body. The sheets are already warm from where you lay. The two of you have never slept in the same room, let alone bed.

Her feet carried her out. Silently left the room with an unfamiliar ache in her chest.

Her mind made an enemy out of you because that’s what you are. When she thought her life couldn’t get any worse, you appeared and destroyed everything in her path. Left her world in ruins. Disrupted her pattern. You’re an enemy and deserve to hurt.

Aren’t you? Don’t you?

Everything is unclear. Ellie hasn’t been this conflicted since she was 15. She wishes she could sleep forever so she wouldn’t be forced to think.

If she had any sense left, she would paint her agony away. In the past, her mind would shut down with every splash of color on a canvas to compensate for the darkness that conjured in her mind. She refrains from that now, though. She’s horny; scared she’ll start imagining what your pussy looks like and sketch it all over the bedroom walls. That’d be too much; a boundary that will remain untouched.

But her brain knows she’s not a good person; she can’t help but imagine how gorgeous your pussy is because you are and she’s known that since the beginning, the second she saw you drenched in white. Drenched in sorrow.

She clutches your wedding band in her palm.

What to do… what to do…

Birds are artists.

They never fail to sing every morning; sonnets aimed to awaken life as sun rays spill from behind mountains. You've always appreciated their tunes whenever you were pulled from a hollow rest, no longer surrounded by darkness.

Maybe it was the routine your mother set for you from young. You were 9 when she first coddled your drowsiness as she shook you awake at five in the morning; the early bird catches the worm, a saying you naively assumed as preparation for the day, for your homeschooling. An energy booster, possibly. Motivation. Something to get you through.

How stupid could a child be?

You were 12 when your cycle started. You were 12 when you realized that your mother never envisioned actual birds and worms like you had. Your mother has games she plays and she cheats. She’s had you on a leash for the past decade; the scars around your neck are forever a reminder of the hell you’ve endured under her hand. It took no effort on her part to be uncaring of your suffering, and somehow that aches more than anything else.

Even more than the existence of him. A demon walking.

Animals aren’t like your family. Birds aren’t. The minute specks of sunlight begin, their job starts, and they complete it happily without compensation or praise or the slightest acknowledgment. Everyone wakes, and they fly to anywhere to wake the next.

But wealth is dirty. Wealth makes people dirty. They swindler and lie and experience life with a vacancy that’ll never be filled with anything but greed. Your mother trained you for years to accept whatever was given as long as you were taken care of. Play your part, she’d say. It took you years to learn her strategy — and unlearn yourself — but you’re here. Married. Successful by association. Rich. Unhappy. Unloved.

Birds guided you. They never shy from their duty, and you hadn’t either…

But you’re human. You crack and cry and scream and you hate. You despise so strongly that you lash out and everything in your path becomes victimized. Sometimes it gets to a point where you crave blood. You want to drown in it, drink it until you’re sick. Your soul is dead. Everyones’ should die with yours.

You don’t know who should go first. Your mother, your stepfather, or your wife.

You want to swallow Ellie whole—

“Good morning.”

You’ve never seen Ellie not dolled up. She clearly just awakened with her wrinkled MILFS ONLY shirt and sporadic hair. Timidity doesn’t suit Ellie. You're so used to seeing her exasperated. Her weary eyes don’t meet yours. You should tell her your plans to adopt a hummingbird. Or maybe you shouldn’t. She might laugh at you.

“Hello.”

“… Hi.” She seems like she wants to say something. You sip your coffee.

“My dad called.”

You hum around the rim of your mug. “Woke you up?”

She merely shrugs. “I uh… did anyone tell you about tomorrow?”

“Of course not.”

You don’t expect Ellie to flinch at your tone. You weren’t that sharp, were you?

You might’ve been because she slows her speech. Like she’s approaching a wounded animal, “Dad’s hosting a dinner. Corporate bullshit but we have to go.”

“Why.”

She squints at you. “Why what.”

“Why do we have to go.” Your mug lands on the table harder than expected.

“To make mommy and daddy look good.” She sneers while approaching her seat, “Did you forget?”

“I just thought they wouldn’t want two dykes contaminating their spaces anymore.”

Ellie snorts. “They don’t. Companies do. Gets their cocks hard. Two gay daughters, how progressive!” She mocks and plops on the chair directly across from you, wiping at her eyes. Your throat dries when you notice her wedding band. She hardly ever wears it. You don’t know where you left yours. Since when does she care to wear it? “They’ll do anything they can to get on their good side. They’re… merging organizations or whatever the fuck he said.”

She swallows. Shrugs uncaringly, “We going?” Her eyes watch your hands squeeze your mug.

“Are we.”

She regards your cup with caution. Does she think you’ll throw it? The thought nearly makes you laugh.

“Yes.” She answers.

“Okay.”

Your wife finally looks up and stands, nose upturned, “Okay? That’s all you got?”

“Yes. Okay.” You sip silently. Your foot taps on hardwood.

“Excited to see your family? You like ‘em now?”

Excited is laughable.

“No, I don’t.”

The sudden calamity from your wife confuses you. She tugs at the strands that flop on her head in agitation. They look soft as they bounce with her pacing. You’ll never feel them. Or you might later. Who knows with her. Who knows with you.

Ellie’s still talking. Her arms flail like she’s annoyed by you. You’re not sure why. You’re following. You’re allowing her to guide. To control. That’s the entire point of this. That’s why you’re going to dinner with her. She told you to go and that’s it.

Play your part play your part play yo—

You don’t remember much of anything; the past, the present, but you recall what Ellie sounds like when she’s angry, whether it’s at you, her father, the woman her father is fucking or married to or whatever. If you’d listen, you’ll discover what ticked her off, but your ears ring too loud. Much louder than her screaming.

You sip your coffee silently. Ellie leaves you at the dining table with a slam of a door.

You think it’s the first floor’s guest room.

The sun sets. Ellie can’t remember the last time she’s been home this long.

She hates the weekends. The gallery is never open and she can’t drown herself in deals. She hates being home when you are. Why the fuck are you always here? You don’t have friends, a job, a life outside of this goddamn house? There’s a sinking in her stomach at the thought of your isolation, but she ignores it. Tries to ignore it.

… Can’t really ignore it. How pestering. You’re a pest.

She knows nothing about you, only bits of your past expressed through photographs at your mother’s or outbursts in your bedroom. Your stepfather is fucking creepy and your mother’s glare is killer, but that’s about it. Still, she doesn’t think she can hate your parents more than you.

You’re so fucking weird. Just like them. Unforgiving and unchaste one day then apathetic the next. How the fuck can one communicate with a person like that?

That feeling in her chest again. Sharp and annoying. Try try try, it says. Begs from her.

Try and do what? Do fucking what—

It took Ellie 3 seconds to unlock the guest room door and fly down the stairs when a crash rings from the first floor. Glass clatters and you sound in pain and oh fuck did someone break in

There’s red all over the kitchen floor but it’s not blood it’s red wine. Red wine red wine it’s not blood—

You’re on the kitchen floor surrounded by green shards and dressed so pretty. Hair coiled and free and your face is done up and you’re wearing flowers. There’s flowers all over and your skin shines and why do you have heels on like a play doll?

Ellie palms at the scattered racing of her heart. Everything’s fine, her brain blares, She tripped, that’s it. Clears her throat. Rustles her hair to appear normal.

She’s not dead.

“… You good?”

An unsteady hand rises to throw her a thumbs up. Your body wobbles when you attempt to stand. Ellie ushers to the counter to slide on her slippers, tells you to stop when your palm nearly plants on a shard.

“Move back before you hurt yourself.” Ellie takes a quick lap around the kitchen for the broom and dustpan. Finds you just as quickly so you don’t accidentally slice an artery.

Your lashes flutter and her heart follows suit, taking in the mess. “I think I fucked up.” You croak.

Hearing you curse is always odd. She huffs, “It’s fine. Can you stand?”

Your head shakes and your bottom lip juts. “My… my shoes…”

You slowly plop onto your bottom and rest your back against the dishwasher. You struggle to grip your buckles to pull and slide the strap and Ellie remembers why she hates heels. She sweeps the glass away from you and realizes she should’ve mopped first because the bristles are soaked and streaking the clean parts of the crystal porcelain. When was the last time she cleaned? The maids always do. Sometimes you help.

You look stunned when Ellie moves to squat in front of you. Jumps back when she adjusts your ankle.

Her palms hang in surrender, “I’m gonna help you. Relax. Do your knees hurt?”

You landed right on them. They should. You don’t disarm, eyes guarded and body locked tight, but you shrug. It’s good enough for Ellie.

She unravels the buckles around both your ankles and tosses them next to you and you just watch. Ellie’s glances are quick and flitting, but she follows the traces of her hands; the sharp inhales whenever her fingers brush against the skin of your leg. You’re not as close as you were last night but she can smell you. Her chest is throbbing. You look like you’re about to cry but you’re drunk. It’s meaningless. Drunk people cry.

Try try try try

“Can you stand now?” She croaks.

It takes a second for you to register her inquiry, but you shrug, and she sighs. When Ellie stands, both her hands extend out to you, but you don’t accept them; She gets jittery under your scrutinizing gaze after nearly a minute passes. Her throat dries and her face burns when you brush her hands away; standing on your own is an unstable journey, but you do, back against the counter to stabilize yourself. You look ill. Your brain must be jumbled.

“Can you get upstairs on your own?”

“You talk a fucking lot. Shut up.”

The corner of Ellie’s mouth rises, but she says nothing. Gives you space to move.

You take one step, then two more, then your eyes shut and your throat jumps. Uh oh.

“Oh shit, come—“

Ellie guides you to the garbage can near the front of the counter, away from the glass, and you dry heave. Liquid splatters inside the can and Ellie hates this so fucking much. The sounds are enough to make her own stomach lurch. It’s been a while since she’s been around someone this drunk.

But she holds your waist so you don’t faceplant into your own vomit.

“Get it out,” She hums with a grimace, “You’re fine.” An I gotcha almost rolls off her tongue but she catches it. She glides a comforting hand over your curved spine because you’re drunk and you won’t remember such gestures in the morning. She prefers it that way.

You’re not gagging anymore so Ellie removes herself from you. Until she hears a whimper. And a sob so quiet she assumes you’re trying to mask it. Drunk people cry; she’s seen it countless times. Why does that seering feeling spark in her chest for what felt like the billionth time today? Fucking try, for fucks sake!

“Let’s… let’s get you—“

“I wish I was dead.”

Your prayer is hollow. Not even sad despite your tears. So, so empty. Ellie’s seen this before, experienced that nothingness countless times, but despite it all, she never learned how to console. Hell, she barely knows how to self-soothe without falling victim to her dark temptations. Even her paint brushes can’t eliminate the constant ache she feels. She just watches the tremble of your shoulders from behind.

“I really don’t wanna go tomorrow.” You whisper.

Ellie sighs. There’s no other choice. You know the stakes; follow your families’ commands or lose everything at the drop of a hat. They’ll leave you both on the streets to rot with no remorse if they please, replace the two of you with two normal children. Het children that won’t deviate. You’re both on thin ice as it is. Mainly because of Ellie. She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble.

“I…”

I’ll be with you the entire time. I don’t like being around those cunts either.

“It’ll go by quickly.” She settles.

“I hate when p-people look at me.”

“Me too.”

“I wish my family loved me.”

Ellie’s softer now. Only slightly.

“Yeah…”

A tug in her ribcage. Try. Please, try.

“Me too.”

The pounding beneath your skull wakes you quicker than the birds. You shove your face in the pillow you rest on.

The devil tells you to check the time so you do. The bedside clock says noon, meaning a new day, meaning it’s Saturday meaning you’ll die. Maybe not physically but mentally. You’re so drained and you’ve barely opened your eyes; the idea of leaving bed alone is enough to exhaust you. Your wrists and legs ache like fucking hell on top of that.

You make fists with both hands. Repeatedly clench and unclench. The weight is different on your ring finger. Heavier. You haven’t seen your ring since yesterday… or a few days ago — you’re not really sure. You must’ve found it in your drunken stupor. Just when you hoped to never see it again.

The universe will always remind you who you are.

If you stand you’ll vomit but your phone is ringing from the drawer you stuck it in weeks ago. How is it not dead? You know your mom’s calling. You hate that she is…

The ringing stops and you thank the heavens.

You curse them when it starts up again.

The drawer slides open with reluctance. The ringing sounds 20 times louder. You retrieve your device blindly and your throat snaps shut when you speak.

“You rang.”

“Did your… partner tell you about tonight.”

Hard and distant. That’s how she speaks to you. Your heart cracks.

Your mom already knows Ellie did. She loves to bother you with nonsense. You don’t think she’s ever called Ellie your wife.

“Yes.”

“You’re attending.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Is that all.”

“Your gown was delivered here. Come by well before 8 to get ready.”

And she hangs up. Just like that. Always. She’s never told you to have a nice day, or to rest well, or that she loves you, at the minimum. And if she had, you don’t remember any of it. There’s a lot you force yourself to forget.

The selfish part of you disregards the burning of your eyes to stare at your phone — low battery and… no messages. No texts, no phone calls from anyone except your mother, no likes on Instagram because your mom scared you into not making one when you were a teenager. No one cares about you. People care about your wife, though. Maybe because she’s talented; she’s certainly not nice.

Your darkest memories are always the most prominent.

Your phone drops to the floor and you don’t reach for it. You just pray to sleep again.

Tonight will be interesting.

The ride to your mother’s is silent.

At least she chauffeured the two of you. Ellie can be scary when she drives. You’ve never been in a car with her, but she did ram into a lamppost on the sidewalk a few nights after your wedding.

Your wife is already dressed despite the party being hours away. She sits right next to you in all black; in a trenchie and turtleneck and slacks and loafers with fur and gold jewelry. When she descended the staircase, you gawked when she wasn’t looking. So simple, but she had your heart fluttering when she’d asked, ready? You’re still in your sleep shorts, teeth unbrushed and starving. When was the last time you ate?

What an embarrassment — you’re an embarrassment, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. If only newly wed you could see herself now.

You swallow a lump when you feel eyes on the side of your face, but yours remain glued out the window. The closer you get to your mom’s, the faster your mind starts to shut down. Everything passes you by in a blur.

By the time the gates with your father’s initials come into view, your thoughts go silent, only filled with the calming images of nature and the song of birds. Your only escapism.

The only way you’ll make it out of here in one piece.

Ellie! Darling! We’ve missed you! Give us a smile!

Ellie! Ellie, look this way!

Ellie, where’s your wife?

She wishes she knew. You’d barely made it into your mother’s home before getting swept down the hall by 4 other people who poked at your appearance. Ellie didn’t even get to give your mom the passive, spine-chilling hi, mom like old times before another SUV came to whisk her away from that hell hole. Her dad always knows somehow.

She hates being at your mom’s; it’s stifling and quiet and the aura is dark. Like mother, like house or whatever the fuck.

She scowls when the bombarding questions redirect to you. Some concerning, some sarcastic, some raunchy — those get under her skin in particular — and she can’t stop fiddling with her ring. Her chest tugs tugs tugs.

Trouble in paradise?

You were caught leaving the bar with another woman on your arm a few weeks ago! How’d your wife react to that?

She doesn’t know. She’s never home to see you break.

Guilt ate at her when the door of your mother’s mansion shut behind her, but she disregards it now. You shouldn’t be forced to listen to their guised jabs; You get enough of that from everyone in your life. She hopes you’ll go through the back entrance when you arrive.

When will you get here?

Ellie’s never made an event appearance without you. You’d pose and fidget and display awkward affection so that they’d buy your love a little bit, then enter the gathering as two separate hearts, riddled and torn, never to cross paths until the bustle is over and it’s time to go home.

Finally, security moves and barricades her until she gets past the 20 foot gate and treads the steps. The flashing cameras are still blinding from behind.

The tended garden is the first thing she notices. Wide and green. The daisy and rose bushes are no longer tangled with weeds and surrounded by dead grass and gnats. How could Joelene not see that and be vengeful? Ellie and her dad may not be close anymore, but she knows him; maybe even more than he knows himself. He still misses her mom after everything, and chooses to express it through her favorite hiding spot. Keeps the flowers that bloom and trims the ones that don’t so she lives through them. Ellie hardly remembers a time when her mother wasn’t covered in dirty overalls and sunburnt.

She manages to hold it together when the large double doors open. The violins suddenly sound like nails on wood.

Voices fade into nothing. People are outside your car. Light hurts so terribly.

One second you’re here, the next you’re not. Your mom and her husband sit across with twined arms and the lace from your dress is itchy and you wanna disappear. When you blink, you’re gone. You only exist on this plain if your eyes are open.

Something hard and leather brushes against your ankle, scratches against your stockings, slow and snake-like. You know what it is, who it is, and you freeze, eyes locked onto your mother. No matter your hopelessness, there’s still a young girl in you that wishes your mother would defend, act on anger, be disgusted at minimum. At least when his crimes are done in secret you can’t blame her for not knowing.

But you’re here and she’s here and he’s here. A shared secret between the three of you.

His shoe doesn’t halt on your leg. Your mother never looks at you.

Birds and songs and sonnets. You’re a bird and you can fly against the strongest winds. Music is your guide and you follow the clouds.

Your fingers twist together in your lap and the black interior of the car glows red. If only… he’s not the only one with sick intentions. If only.

You’re flying you’re flying you can fly and there’s someone who’ll love you gently. They’re out there somewhere and you’ll find them and they’ll find you like every trial was worth it.

Patience. That’s all you need. Just be patient.

The rest of the car ride is unbeknownst to you. Next thing you know, your door is being opened and two men await your entry at the glass door.

Champagne is good. Tequila is better. The two mixed is hell.

Ellie’s throat burns and her mind swirls but she plays it off well enough. Mingles with pensive, old bastards while their daughters’ gawk at her with bright-eyed curiosity and you haven’t arrived yet.

She lost her dad somewhere in the night. He greeted her briefly upon her arrival, pointed out the important men of the night, called your mother a selfish bitch, then walked off with his mistress by his side. Ellie’s eyes keep meeting the back door from the living room.

Where are you?

“Ellie!”

She downs the rest of her chute and guards her agitation with a grin. Shakes the hand of…

What the fuck was this dude’s name?

“It’s an honor! Your art is incredible! I’ve truly—“

—Fucking Ronald? Reginald? … Ronald might be it—

“—Your father, ya know, he’s an interesting man, incredibly smart! I’ve never—“

Her dad gave her a run-down of the … merging or whatever the fuck but what the fuck did he say and holy shit, is she sweating? The man’s handshake threw her off, frankly; almost snapped her wrist in two. Fucking old piece of shit. More business jargon that she pretends to understand and care so much about because it’s a show after all. All cheers and stiff laughter.

“And your wife! By God, what a looker!”

Her jaw clenches. Where are you where are you where are you

“What we’d give, I mean, c’mon!” Men that pass laugh with him and it’s taking everything in Ellie not to smash this glass over his head. One quick swing and it’s over. For him and her. How promising.

“Where is she anyway? You two didn’t come together?”

“She um, she’s with her parents right now. They’ll be here.” She jerks her chin toward the entrance.

“How lucky are you. Treat her like the star she is!” It looks like the shithead’s leaving, but not before taunting, “Holler when she arrives, will ya?”

And just like that, he leaves Ellie to simmer. Three deep breaths. A man in a suit and tray filled with champagne waltzes passed her and she snags two glasses. Downs the first in one thick swallow before another clinks with hers.

Why does everyone keep fucking with her?

“Cheers.”

Ellie doesn’t need to look to know who it is. She scoffs. “Sounds like you’re having fun.”

Jolene stands next to her, shoulders slouched and dress glowing under the chandelier. She arches a dark brow, “Who wouldn’t? Men are the most entertaining when they’re on ego trips.”

“Same goes for my dad?” She snips, and Jolene shocks her with a smile.

“Meh.”

“Why are you here.”

“I just told you—“

“No, where are you here.” Ellie gestures between them, “Why’re you talking to me right now?”

Jolene downs her drink and shrugs, “My attempts at bonding. On a scale of 1 to 10, how shit were they?”

“900. Leave me the fuck alone.” Before Ellie can run, a hand clamps down on her wrist.

“I know—“ The woman rushes, “I know we don’t have the best relationship, but I’m not—“

Ellie almost corrects her out of pettiness; They don’t have a relationship, period. There’s no best or worst. But her sudden desperation halts her.

“—the enemy. There’s not a lot for us in these spaces. I just wanted to try and establish something. Anything. Between us. It can be so lonely without a real support system.”

Ellie hates the direction her heart turns her mind. Suddenly you’re there and you’re crying and clawing at your chest and Ellie just watches like she did that night. So powerless. So empty.

But Jolene isn’t you. She chooses to be selfish. Yours comes from self preservation and nothing else.

Ellie snatches her hand back and throws her the deadliest stare. “You don’t know shit about being lonely. You’re the one who gave up everything you had to fuck my dad when my mom wasn’t looking. How much did you care about her loneliness then? Hm?”

The timing was perfect, really. 15 year old Ellie watched her parents get into one of their most abhorrent arguments; her dad leaves first, then her mom, then only one of them returns, and it was not her mother. Imagine her shock when a news reporter confirmed that her mother’s body had been thrown in a garbage bag and left in a dumpster to rot. It only took two weeks to mourn before he was marrying another woman.

Nobody cared that her mother had been shot or stabbed or gutted. She was just a woman married to a successor who raised a deviant child.

Ellie forces herself to not point fingers, though. Anyone could’ve killed her, she always reminds herself; to keep her from going fucking crazy. But timing…

How telling is time.

Jolene’s eyes widen and her grip weakens. Ellie takes that as an escape before she has a breakdown in front of the caviar platter.

She barely takes a step before she collides with a body.

Funny.

She bumped right into a star that shines a royal blue. The woman of the hour, for sure. In her mind, at least.

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“You’re fine. All me.” Ellie says lowly as she takes you in, and you do the same to her. Shy, but yearnful glances. Glossed lips tightly sealed and brows tense. Your dress shimmers and holds you snug and she feels guilty for staring at your curvature. She’s suddenly hyper aware of the vultures that disguise themselves as men and she has an instinct to hide you. And your ring is on. The thumping in her chest picks up. Only slightly.

“It’s great to see you again.” Jolene says shakily from beside Ellie and she almost loses it before a grating voice interrupts.

“You, as well. And your husband is…?”

Your mother. And her lap dog wagging his tail beside her. What a bitch. Both of them.

Your stepdad says something and you inhale sharply and no one notices but Ellie. She studies you carefully. You look like a frightened cat with a frilled tail as he speaks. Claws out, not because you’re ferocious, but so, so scared. She glances at your stepdad; greasy smile while he ogles at Jolene; what a nasty son of a bitch.

Ellie whispers to you, “Is everything o—“

“Joel! Man of the hour! How are—“

“Where’s the bathroom again?” You whisper back.

Ellie takes your hand in hers and flees while the family’s distracted, leading you down a hallway that’s way too long with lights too bright.

She gestures towards the door. “It’s… This is it. One of ‘em at least.”

“… Thank—“

“What’s the matt—“

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost. Did that piece of shit say something to you?” Ellie glances to make sure no listeners are hiding in the shadows.

The widest smile grows on your face as you laugh, hearty and loud with your head thrown back. Ellie stares in confusion.

“Oh, Ellie! You’re so silly,” She jumps when your hands hold her cheeks. You’re fucking freezing and they tremble. Your eyes are a dark void.

You lean in closer, lips right against her mouth and they part slightly on instinct. She’s concerned and should ask more questions, but your skin is so soft. Are you gonna kiss her, she wonders? You haven’t kissed since your wedding; your breath hits her mouth and her tongue swipes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut and she aches to touch you—

“Save a seat for me, love? Please?”

It happens so fast; the frost of you is gone and the bathroom door slams shut while an elderly woman fondly whispers, “young love,” as she walks by. Ellie only nods with a rigid curl of her lips, throat cinched too tightly to swallow.

You puzzle her. She’s tempted to wait for you, to ensure you make it back safely without bombardment, but then

“Ellie! Why didn’t you call me! Your wife made it safely, I see!”

A hand claps on her shoulder while men laugh from the side, boisterous and predatory and so wide their fangs show. Ellie’s sick and a war rages within her.

“Your father sent me to find you! It’s time to eat!”

She sends them a weak smile. She rushes away from the door and they follow close behind.

Anything to lure them away from you.

Attendees have dwindled, only Ellie and her family and you and yours and some CEOs that are really getting on her fucking nerves. But you’ve eaten, thank God. She can breathe a little.

Only a bit, though. You’re putting on a fucking show and it’s scaring her; Even her dad seems impressed. Charmed by you. Clinking glasses and telling jokes and smiling. Did your mom hold you at gunpoint before you got here? How much did you drink? Not much from what she’s seen.

That one fucker from earlier — Raymon or Robert or whatever the fuck — keeps leaning over the table whenever you do. Peeping at your chest, probably. She wishes these steak knives were sharper.

“So! Our young couple,” says Old Bitch with a Combover and wiggly brows, “When are we getting those heirs?”

You cough uncomfortably and Ellie squirms in her seat. Your mother scoffs, “Two women can’t have children—“

Said Old Bitch shrugs, “Well, not biologically—“

“My point exactl—“

Ellie’s father cuts in with a tense grin, “When they get to that point, we’ll discuss their options. There’s… many nowadays, evidently.”

Neither you or Ellie interrupt, but she notices you’ve moved closer to her. Inched your seat a bit. You squeeze your hands so hard in your lap she’s scared they’ll shatter where they lay. You’re not smiling anymore.

Her dad and your mom are subtle with their blows at one another; snarky with brutal stares, unremarkable to strangers, but you and Ellie know. When dinner ends, you’ll both be caught in their crossfire.

“There’s no shame in me wanting my grandchildren to be by blood. I shouldn’t have to go shopping for an heir.” Your mother hisses.

“Sh—“ Joel huffs with disgust, “Shopping for an heir? That’s what you think adoption entails?”

“Does it not?” Your mother’s tone rises.

Reggie, Rory, or Russell interjects with a dismissive wave, “C’mon, you too! No need to argue. I’m sure girls like them will be fine with obtaining children! It might be more… complicated, I will say!”

“May I be excused?” You croak, and Ellie straightens.

“Why? So you can wallow about dying childless?”

The table silences. No laughter, no wittiness. Completely still. That wasn’t from your mother. Ellie doesn’t remember the last time she’s heard your stepdad speak so clearly. Her blood thrashes beneath her skin so harshly that her tongue unties. There’s a darkness in her that whispers, “grab that steak knife”. Brutalize him. Just for a second. Do it for you.

Do it for her.

“Go fuck yourself.” She spits.

Your neck almost cracks with the speed you turn to her, eyes wide as the moon. Her father condemns, “Watch your mouth, Ellie.”

“Or what, you old fuck?”

Her heart rattles noisily in her chest; her hands shake where they rest on her lap, her cells trembling with the instinct to harm. The gaze of her father is distant and filled with inadequacy for his only line. Nothing unbeknownst to her, but there's a flash of something so deep, so forbidden for them, but she sees it every time they hold contact. Beneath all the loathing and lesions left to drain, there’s longing. An inkling of gratitude that she knows he’ll suppress until he’s buried underground. He’ll never look the same to her, and she imagines the same for him. Too many bridges burned.

“How’d I do?” Ellie rasps to him, “Hm? The night went how you hoped?”

Look at what you’ve done, she hopes her eyes say. Tears welt against her will. When was the last time she cried in front of him? She hadn’t even given him that honor at her mother’s funeral years ago.

Ellie’s stiff stature nearly cracks at the light brush atop her knee. A wind catches in her throat when a pinky turns into three fingers, then five, then a palm that squeezes comfortingly, desperately. Maybe partly to keep her glued to this chair. She gulps the dryness down and a flame lights in the pit of her stomach.

Her glance to you is brief, barely out of the corner of her eye, but you’re watching her. Intensely, and it scorches her cheeks, all the way down to her neck. Scared cat. Scared cat. Shrilled and cold and frightened to hell and she despises it.

What changed? She’ll always wonder. That look hardly shook her a week ago and now it makes her teeth ache.

Suddenly, it’s too warm here.

“Get up,” Ellie rushes you. Grabs your arm and yanks you from your seat, “Not dealing with this fuckin’ bullshit tonight. We’re leaving.”

There’s suddenly shouting from all directions of the dinner table with each step Ellie takes for you, but you never drop her hand. She clenches it tighter when you finally reach the back door.

The door slams shut on the wreckage behind you.

Consider plan MERGE a bust.

Ellie’s a thief. You think. Maybe.

Is it stealing if the car belongs to a family member? Where she snagged the keys from? You don’t remember. One second you’re at dinner, then watching the city pass you by the next. It’s silent in here.

“Stop.”

You slam back into your body. Still in the car. You wish you were asleep.

“Huh?”

Her eyes watch the road, but a hand rests on both of yours to pry them apart.

“Stop. I hate that sound.”

“… Wha—“

“You’re gonna rip your skin off if you don’t stop.”

… Oh. Yeah. Bloody cuticles. It was all accidental, you swear.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Her eyes shut briefly and she sighs, sounding so worn. Exhaustion is her white flag. “Just stop.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks.”

It’s quiet again. The red from the stop light reflects in the car and you’re instantly reminded of your stepfather.

“Ellie.”

“Hm.”

“We should get a bird.”

“… And do what with it.”

You shrug, “Pet it. Feed it, too.” Sing with it, you wanted to add. Ellie would’ve probably laughed at you.

She snickers dryly, “That’s usually what you do with a pet.”

“I never had one.”

The light turns green and the car revs. Your wife hums, “I had a fish once or twice.”

“Lucky.”

A small — very, very minuscule grin quirks Ellie’s lips and your heart hollers. For joy? In warning?

“Not really. They kept dying so I gave up.” She snickers to herself, and you can’t help but stare. She starts talking then. Eyes gone, tension gone. She’s suddenly relaxed.

“My mom… she, uh… loved water. Was always in it or… watching it on TV or something. She always bought fish from fucking… PetCo—“

“PetCo?” You laugh, then Ellie does.

“Right? She’d take me and be like, “get one”. And I went home with a new fish every time.”

“I thought you only went once or twice?”

“… Times 100,” She giggles, “My mom lived there. She would always talk to the cats through the glass.”

You don’t hesitate, “I wanna go.”

“To PetCo?”

“Yeah.” Why not?

Everything is almost over. So, why not?

“… K.”

“So we’ll go?”

“Mhm.”

And the conversation ends. The car is silent. Suddenly tense again when you ask,

“Do you think we’re cut off?”

Ellie’s jaw clenches and the car is suddenly tense. Back to square one. “Possibly. Tonight was a shit show. It went by fast, at least.”

“What’s gonna happen to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m…”

Alone. You’re fucking alone and know nothing about life outside of what was built around you. Without it, you’ll spiral and fail and face a dreadful reality. No more rose colored glasses even if they’re browned and wilted as is. You’ll be eaten alive by the creatures in the night without a protective border.

But the curse will end. You won’t inherit or be forced to lie or play a game that ends in fire. Decades of legacy down the drain just like that, and by your own hand. It fascinates you, that power. A force you’ve been withheld from.

“I don’t know.”

“Still thinking about divorce?” A void in Ellie’s tone.

“I don’t know.”

“They’ll never allow it, you know that, right?”

“What if I just leave?”

“And do what?” Her voice raises.

“Who knows. Who cares.”

“Please,” Ellie exasperates, “Your mom will get fucking SWAT to bring you back.”

“What good will a corpse do for her?”

You’ll be dead but you’ll have a bird. A colorful one. That’ll be your legacy. That’s all you need, really. Ellie doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

More buildings flash by and suddenly you’re home. Parked in the garage with Ellie beside you, gazing off into opaque walls. You wonder what she’s thinking. If she sees everything in black and white like you do. Maybe she’s the opposite, vision bright and full of suppressed color. She is a painter after all.

“What’re your plans?” Ellie suddenly whispers.

“For?”

“Life. The future. Anything,” She pries and digs for something, “There has to be something that interests you! That gets you excited! There’s so much shit to do.”

You shrug. Not much. Not anything.

“I used to be excited for my wedding,” You mumble, “Like… as a kid. White dress and flowers and everyone’s just excited to be there. For love, and whatever, you know? That’s how it was in movies, at least.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s off your chest. The unhealthy romanticization of the happiest day of your life ended up being just another day to honor the greed of your families. Everyone was so lifeless when they watched you and Ellie kiss. It hadn’t even lasted 3 seconds before she shoved the band on your finger with teary cheeks. Such beautiful scenery was wasted on misery.

You look over and Ellie’s eyes are roaring, palms squeezing together in her lap while her wedding ring twists around her finger. You watch it cycle.

“Now I…” You chuckle sadly, “I just want a bird, to be honest.”

With your heels and purse in hand, the car door opens and you exit, forcing yourself not to peek through the windshield at Ellie again.

The second floor, your bedroom, your bathroom, are all quiet. Did Ellie not follow you inside? For a while, you envision what it would be like if you weren’t married. If you weren’t born as you, would your world be this still?

It haunts you in the shower. Wolffish eyes and dry hands grasping at your shoulders and waist but everything’s quiet.

You wash your face, brush your teeth, wrap your hair alone. You wonder if anyone is actually in the house. Was Ellie a figment of your imagination? Is this one of the nights that proves she doesn’t exist and that your brain is your greatest enemy? You shove your face into the mattress before your thoughts venture. Silence rocks you to sleep, but not forgetting the taunting desire to know

Is death this quiet?

Your mom’s calling.

Vibrations rattle in your bedside dresser. The sun isn’t up yet. The birds are still resting. She never calls this early… or late. Something bad must’ve happened. It takes 17 seconds for your drawer to stop shaking before it starts again.

You can’t move to answer, though. Your body isn’t yours at the moment. Your soul will reclaim its shell soon enough. Or maybe it won’t.

Your drawer shakes shakes shakes. Your heartbeat eventually matches the pace of its vibrations. You think it’s been 20 minutes. Maybe longer. When will the birds wake?

Finally, the calls stop. Your eyes shut again. Instantly taken by darkness.

You never wear normal clothes.

Ellie’s only ever seen you in thousand dollar dresses and high heel shoes that scrape your achilles and cloth that squeezes you so tight she thinks she might explode by just looking at you. No matter how fucking good you look in them.

So what the fuck is that? Moreso, why does she like it so much? Her cheeks are on fucking fire and her heart is trying to flee its enclosing.

You have a t-shirt on. A simple, non-Gucci white tee that says LAS VEGAS and black shorts and a scarf on your head and socks with squirrels on them. Is this the fucking matrix?

You never wake up this late, either. It’s 20 till 10.

“Did my mom call you at all?”

No… no she didn’t… Why can’t Ellie speak? She’s sitting there gaping like a fish and taking guilty glances at your nipples through your shirt. She shakes her head. You nod yours.

“I uh…” She mumbles with a cotton mouth when you step into the kitchen, “I made coffee.”

“I smelled it.” You serve yourself at the counter. 2 Splenda packs, no cream.

“Did your mom call you?”

“Yes.”

“What’d she say?”

“I didn’t answer.”

… Interesting. Odd. Her calls are never missed by you.

“I hope it’s something bad.”

Ellie swallows her sip thickly. “… Damn. Why?”

“She deserves it.” You say calmly while stirring. “He does, too.”

“Your dad?”

“My stepfather,” You hiss and slam your mug on the table. Ellie flinches, “Yes.”

Her palms raise in surrender, “Sorry.”

“Where do you go at night?” The chair across from her scrapes on hardwood when you sit.

Nowhere, recently. Ellie shrugs as nonchalantly as she can, “Anywhere. Wherever I want.”

“Take me next time.”

She pauses her sip to ogle. “Hm?”

“Take me. I wanna see what’s fun for you.”

Ellie huffs a shocked laugh, “No, you don’t.”

You squint, “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking to see.”

“It’s not your scene, dude, trust m—“

She jolts where she sits when a hand — your hand, soft and agile and cold, slams down on the table, rattling both your mugs and the vase that holds dead flowers, nearly shattering the glass with an accusatory finger.

“You dunno know shit about me! I’m fucking going whether you like it or not! Whether she likes it or not, and if I have to do it myself, I fucking will, you fucking psychotic fucking bitch!”

You rise and stomp to where she sits with a pounding heart and a lecherous swirl in her gut. You look about ready to slice her open with a blunt butter knife.

“You treat me like fucking trash just like everyone else,” You whisper venomously, and Ellie shakes, “The least you could do is listen for once. Scared to take me to the place you cheat on me at? Don’t want me to see it? That’d be too real, huh?”

Ellie exhales a shaky breath of your name, but your nails, cut and manicured to perfection, sink into her cheeks so tightly that she winces and blushes and her tummy twists with heat. You don’t flinch when her fingers delicately entangle around your wrist; doesn’t want you to think she’s holding you there even though she is.

“You’re gonna show me a good time tonight. If it’s as fun as you say, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

Her eyes must read yes, yes, it’s not a problem; Your grin is wild like a hyena; pretty lips swelled around pretty teeth and you always smell good. Caramelized sugar and nectar.

“Who knows,” You purr and Ellie feels goosebumps forming, “Maybe I can meet one of your little friends.”

She chokes around a gasp before her lips curl into a conniving grin, cheeks plush around your fingers, “Aren’t you a little hussy.”

“Fuck you.” You shove her so hard her back collides with the seat but her eyes glow pink. She watches you leave the kitchen and stomp up the steps with a burning chest until a door slams from upstairs. She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, wracked and desperate.

Ellie will never admit — or maybe she will, but she purposefully uses your shared bathroom to catch glimpses at you. She always expects to find you out cold and wrapped in warm blankets, chest fluttering with each twitch of your socked feet that peek from below the blankets.

What she doesn’t expect to see, though, is your phone shattered to pieces and left to drown in the clogged sink. Right next to a weighted rubber mallet; Where’d you find that? All your pent up emotions were taken out on your device… and the counter, apparently. The marble is chipped.

She can only laugh in astonishment. Amazement. Fear when she realizes…

Your mom.

Did you ever answer the phone?

Another day you’ve slept away. Either you were dreaming or someone was holding you suffocatingly tight; you enjoyed it, strangely. The sun is completely gone and there’s rustling and music echoing from the bathroom. Ellie’s in there.

All the blood rushes to your head with how quickly you sit up, but your feet carry you past your closets until the light from the room sizzles your vision.

Your wife stands by the mirror, drying her hair with a towel with a cigarette between her fingers. The guitar synths coming from her phone are grinding in your ears.

Is she really keeping her promise?

Did she promise to take you? You don’t remember.

“Hi.” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and your spine twitches. You say nothing, so she chuffs with a teasing lift of her lips, “Chickenin’ out?”

“No.”

“K.”

“What do I wear?”

She shrugs, “Whatever you want to.” She speaks around smoke and her timbre’s dry.

“What are you wearing?”

“Whatever I want to.”

She must sense your skepticism because she’s suddenly reassuring, voice crackly, “You’re not under any expectations tonight. You wanted me to show you what I do for fun, and I’m gonna. You just have to do your part and enjoy it.”

Your nails dig into your thighs while you watch her. She has her ring on and her body wash coats the room in cinnamon. With a pounding heart, your hands slowly drag up your sides, fingers dragging at the hem of your shirt. She’s not looking.

Enjoy it…

“Did you eat today?”

“No.”

She gives you a look. Stern. What is she mad about? Your tummy flutters, “There’s leftovers downstairs, you can have ‘em,” She shakes her wet hair and puts on her glasses, checks her watch, checks her phone, hits her cigarette. “We’re kinda behind so you should get read—“

Enjoy it.

Her eyes meet where your shirt drops to the floor, breasts on display while your hands inch up your legs to drag your shorts down, all while you watch her. And she watches you. It’s overwhelming, your wife as an audience while you undress. But she told you to enjoy it. Enjoy the night. Enjoy the stares. Enjoy the attention. Enjoy her, for once. It all seeps into your pores. You step out of your bottoms and peel your socks off.

Ellie drinks you in slowly. Says nothing. Simply takes her time memorizing every line, curve, dip, scar of you. You like how ravenous she looks. The sin in her pupils only darkens when your thumbs hook in your underwear to shed them. They dangle from your index finger when you walk; You smile when her throat jumps.

She watches your filled hand travel to her pant pocket to shove the flimsy cloth in. The muscles in her back twitch when your finger traces her spine. Ellie’s pretty, littered in cute, red and brown spots.

“I’m gonna shower.” Your lips brush her ear, and goosebumps rise all over her arms. Her eyes flutter in a pleasant blink, nodding in understanding.

Your wife takes her lighter and reignites your favorite candle while your water warms. How sweet of her to set the mood for you.

Ellie finishes her cigarette while you lather, watching her through the fogged glass of the shower walls, massaging soapy hands into your breasts and your legs and everywhere. She lights another at some point, bent over the counter while she smokes, ogling you through the mirror shamelessly. You smile when it settles in your chest.

You’re gonna fuck your wife tonight.

What a fucking oddball you are. It’s cute. A little sexy, too. Only a little, she swears.

… Fuck.

She waits for you on the bed, dressed and jewelried, fiddling with her watch out of nerves because what the fuck are you playing at? Whiplash; that’s what she’s had all fucking day because of you. She works in the morning, for fucks sake.

Still…

Does she deserve this sudden… What the fuck even is this? Certainly not affection; you nearly strangled her at the dining table. Attention, possibly? Seduction? She’s wired to hell, she wants you so bad. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She could act on her attraction, sure. She’s positive you’d allow her to take whatever she wanted because that’s what you’re trained to do; to satisfy your partner — husband, she imagines your mother grating — in any way he desires. But Ellie’s not a man, and she doesn’t want that. She needs you to love it, to crave it as much as she does. To take from her like she dreams of taking from you. Ellie needs you to batter her, and if you’d like, she’ll do the same to you.

If only you’d give her something tangible. Teasing isn’t enough. She’s desperate to get a grasp on your headspace; she wishes she could prick and prod at your brain for a second. What an experience that would be.

You enter the bedroom like a ghost; hair still wet and coily, dressed in all black like she is, only decorated with gloss and earrings. No heels either. Just very shimmery looking flip-flops. Ellie bites down a smile.

“Where are we going?”

She shrugs at your inquiry, “Somewhere really, really loud.”

“Will people find us?” Paps, you mean. Ellie denies.

“Not where I’m taking you.”

“Must be secretive.”

She tuts, “Not… well, maybe. It’s fun though. I think you’ll like it.”

“Okay.”

Ellie stands with her wallet and keys and kiddingly offers you an arm to hold onto. “M’lady.”

But you don’t accept it; back turned, halfway out of the room towards the stairs.

Pleasant. She doesn’t mean to smile.

She makes sure to grab the to-go box from earlier before locking the front door behind her.

It is very loud here. And hot. And raunchy.

… You like that. Your mom would have a heart attack if she were to ever walk in here.

The trip to this whatever, wherever place was pretty far. You counted every second of the nearly hour ride, mainly because Ellie’s jittery knee made you nervous. It’s smaller than you assumed, but not quaint. Not at all. There's a ruckus from the entrance to the back exit, people your age and older, screaming and shouting words that you don’t know while people pound on drums and shred on guitar. They sweat through their clothes while their makeup streaks down their faces as they make love to microphone stands.

… Better than tea time, you suppose. How exhilarating. Your heart’s pounding like crazy.

Not much can be said between you and Ellie. You can’t hear over the bass and rumbles from the floor but she holds your hand and small purse. Guides you to a small section in the back with a bar. She hands the tender her card and… that’s it. Four clear, questionably large shots are poured and slid to her like nothing. You want all of them.

Ellie seems so at home as she guides you, already a burning shot down, into the crowd. You’re shoved instantly by party goers, but she catches you, holds you strongly. You look at her, puzzled with shock, but she uncaringly lifts her shoulders, downs a shot, and starts thrashing.

Your jaw slacks and lights beam and flicker at a rapid pace but you’re smiling. Your wife meshes with the scene so nicely. You wanna be like that. So you follow. You drink and jump and flail and scream your head off.

You and your wife are synched for once. Terrible dancers. No rhythm whatsoever. Who cares who cares who cares.

You wish your mom was here to see you like this. You hope your mom’s dead so she never has to see you like this. A thought so dark shouldn’t bring you this much joy. You laugh and holler at the imagery. Blood all over the marble. Blood all over the doors of your childhood home. Blood blood blood everywhere because they deserve it. Look at what they’ve done to you. Sick evil people.

You wanna kill your stepfather. This music makes you wanna kill your stepfather. It’s gorey in itself, almost. Abborherent verbiage. You think Ellie wants to kill your stepfather, too. You should ask her later. Maybe when you're both sober. Maybe you should make your mom watch you skin him alive. Him dying would damage her more than you ever could.

When your eyes open, Ellie’s gawking at you, seemingly surprised. Impressed? She holds your cheeks to get your attention, gesturing, asking if you want another drink. You nod and shout in her face and she laughs. Ellie holds you by the waist and guides you to the bar. The bartender must like Ellie. You leave with a full bottle this time.

You and Ellie pass it between yourselves, the night becoming more and more broken. Touchy. Feely. Ellie rubs all over you while you pour liquor into her mouth. A bit dribbles down the sides but she doesn’t care. You don’t either. So you lick the drops from her neck like a cat with milk. Ellie stops and you stop and everything stops. It’s just the two of you, suddenly; all other patrons evaporate to nothingness. Her eyes are blown and heavy as she searches your face, and they halt their wandering at your lips. She’s thinking about it; You want her to see how bad you crave it. Even if it’s just for a second. She smiles, pleased. You shudder.

But she doesn’t do it. She spins you so your back is against her chest, lips at your neck while she pushes her hips into your ass. She’s messy, drenching your already sweaty neck in spit. Her nails dig into the fabric of your dress, guiding your hips, swaying you on her. You follow. You follow so blindly because you like her hands on you a little too much. You drink and drink and drink. Everything feels light. Good.

You think Ellie’s speaking to you. Or singing words in your ear. Or maybe she isn't speaking at all. You’re not sure, but your face is burning hot. She tongues at your ear and you make a noise that you can’t hear but hope she can. You need this.

Her hands are suddenly slow where they crawl up your sides until they rest on your breasts. Your empty hand lands on one of hers to squeeze so that she can squeeze you. You feel her smiling on your skin when your jaw slacks.

Your head turns to chase her mouth, but she does you one better. Whisks you once more so your chests smash together. She snatches the bottle from your hand, takes one last swig before passing it to eager, drunk hands that wave from behind. You gasp when her thumb catches your bottom lip, pulls it down to get your mouth open enough for her to dribble liquor into. You moan loud enough for Ellie to hear over those booming drums, swallowing down everything she gives, nails sank into her waist while her hips push into yours. When you swallow the last drops, she kisses you. Messy and hot, tongue and teeth; it gets your heart singing. Her pink muscle swirls inside of your mouth and your arms wrap around her neck, yanking her into you so no space is left. Her hands are everywhere; tangled in your hair, grabbing at your hips, your ass, your thighs. Everywhere everywhere everywhere like she can’t get enough of you. You’re overwhelmed and high out of your mind but you follow her guide. Anywhere she wants you, you are.

Maybe you’re just as bad as she is. After everything she’s done, you should hate her. You think you do. You hate her for leaving you. You hate her for embarrassing you. Abandonment. Her only gift to you. Maybe that’s why you kiss her with such conviction.

Her touch is passionate; strong but not forceful. She breathes you in like a rarity, something she treasures, all while she licks and tugs at you like a slut. There’s a pulse deep within you when her lips enclose around your tongue to suck it. Your thighs squeeze and she grins madly, giving you one last innocent peck before she grabs your hand to spin you. You laugh and twirl with her.

You understand why people fall in love so fast. You hate that you’re one of them.

Or are you simply as delusional as they come?

You’re even more enthralling when free of restraint.

Ellie’s drunk and sweaty and exhausted but she uses every last bit of strength to stare at you. She sits at the bar as the crowd dwindles, artist after artist, established or aspiring, all go on to perform, and you haven’t taken a break once. You simply twirl and spin and mouth incorrect lyrics with the widest smile on your face, all while Ellie brings you her drinks to finish.

You’ve been here for hours it seems, but Ellie can’t drive. But the night is young. You certainly don’t look ready to go home.

What more can she show you?

“Thank you all for comin’ out! Tonight was a dream—“

You’re a dream, Her chest screams. You you you you fuck—

You clap like the happiest seal on the planet before spinning around to face Ellie. It happens in flashes: you come closer and closer until you’re in front of her, warm hands on her cheeks, ears tingling when you whisper,

“I didn’t get to meet your sluts.”

You sound upset about it. Ellie stumbles about how they didn’t come, how they’re not here. How she doesn’t wanna see them right now and she means it all, but you don’t believe her, and her chest hurts. Guilty guilty guilty.

“Get up.” You step away and Ellie pains to pull you back, savor the night a second longer. But she signs the receipt before following you towards the exit. The cold air feels so good. She needs water now.

She gives you a little yank when you start wandering the opposing direction, “Come… come here. This way.”

You grin and slur, “Where to?”

Ellie’s brows wiggle playfully, “Gas station. You hungry?”

“…Yes.”

Ellie extends her hand for you to hold, and surprisingly, you accept. Her heart jolts to life.

The walk is quiet. Your eyes are glued to the sky, wide and innocent; the large moon entrances you, surrounded by glittery stars. You both wobble down the sidewalk, trying to avoid bumping into pedestrians and other drunkards. She thought the rowdiness of nightlife would frighten you, but you seem drawn to the chaos.

Soon enough, you’re both surrounded by aisles filled with chips and sodas and a fuck ton of candy. Ellie cringes at the fond stares she gives you holding 4 packs of watermelon sour patches. You’re cute as hell right now. Have you never been to a convenience store? What the fuck.

“El! El, what the fuck! Where ya been!”

Her sluggish brain is trying — really trying to figure out who the hell just left the staff room and is walking towards the two of you. It’s someone that knows her name or whatever shortened version they’ve created and the closer this person gets the more you shield yourself behind her fuck fuck fuck

Arms latch around her neck in a strong hug. Muscular, nice voice, smells like cherries.

Abigail Anderson. Shoulda known. Great.

“Jesus fuck, you smell like my dad’s liquor cabinet! We fucking missed you! We haven’t seen you in…”

When Abby pulls back, her eyes immediately find you. Ellie steals a glance; eyes wide, soft with curiosity. They darken slightly when they lock onto Abby’s shoulders, all the way down to her arms and Ellie… why the fuck does that annoy her?

“Who’s that,” Abby whispers suggestively and Ellie sighs. Scratches at her eye in irritation.

“I’m her wife.” You say causally, and it shocks both of them. Abby moreso. Did Ellie never tell her? She’s sure she did. Everyone knows she’s married… right?

“Wh— wife?” Her eyes shift onto Ellie, “Bitch, you got married? What the fuc— when—“

“3 months ago.” You answer.

“Fucking — holy shit. Congrats? Uhh… sorry! Nice to meet you! You’re gorgeous, by the way,” She stutters to shake your hand, but you accept it, “I’m Abby!”

“Hi.” You smile in delight and your shoulders relax. Abby smiles just as gently and Ellie thinks it’s time to go because you’re both getting on her nerves.

“Alright, well, we're gonna pay, so… yeah. I’ll text you tomorrow or something. We’re tired.”

“Mhmm,” Abby hums cockily, eyes glued to the mess Ellie made of your neck, “Looks like y’all had a great time.”

“We did,” She confirms with pointed eyes, “See ya.”

“Byeee.” Abby sing-songs with a chuckle before Ellie leads you towards the service counter to dump your snacks. Ellie gives the cashier a familiar nod.

“Is she who you fuck?”

Ellie chokes on her water and the cashier gawks at you from behind their reading glasses. You couldn’t have been any fucking louder in that moment, what the fuck.

“What—“

“Do you fuck Abby? I hope not in that bathroom,” You clumsily point to the gender neutral sign near the entrance. “I heard they’re filthy—“

Ellie whispers even though there’s no point, “Dude, are you fucking crazy—“

“… It's just a question—“

“Have a nice night.”

The cashier rigidly hands Ellie the stuffed baggie and receipt. She snatches them before snatching you to leave. She drops your hand the second briskness surrounds you, “The fuck was that about?” Her chips are calling her. She needs a stress reliever.

“What—“

She squeezes the bag and the pop rings like a gunshot, “Why the fuck are you asking if I fucked Abby? What the fuck—“

“She’s hot and you kinda are… to a certain degree, I guess. I just assumed.”

Ellie’s appalled, but doesn’t have the energy to look offended. “Stop assuming, it’s… that’s fucking weird—“

You simply shove tiny watermelon slices in your mouth and steal her water to chug it. She watches you impatiently before you hand the crumpled, half-empty plastic back to her. She downs the rest and discards it some-fucking-where.

Her thoughts are clouded. Did she fuck Abby? Are you forreal—

“I don’t care, you know.”

“About what?”

You shrug, “If you fuck her.”

“Please be quiet.”

“Okay.”

You both do for a while, dead grass and Dorritos crunching around you.

Until Ellie speaks again.

“You’re quiet.”

“Mhm.”

“Sleepy?”

“Nmhm.”

Wide awake, actually. The world passes you by with each step the two of you take, swirling with bright lights and laughter. You follow Ellie closely, handfuls of candy shoved in your mouth while she munches on her chips. You never had those orange triangles before. Neither of you are in a rush to make it back to the car. Can Ellie drive in this state?

“Do you, uh, like places like that? Concerts?”

“Yes.” You break out in a grin.

“What else do you like?”

“I dunno. I haven’t… experienced much.” You shrug, accidentally brushing against your wife’s shoulder. Electricity sparks near the end of your spine where a steadying hand rests. “Your friend… does she go with you? To concerts?”

“Who?”

“Aaabby.” You tease, mocking the blonde girl from earlier, and Ellie’s expressions flattens. She's unsure why.

“Oh, uh… yeah,” Her chip bag is suddenly very interesting. “Sometimes. I met her at one a few years back after a showcase I hosted.”

“I like her.” She’s nice and smells nicer. You regret not shaking her seemingly strong hand a few seconds longer. Strong all over, actually.

“… Uh huh.”

Your brow arches at that, “Does that bother you?”

“Why the fuck would it bother me? You can like whoever.”

“Exactly how you like whoever, huh?” You sneer lazily, and Ellie goes stoic. And just like that, the conversation dies once more. You’re glad for it; selfishly, you’d rather refrain from telling your wife about how attractive you found her friend. She’s left you guessing under too many circumstances. Consider this a sliver of revenge.

You both make it back to the parking lot in silence, minus Ellie’s agitated crunching. You lean against the passenger door while you watch her dig around for the keys.

“Where to?”

“It's almost 4 in the morning.” She hisses.

“So?” You came home later than that for weeks. You wanna say it. You should say it. Grind your thumb deeper into that open wound, but you save it. Another day, maybe. Maybe not.

“So we’re going home. I’m tired.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Okay? Whatever, I’ll drop you off somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t leave your poor, defenseless wife unattended, would you?” You whisper slowly, and Ellie tenses when you plant a soft hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t acknowledge you, just stares through the window behind you. You scoff and drop it by your side. Cross your arms stubbornly.

“You’re mad because I like Abby.”

“There’s nothing for you to like! You just met her.” Her voice raises, and annoyance flares in you.

“Exactly! I just met her, and I like her! The fuck did you think I was gonna do? Flash her right in front of the gummy worms?”

“I don’t know! Fucking maybe!”

“So you can fuck other people but I can’t?”

Ellie’s very close to you suddenly. Your heart jumps, “Oh, now you wanna fuck Abby? She’s the first person you’ve interacted with besides me since we got fucking married!”

“SO?” You holler.

“SO YOU’RE NOT FUCKING MY FRIEND! ARE YOU INSANE!” Speckles of spit land on your face and it sizzles into your pores. You might be. You fucking are. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Ellie’s forcing herself into your space, so why do you fight? Why are you hungry?

Your palms crash into her chest and she nearly loses her balance, “I DON’T NEED PERMISSION FROM YOU! WE’LL FINALLY BE EVEN, YOU FUCKING WHORE!”

“Yeah? Think Imma fucking whore?” Her grin is sinister, and excitement coils in your belly. Gets your fingers twitching from how hard they’re clenched.

“Maybe I do.” Vehemence scathed your tongue.

“You know what I think?”

“I don’t care—“

“I think you do.” She mumbles against your cheek, “I think you’re jealous.”

You still. Ellie’s eyes pierce through yours, burning and hot, nostrils flared: she looks like she could snap you in half. Your spine tingles with delirium.

“You’re mad because I get to be. I can exist and fuck and party and come and go as I please and you hate it. You wish you could do what I do.” She stares like you killed her mother yourself. Strangled her with your bare hands. “I don’t have mommy and daddy breathing down my neck every 2 seconds. You want that so bad it makes you sick.”

“So why stay?”

It shocks her. You don’t waver; passive as usual.

“You’re free and can do whatever you want, right? Why are you here? Go and be that. Be whoever you wanna be because you can.”

Everything will be over soon. Might as well. Ellie simply glares through you.

Curiosity is your worst enemy. Might as well ask.

“Why’d you defend me at dinner?”

What does she know what does she know what does she know what

She rubs her eyes stubbornly, “Oh my fucking god, who gives a fuck!”

“Me! I give a fuck! Why’d you do it! Why! You’ve never done it before!”

She knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows

“BECAUSE FUCK HIM! FUCK EVERYBODY THAT DID THIS TO US! FUCK YOU, TOO!”

You might cry, you might not. You’re unsure of everything and you’re angry and hurting. Ellie’s a reflection of you, and vise-versa. You hate her hate her hate her.

Hatred. It might be the reason why kissing her feels so good. Because it shouldn’t be happening. Ellie shouldn’t have you trapped between her and her car, grinding so harshly into you that your spine bends. You shouldn’t tug at her hair to expose her neck to lick and suck and bite her neck red while she curses in your ear.

This is the distraction you’ve been desperately searching for. To think you’d find it in your wife after all this time.

“I’d be a whore for you,” She shamelessly seers against your throat, hands wandering to unbutton her own pants, “You know that, right?”

… That’s cute. Makes you blush.

“Yeah?” Her laugh is thick like syrup, “Gets you hot? Knowing how easily I’d give it up for you?”

That sideways grin makes you tick. Your hand closes tight around her throat and she nearly bloodies her bottom lip with her fangs. Your wife looks pathetic; thumbs hooked into her pants, so ready to drop them for you in the middle of the parking lot. People are wandering about; she’s willing to fuck in front of them?

How pretty would she look trying to be quiet for you? Nervous eyes searching for privacy, praying no one walks by and sees her on the edge with your hand down her underwear. Hopefully no one recognizes her, pulls out their phone, records the two of you. Blasts you both on social media while Ellie moans in your mouth. What would people think? Your families? How ashamed would they be? Their two girls making a mess of themselves in public.

The thought makes you smile. Scares you. Makes you choke her harder. Her pained whine vibrates in your palm.

“Get the fuck in the car.”

The windows fog with the heat of your bodies; her body trapped beneath yours in the back seat that’s roomier than you anticipated. She rolls your hips on top of her, desperate and eager to rip your fucking clothes off and feel you for real. Your dress rests around your hips, your panties on display and she wishes she could see them. She only has her hands for reference, tracing over each thin seam littered with lace and patterns she tries to memorize. Your tongue belongs in her mouth. You feel so fucking good; you’re not close enough. She needs you closer.

Her mouth chases yours when you finally separate, only connected by a thin string of saliva, but a stern hand collides with her chest to keep her flat. Her hands tickle your waist. Rests your dress even higher until she can see your belly button.

“Wanna know a secret?” You whisper down at her, and she smirks.

“I know you’re a virgin, baby.” She whispers giddily, and your teeth grit. A flame coils in your chest. You ignore her.

“You could’ve had me after our wedding, you know? With my face buried in the pillows and my ass in your face. I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted that night.”

Your sudden vulgarity stuns her silent. Your wife looks like she’s imagining it; lip bruised from both your and her teeth, mind racing with filth of you in every position she can think of. She wouldn’t have been able to separate from you if that was the case. It’s one of the reasons she kept her distance; those pretty brown eyes rolled back would’ve put her underground. She’d never tell you that.

“But no,” You say like it aches, “You wanted to go and bend over all those girls that follow you around like fucking dogs. You wanted a bitch, not a wife. Right or wrong?”

She can barely breathe and your hand pressing on her chest isn’t helping; reduces her to sharp gasps that make her lightheaded. The more ragged they become, the harder you press. Your brow arches when she innocently bares her teeth.

Her palms squeeze at your ass, “I thought about you the entire time—“

Your hand cracks and her head flies to the side. Right on her left cheek is the already reddening imprint of your hand. The crackles in your palm are numbed by the alcohol and your core burns at the shock on her face. She gawks off to the side, that meddling smile dropped completely, chest ragged with her breaths.

“Ellie, put your hands down.” You spit, and they drop from you completely, palms flat on the seat beneath her.

“You had every chance to do right by me and you wasted every single one.” You sound like you’re about to cry; Ellie’s too scared to look at you. Not the good scared that she’s felt around you this entire time, but a hollow scared. The one that freezes you. Her fight or flight is triggered.

“I think you owe me an apology.” You whisper against her burning face before you kiss it gently. A pained groan escapes her, and you laugh. Loud, in her face. Even louder when she tries to grind her hips up into you.

“Take us home, wife.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪#arrangedmarriage!au #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams au #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #black!oc #black!reader #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams angst

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pandoraspurgatory · 9 months ago

Note

seeing your hc of katsuki being into vanilla homemade porn has me dazy eyed 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫….. i’m so curious now if there were any specific porn creators you thought of when envisioning what he liked? or any who you think would fuck like katsuki? goodness… 😵‍💫

Turbulent

Truthfully I am not a porn watcher as I am a porn reader, so that question is far beyond my knowledge lol. Though I’ve written an in depth version of Katsuki watching porn, hope you enjoy<3

Katsuki Bakugo can’t get off on mainstream porn, though something changes when he finds a couples homemade video

Katsuki Bakugo likes vanilla porn, masturbation, cum, pretty vanilla here, mentions of facefucking + cuckholding, Denki and Mineta are bitchless

Katsuki never cared enough nor paid much attention to porn, stroking himself in his bedroom wasn’t worth the effort when he could spend his time training and honing his skills as a 3rd year student close to graduating.

Either it was that, or the fact that he just couldn’t cum from it.

He first gave it watching porn a go when Denki and Mineta spent the afternoon yapping about different genres of porn. He wasn’t an eavesdropper, though he listened in on the conversation, taking notes for a later date.

Bakugo only ever found himself rubbing one out when he woke up with a painful hard on, or got so worked up over some fantasy that he couldn’t get his dick back down.

That same night Katsuki sat infront of his laptop, legs open and pants discarded on the carpeted floor, a bottle of lotion splayed out on the bed next to him. He opened up the first website that appeared after typing ‘porn’ in his browser, incognito mode on of course, he had double checked. Hastily typing what he had overheard in the orange and black search bar.

‘Face fucking’

He grimaced as he clicked on the first video of some Internet whore with a fat cock stuffed down her throat. Mascara running down her face as she started her assault of sucking on the comically large dick. He could somewhat imagine himself doing it, though the drool and mess was a massive turnoff that made him feel sticky just watching it. Next

‘Cuckholding’

The moment it appeared on his screen after searching a lot made sense regarding Denki and Mineta. Of course they were into this shit, why the fuck did he even decide to listen on to those morons conversation. He was confident he could never be into this. Next

The next hour was filled off him stroking his half erect cock to mediocre videos with no luck. He’d even watched the top most recommended on the site, the drum beat before each video posing as a reminder that this wasn’t working. At this point it wasn’t even to get himself off, but rather to prove to himself he could find a video to do it for him.

None of this shit on his laptop could even remotely turn him on, there was no love or intimacy, just videos of devoid eyes and lacklustre movements that screamed ‘I want to get home and get my paycheck!’.

He hated to admit it, though he couldn’t ever imagine himself having a one night stand or watching these emotionless videos again. Despite his rough and calloused nature, he craved intimacy just as much as he craved to be the best in his class. Katsukis cock lay limp in his hand as he scrolls through the videos, more and more loading after each roll of the laptop mouse.

That was until a certain video caught his eye.

‘Our first video - couple homemade’ 12 views, posted 2 hours ago

He clicked on it, something felt different about this one. The thumbnail displaying what seemed to be a couple in their mid twenties, kissing in the frame of the video. The women had long black hair and sexy curves that made Katsukis dick twitch. The man she was with cupping her face gently with deep admiration for her in his eyes.

As the video slowly played out on his screen, he paid no mind to the humming background noise of their bedroom fan and the shitty resolution. What struck him was the way they kindly talked to each other, pressing small yet passionate kisses on each others faces, how their soft hands rubbed and stroked at one another with care and love.

Katsukis hand roughly gripped around his dick before he could even think to do it. Feeling himself desperately stroke faster each time the couple said sentences of care and sweet nothings to each other. Low moans he didn’t anticipate escaping his mouth as the man slowly inserted himself into the curvy brunette. He wasn’t even attracted to the couple in the video, though he couldn’t help but feel the coil in his stomach build as the intimacy of their love making displayed itself before him.

He wanted to be the one to do it, to bury his cock into his hypothetical girlfriend and dick her down with all the love in his heart. Apart of him felt weird for not being turned on by the professionally made studio porn instead of the homemade couple video with a total of 500 pixels. He tried not to think about it too hard, and focus on how hard his shaft throbbed in his hands.

He felt blissed out as he slowly edged himself, determined to cum at the same time as the couple, a desperately attempt at feeling included. Squeezing his tip harder every time pretty moans escaped their mouths, fuck he wanted to be in their position so badly.

“F-fuck babe… mmmnggg… gonna cum”

“That’s it, come for me pretty girl”

“Cum with me! I wanna feel you cum inside me”

Katsukis stomach felt hot, he was so turned on by the way they spoke to each other, the way they both quickened their movements desperate to make each other cum.

The moment the couple on the screen cried out in pleasure, Katsuki gave a few quick tugs, finishing himself off.

He gave out an embarrassingly loud groan as he released himself, ropes of his cum shooting onto his laptop screen. Panting as he laid back on his bed, he needs someone to do this with as soon as fucking possible

#mha x reader #mha smut #mha #bakugo x reader #bnha #bnha smut #boku no hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo smut #Katsuki smut #mha boys #katsuki Bakugo #my hero academia #my hero academia smut

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eviesaurusrex · 3 months ago

Text

—sleepwalker | B. Barnes

summary: One night, Bucky wakes up alone in their bed and finds his best girl sleepwalking through the compound.

word count: 2k

warnings: sleepwalking, mentions of injuries, a fluffy cloud of fluffness, Bucky being the best boyfriend ever, my lack of sleepwalking knowledge

author’s note: I don’t know where this came from, so we have to deal with it now lol. The ending is shit—as always—because—as always—I haven’t learned to write them. This is not entirely proofread. The dividers are by the fantastic @enchanthings-a!

He knew something was missing. He felt something was off deep in slumber, his mind starting to work, trying to get the former Winter Soldier to wake and get up in order to find the source of his sudden comfortlessness. In his past, he wouldn’t have stirred, wouldn’t have felt it in the slightest, but now, ever since finding a home within this team and within the arms of one particular woman, he had turned into a deep sleeper, only ever getting disturbed by the soft touches of his girlfriend.

So it was an odd thing for him to wake up in the middle of the night without having a nightmare that had rattled the man within the depth of his bones, but suddenly, he felt awareness creeping into his subconscious. Slowly, his eyes started to move behind closed lids, and a hand wandered from his side of the shared bed onto the other side, awaiting to feel the warmth and softest skin of a woman right next to him.

The touch of coldness and the missing body lying there on the mattress let him blink sleepily into the darkness. “Darlin’…?” His rough voice, still laced with sleep, asked into their shared room in the compound, his mind still adjusting to being back in the waking world. A second later, he was wide awake, slight panic searing through him, and he was able to shake off the remnants of drowsiness he had experienced mere moments ago.

Confusion settled right next to the panic while he got out of bed to check on the adjacent bathroom, looking for his girlfriend there without any luck. Instead of heading back to bed—which human being could do such a thing?—the soldier snuck out the door and slowly paced through the massive, still-slumbering building they all called home. He didn’t even think about asking the AI for assistance—not because he was scared shitless of the bodiless voice echoing from every wall and corner, no. Never. He was old-school; he could do things on his own without the help of a program he still couldn’t grasp.

“Love?”

His soft voice entered the kitchen and living area before his body did, but the smell had been prominent ever since he had left the stairs behind. The kitchen was barely filled with the soft, warm gleam of the light above the stove, the kitchen island covered in bowls, utensils, and ingredients. The oven hummed happily in the background, another source of soft yellowish light, a baking form sitting in it from which the smell steadily wafted through the air, comforting him immediately.

It reminded him of home back in the day, of the cooking and baking skills his mom had possessed, of the comfort he always had felt when returning home from school, a soft embrace and food awaiting him there. That emotion hit him right into the chest, making him pause in the door frame to watch the scene unfold, but shaking off the nostalgia and the pictures trying to creep in front of his inner eye because he had sworn he wouldn’t live in the past anymore. He was needed in the present—and preferred it that way.

Blinking against the past, his glance darted through the living area and…

And in the middle of the kitchen, right in front of the large cooking island—stood his girlfriend, softly cradling another silver bowl filled with something resembling a batter or dough, which she gently stirred. He watched her for a moment and saw how she stopped abruptly before continuing without another thought, eyes half closed and entirely unfocused. She hummed softly to a tune only she could hear, wholly lost in her very own world—or in a dream.

Bucky knew she sleepwalked in her youth and how badly those episodes could get, especially in phases when she was stressed or anxious beyond measure. It happening now worried him to an extent he hadn’t felt… ever, not even when she had been down with the worst flue he had ever witnessed, and even then, he had acted like a headless chicken—according to Stark and Clint.

While the soldier kept watching his girlfriend, contemplating how to proceed from here, he had to ask himself if he had overlooked things, signs, hints of how badly a shape she was in, how exhausting those long days in the past couple of weeks had been for both of them, how the stress had built up. She had promised him that everything was alright and she felt good after the latest mission the team had left for two weeks ago, but apparently, either she had lied to him in order to soothe his over-worrying mind, or she hadn’t realized it herself.

Either way, the brunet entered the kitchen slowly and quietly, turning off the oven and softly placing his bigger hands over hers, holding the bowl and mixing spoon in a tight grip, covering them in the process. “You baked enough, my darlin’,” he whispered soothingly as he made her put down the utensils, not minding the mess they would soon leave behind. “It smells amazing in here. ‘m sure the team will appreciate your hard nightly work, doll.” Praise after praise left his lips, all the while he started to pick his girlfriend up in his arms to carry her to their resting place one floor above them.

She mumbled incoherent words all the way back, her head resting heavily against his shoulder, her body melting more and more into his chest with every step the super soldier took. The moment Bucky gently tucked the woman of his dreams into their bed, her half-closed eyes finally fell shut again, and her breathing grew deeper and slower. For a few heartbeats, he lingered at her side of the bed, crouching down in order to be on eye level with her sleeping form, and allowed himself yet another self-indulging touch, caressing her soft cheek with the back of his fingers. Bucky swallowed thickly when he felt his heart squeezing oh so beautifully in his chest, reminding the former Winter Soldier yet again of how lucky a man he could count himself to be.

“You have no idea how much you’ve changed everything, sweetheart,” he dared to whisper raspily into the darkness of their room. “I’m not sure if I would’ve pushed through and still be here without you.” The Barnes had been in such a dark place when he first came here, the burden of the committed atrocities haunting him every waking and sleeping moment until he felt like not being strong enough to hold on. Then, she came around and lightened up his entire world. They had both saved one another in different ways, he knew that, and still, he couldn’t grasp the fortune that had been granted to him.

He leaned closer and pressed a loving, lingering kiss to her forehead, his eyes closed for a second or two, savoring the feeling, before he stood and went into the adjacent bathroom, wetting a washcloth with warm water. With slow steps, he patted back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, taking one of her hands softly in his metal one and started wiping away the remnants of her little baking excursion, softly humming a tune of an old record that kept stuck in his mind. So dedicated to his task to take care of his girl and the music playing in a gentle loop in his thoughts, Bucky didn’t realize she was waking up until a soft gasp escaped her, and her fingers flexed between his. Blinking, the brunet looked up and straight into her slightly disoriented expression, eyes still heavy with sleep and exhaustion that was now so evident, he had to ask himself if he was a blind fool.

“Bucky…? What-…” She sat up slowly, her glance trained on her fingers, which still weren’t entirely clean, but Bucky didn’t stop with his task. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he soothed her with a smile, the washcloth still moving across her skin. “Did I do something? Broke something? Woke someone up?” He smiled when her first thoughts that came to mind were the worry for any other person than herself. “No one noticed your little baking session in the kitchen downstairs, love. Well, maybe Friday, but she was kind enough not to say anything. And before you worry, I turned off the oven.”

Having her hands finally cleaned, the soldier balled the washcloth up and threw it in the overall direction of the laundry basket already prepared for laundry day in a few hours, not minding if he missed it by a few feet because he was already in the process of scooping his girl into his arms. He settled down with her comfortably resting on his chest, claiming her side of the bed for now, his thighs slightly spread to make space for her legs.

“Sorry if I worried you,” YN whispered when she made herself more comfortable, chin resting on her folded hands atop his chest, her eyes observing his deadly handsome face. Bucky, on the other hand, let his fingers push back a soft strand of her hair, his metal ones resting on the small of her back, his thumb moving in slow circles over the fabric of her shirt—which once belonged to him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darlin’. But I have to ask.” He grew quiet for a moment, searching her face for more signs he so blatantly had missed in the past couple of days since their return from Macau. “Are you okay? I know you said everything’s fine, but you only ever sleepwalked when you’re stressed or anxious, and I’m worrying, sweetheart.”

He felt the creases between his eyebrows appear and only relaxed when YN reached up to him, her thumb gently pressing on the apparent lines and softly massaging them away. “Perhaps Macau was more stressful than I initially thought,” she whispered into their dimly lit bedroom and sighed deeply when Bucky cupped her cheek, immediately leaning into the warm palm of his hand. “What about a little trip somewhere, then? Just the two of us, phones either turned off or left behind, no one to disturb us and you can relax and work through your TBR pile.” Bucky almost desperately hoped for her to agree to this positively spontaneous idea of his because he knew he could make her forget the world for a few days when they just had time for themselves and no one in close proximity to thwart his efforts.

Bucky didn’t want to wake up one night to see YN missing from their bed again, but to find her in a more dangerous situation than this time around. He didn’t want to imagine everything that could happen—didn’t want to remember everything that had happened in her youth. He knew of the bruises, the broken arms, the sliced skin after she had dropped a plate, and the police appearing at her family’s door with a disoriented YN in tow after they had found her wandering around the neighborhood. No, he really didn’t want to live through any of it—and he didn’t want to have YN experience all of it again. Bucky had sworn to protect this woman with his life if needed, and he would be damned if he didn’t try anything he possibly could in order to get her as relaxed as possible.

YN nudged his chin with her fingers, helping him escape his spiraling mind, sighing quietly when she leaned closer to kiss him. “Could we drive up north to see the Niagara Falls? Maybe we can find a cozy cabin somewhere close—oh, we could even visit Toronto without having to stop a subsidiary branch of HYDRA.” Bucky started to grin at her obvious excitement at this entirely not thought-through idea, and he pulled her even closer to press a lazy, lingering kiss to her soft lips. “We can do whatever you want, darlin’.” It was barely a whisper, more like a murmur, while his heart squeezed again at the almost otherworldly, deep feelings coursing through him every time he looked at her, heard her, felt her.

Thank you so much for reading! As usual: consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x fluff

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leonkennedybreedingkink · 5 months ago

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BREATHPLAY

ex!leon kennedy x fem!reader

notes: this year has been a lot so far LOL but part of this fic is based on my meditations after a breakup from a long term relationship so enjoy. descriptions of a rocky relationship, maybe a makeup? drunk sex (both lol), sub!leon and dom!reader, some religious tones. also shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet for safe when i fall i think i got inspired by that one :).

Leon and you never really meshed. Rough edges against other rough edges doesn’t mean sanding down so you’ll fit together nicely.

He’s uniquely good at pissing you off. He leaves the toilet seat up (you put it down), he doesn’t like cooking (“I have cereal,” he says, but muscles like those in his arms don’t live off cereal), he refuses to leave his shoes by the door and tracks in mud/dirt/snow/slush/leaves on the floor and your heart (no matter how many times you make him mop up his mess), he’s contrarian for the sake of having something to argue about (read: talk about).

Sheepish schoolboy through and through, no matter how old or grizzled he gets.

The one thing you two could agree on was always the bedroom, he was much easier to bear when he just shut the fuck up for once and put his mouth to better uses. He was always happy to worship at your altar, anyway.

You, oh, you. Leon loves you to bits, you’re his favorite mule. On one hand, stubbornness got you almost everything you wanted, him included. On the other, you’re almost impossible to deal with when you get in a certain way.

Leon likes to feel manly every once in a while, you know?

You also don’t tell him when you’re pissed, you just shut the hell up and shut him out until you’re ready to talk to him, practically scrubbing the dishes until the nonstick coating comes off.

Something you two implicitly agreed on was to hang on—and, boy, was that a mistake. People always say that you should stick it out, a rough patch is just that, you’ll come out stronger together.

What they don’t tell you is that some things are past the salvageable point and it’s better to know when to quit.

There was a lot of yelling that night before Leon packed up his shit and finally left.

You’d had a while of peace, it felt good, organic even, to get Leon out of your system in all the ways that could be meant.

Story of your fucking life that nobody else could get you off the way Leon can. It doesn’t even come down to skill, it just comes down to good old capacity to give a shit—but that’s what you get when you fuck a guy or three after your ex, who you were with for a handful of years, who had the opportunity to learn what makes you break open.

To you, this breakup felt like swimming to the surface after a few years under water.

Leon had the opposite sort of idea. He didn’t want to touch anyone else, he didn’t want to look at any other woman but you. He deleted your nudes off his phone in a drunken haze, so it’s only memories that get him off when he’s drunk—that is, if whiskey dick hasn’t struck him yet again.

(Another one of your complaints.)

Every time you said you’d go to your friends, they discouraged you from ever talking to him again. They went so far as to take your phone and change the contact name to DON’T EVER FUCKING CALL, changing the profile picture from Leon giving you bunny ears in a mirror selfie to a red stop sign.

You kinda miss Leon the way you miss a bruise, pressing on it a little longer for the hurt and for it to stay. Oh, the love was there too, and you two still yelled at one another or gave the silent treatment until someone (him) broke, walking to you on his knees.

Half a year goes by without you thinking about Leon as much as you could perhaps be. You came real close to breaking after about month two without freshly mopped floors because someone was so excited to be home with you that he forgot to take off his shoes, your friends saved you at the last second.

Month seven is when things get a little rocky. Spring’s coming again, even if the ground’s a little frosty still. Leon texts you first around eleven-fifty at night, when you’re scrolling on your phone in bed.

Hey.

What the fuck? You have to stare at the screen unseeingly for a moment, then blink, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them again to a simple greeting. You can almost imagine the tone he’s taking—he takes that one with you after he starts an argument with you just to talk to you about something.

God, back. Get a fucking hold of yourself.

Oh, hell. He’s texting.

I miss you.

Fuck.

Sluggish thumbs pause and hover over the screen.

Do you?

Like a limb. Is his immediate response. The next, a blurry pic of him raking his hand through his hair, gold chain glinting in the flash.

Christ on a cracker.

You can almost feel the chain in your hand the longer you look at it. The pleasantly surprised look on Leon’s face when you first grabbed the chain to carefully tug him closer is still burned in your mind, that’s what gets you off some days. Well, that and the other things you two did.

Come over? Startles you out of your reverie. Baby Christ in the manger with the sheep. Is this really you? Are you the type of bitch to go back to your ex, even for a night? Would future you be disappointed?

Yeah. Be there in ten. Future you is gonna be well-dicked, if and when she beats you up about this.

All Leon sends is his address as you kick off the covers and dress hurriedly, practically running out of your apartment.

You got there in seven. You take care to look nonchalant as you get out of your car, shutting it with a hip and locking it. You shove your keys into your pocket and scope out the apartment numbers as you get up onto the curb, then the sidewalk.

Your foot skids on a stair and you curse, glad you had a hand on the railing as you pause before continuing your ascension.

You barely finish knocking before the door opens, Lazarus fresh from the tomb in all his disheveled glory before you. Your heart’s in your throat. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Leon twists to the side, allowing you in.

Talk about a bachelor pad. You scope out the place as you toe off your shoes, leaned halfway against the wall.

TV’s on, he’s watching something. There’s vodka bottles littering the coffee table and only one light on in a corner of the room.

The door latches behind you and Leon stifles a hiccup into a fist. “You got here quick.” He says, sidestepping you fluidly and going over to the couch. He sits back down, swallowing some more vodka.

Your face goes hot. “I was overcompensating to not fall asleep at the wheel.” You shrug off your jacket, revealing your baggy shirt. There’s nowhere to hang it, so you drop it on the floor and walk over to the couch, plopping down. Ew, it’s pleather.

Leon snorts into his drink and you try not to gawk at his biceps. “Right.” He agrees solemnly, swallowing a little more vodka before he gets up, getting you a tumbler. He looks fucking delicious. “One or two.”

You hate straight vodka. “One.” Why the fuck not? That’s the flinch, isn’t it?

Leon pours you a shot and clinks your glasses together, passing it to you with his finger inside the rim.

You down it without tasting it, and so does he. You lean forward and pour another, swallowing it down with a burn lingering in your nose. When you have about four shots in your system, Leon speaks up.

“You know, people were right when they said that love is not enough.” He muses, swirling his glass around. Some sloshes over his hand and he slurps it up loudly. “Wasn’t for us.”

Your tongue feels heavy. Despite that, you don’t disagree.

When you’re silent for a little while, buzzed mind attempting to work, he scoffs. “Stop clamming up. It’s me.”

“That’s why I’m clamming up.” You snap after a moment, offense cutting through your buzz. “Because it’s you.”

Leon looks a little less pleased, pink mouth twisting and dipping at the corners. He downs a shot and pours another. You follow, plucking at your shirt to cool down as you sit back against the pleather upholstery.

“We were good, though, right?”

You watch the light play off his face, the blue light and shadows sharpening his features. “Sometimes.” You muster after a while, looking down at your shot glass. “When it was bad, it was bad.”

“Rough patches.” Leon mutters back, though he doesn’t seem to really agree. He sets his empty shot glass on the coffee table and sits back, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he watches the muted TV.

That v-line, he always made such pretty noises when you got to that. “Seems like the patches were the relationship.” You take another shot.

Leon shrugs without looking at you. Prick.

Another shot, more silence before you break it, feeling hot all over. “Did you call me over just to drink?”

Leon’s eyes flick over to you, skating over your features. He loved you, maybe. Loves? “Not really.”

Right. You always come when called.

“I just needed you close to me. Even for a moment.” He admits, eyes dropping from the TV to the coffee table.

He stinks of vodka and sweat when you crawl into his lap, ultraviolet eyes flashing wide for a moment before his hands settle on your hips, thumbs swiping over your bunny pajama pants. Muscle memory.

“You know what they say.” You lean in, eyes flicking between his eyes and his mouth, “Drunk words—“

“Are sober thoughts.” Leon finishes for you, chin tipping up as his eyes lid halfway. “You really are a broken record.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will.” Leon tastes like vodka and iron when he closes the distance between you, his lips slightly chapped. Nervous habit of his, he bites his lips.

It’s a little like being able to breathe. Maybe. It just feels really fucking good.

Leon pulls off your pants somehow, landing a smack to your ass to see the offended look you give him. You scratch him a little in return when you tug down his pants, he turns redder than his alcohol flush and dick jumping behind his boxers.

“Missed these most, fuckin’ hell.” Leon squeezes your tits when he gets your shirt off, leaving a kiss on the right side.

“Did mommy not breastfeed you?” You mock him as you tug his boxers down, rising up on your knees as he leaves you to struggle with his clothes. That vodka left you a little wetter than usual, it seems.

Leon leaves a half-gentle bite and you hiss, digging your nails into his thigh. “Dunno—“ You cut him off with a slow descent, back straightening as you hold in what could be a very incriminating noise. “You wanna try?” He says behind gritted teeth, eyes falling shut with a relieved expression.

You give a strained scoff, digging your nose into his cheek as you lace your arms around his neck, rolling your hips against his.

Leon whines behind a closed mouth, pressing his cheek against yours as his hands wander up and down your sides. You get to watch his eyes roll back when you lace your fingers in his hair and tug. His blunt nails dig into your skin, another louder whine leaving him.

Hitting all his weak spots coupled with the first time with you in a few months has him hurtling over the edge sooner than expected. Honestly, you too.

“In?” Leon pants, eyes opening behind his sweaty bangs, hips jumping to meet yours midway. “Out? How do you want me?”

Thank God, your thighs are beginning to burn. “In.” You leave a wet kiss on his cheek, reaching down with your other hand to fumble with your clit.

He comes right before you do, a pathetic sounding whine leaving him as he spills inside you. You collapse against him, panting for breath and sated in a way you haven’t been for a while.

While you collect yourselves and your dignity, Leon’s hands keep moving up and down your back and sides, soft puffs of breath blowing your hair.

It’s dead silent in the apartment, save only for your breaths. Sweat sticks you two together, you grimace as you peel yourself off him, flopping off to his side and making a mess (what a waste).

Silence reigns for a while longer as you pick at Leon’s fake leather upholstery, a million and one things on your mind. “We can’t be friends.” You mutter after a while.

Leon watches you, sweaty hair sticking up at every angle. “No.” He agrees after a silent moment, not bothering to slap your hand away as you keep picking at his fake leather couch. “I don’t think we ever could be.”

You shake your head, eyes on the patchy upholstery. “And we aren’t lovers.”

Leon shoves his hand beneath yours and holds it so you stop picking at the upholstery. “We could be.”

“Maybe.” But you know him and his soft heart. Beneath it, your heart’s soft too. “We’ll fight, though.”

Leon’s finger runs across your palm. “I like our fights.”

You close and open your hand around his finger. “And we only ever seem to communicate when you’re inside me.”

Leon shrugs. “We should just be physical.”

Round and round in circles we go.

#mine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 1 year ago

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MOST WANTED (Toji x Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

"I’m gonna make sure you remember tonight and what happens when you fuck with a guy like me."

***IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: THIS WORK CONTAINS R*PE & NONCON SEXUAL ACTS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS.***

READ PART II HERE!

READ PART III HERE!

***********

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Toji x Spy!Self-Insert!Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You’re a highly skilled hitwoman. You’ve been doing this for years–getting paid to take hits on the wealthy and corrupt at your agency’s order. You figure taking a hit on the renowned Tokyo mafia boss Toji Fushigiro won’t be any different. However, things take a terrifying turn for you, and your skills are put to the test when you go undercover as a dancer at his favorite club and give him a private dance. But instead of killing you, Toji takes it upon himself to punish you and show you what happens when you fuck with him.

Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+; Porn with Plot; Physical Fighting; Gun Play; Knife Play; Noncon/R*pe; Forced Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Forced Orgasm; Lap Dancing/Pole Dancing; Doggystyle; Spit Play; Degradation + Praise; Rough Sex; Choking; Hair Pulling; Unprotected PIV Sex; Creampie; Some Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Here you go lovely!! @curiouscutie143 I hope you & everyone other toji lovers enjoy this. I had so much fun writing this & I tried to make it as nasty as I could lol. I may write another mafia!toji thing in the future just cuz this shit was soooo fun. Enjoy! -Jazz

*************

“Peaches, you’re needed in the backrooms.”

You resist the urge to smile as you turn around from your seat at the bar, sipping on some water after your dance and sweet-talking a middle-aged bank broker into his pockets. It’s important to keep up the facade.

“Comin’,” you tell your coworker and turn to the broker who looks ready to dive into your cleavage.

“Sorry, but I’ve gotta run,” you sigh, acting apologetic. He frowns at you, making the wrinkles and lines in his face more evident. “But this shouldn’t take too long. Find me afterward?”

The broker puts his hand on yours, accidentally using the hand his gold marriage band sits on. “You’ve got it, baby,” he purrs. “I’ve got some dollars just waitin’ on ya.”

He gives you a wink before polishing off his whiskey and walking away from the bar, leaving you to breathe and collect your thoughts. You turn to the bottle girl, waving her down. “One shot of Patron, please!” you yell above the music blaring from the overhead speakers. She nods, scurrying to fetch you a much-needed shot. It will be the first alcoholic drink you’ve had since your shift started.

You suddenly hear a buzz from your right ear and instantly put your hand up against it under your hair. “V,” a gruff voice says into your earpiece. “Come in, V. It’s been 20 minutes since we last talked. Did you get him yet?”

You scan the upscale strip club pulsing with purple and red strobe lights and booming with activity: businessmen and regular-degular customers tossing money at the dancers on stage who spin around poles and do splits in their thongs and heels.

“Target was sighted five minutes earlier, sir,” you whisper into the earpiece given to you by your agency. “He is currently in the backrooms waiting for me. He came alone. He made eye contact with me ten minutes ago, so he may be asking for me.”

More like you made eye contact with him and had been since he walked in. He is impossible to miss with how tall and buff he is. His black V-neck tee stuck to his pectorals and abs while his jeans hung low on his hips.

You had expected he’d be flashier with his wealth by wearing obvious designer clothing, but you figured that he had to keep a low profile as well. Beneath the V-neck that hung from his neck, you could see the tattoos that roped over his chest just like his arms. The healed scar at the corner of his smirk as his green eyes scanned the place over told you that this was, indeed, your target.

He stood between two bodyguards in suits half his size, giving off an intimidating aura, especially with the guns at their hips. But you’d expect nothing less from Toji Fushigiro, Tokyo’s most notorious mafia boss.

He is powerful. He is wealthy. He is known throughout Tokyo and Japan for being the head of Tokyo’s infamous mafia gang, the spot being passed down by his father. He is also a criminal. White-collar crime, organized crime, drug trafficking––you name it, Toji does it.

He is also known for his scare tactics on those who owe him a debt. He’s held man over bridges, threatening to drop them in the murky waters below. He’s pistol-whipped. He’s choked. He’s stomped. He’s jumped guys in alleyways and left them for dead. He is a man of his word. If he tells you he’ll fuck you up if you don’t give him his money in a certain amount of time, he’ll do it.

He is the number one man current on your hitlist…and your agency’s. They knew it was a good idea to employ you, their top hitwoman, to Toji’s favorite club to take him out for good. Though he didn’t show up when you started at the club a couple of weeks ago, you knew it was only a matter of time until he showed up.

And now, he is. As soon as he was in the club, everyone’s eyes were on him. Dancers scurried to the pole and backstage to change into their best outfits to milk him out of his pockets. Bartenders and bottle girls quickly wiped down counters and took care of customers as quickly as possible so they could tend to him. Your manager barreled toward him with complimentary champagne and a spot in the VIP section.

As Toji walked with your manager, your eyes met across the room. They met again while he sat in the VIP section when he should’ve been watching a dancer twirl around the pole in front of him. Both times were fleeting, but they affected you completely. His green eyes, like mirrors to a forest, sent chills down your spine and made your stomach flip. His gaze was intense. Intimate. His eyes made it hard to relax or act like a normal dancer working her shift at the club.

He seemed to know what he was doing to you or he was sizing you up because he would simply smirk and sip on his whiskey on the rocks and puff on his cigar, his soft lips forming Os and blowing the smoke into the strobe-lit air. You can understand why so many women fell for him, but you aren’t one of them. The tiny gun strapped to your hip proves it.

Your real boss sighs in relief. “Excellent work,” he praises. “Unfortunately, we can’t see what you’re doing from over at headquarters and we’re still working on connecting the audio to hear what’s happening around you, so just fill us in on what you do next until then. All you have to do now is walk back there and complete the mission as we discussed.”

You toss an arm over the bar, stretching your coffin-shaped nails along the polished bar. “Of course,” you reply with a smirk. “Don’t I always?”

The bartender returns with your shot and you down it at once, relishing the burn and the way it loosened you right up. “I’ll keep you informed,” you say. “Just stay near the phone.”

“Be careful,” your boss says before the line cuts. You check your makeup in the bar before you get up from the bar and strut over to your beautiful, blonde coworker in her red lingerie and heels. “Hey, Yuki,” you greet her.

She smiles at you and guides you to the backrooms where the wealthier customers usually take the girls to get a dance…or something more. Sexual exchanges aren’t allowed, but the manager never complains if they bring in more money. You and Yuki peer down the hallway to the double doors of a private room where Toji’s bodyguards stand.

“Why the guards?” you ask, pretending to be confused. “Is the President here or somethin’?” Yuki turns you to face her, her eyes wide. “Even bigger,” she replies. “He’s the hot guy with the scar who comes in here often. He’s a mafia boss, apparently. Super hot, but very powerful. The bossman gave him his pick of any girl he wanted and he picked you.”

You do your best to hide your smirk. You knew you had him. “Me?” you ask breathlessly. “Why me?” Yuki shrugs, just as clueless. “Don’t know, but I was sent out to fetch you. He’s willin’ to pay double the amount of a regular lapdance, but he didn’t say if he wanted it topless, naked or not.” She gives you a worried look, furrowing her blonde brows. “You sure you up for it, hon?” she asks. “I know you’ve taken high rollers before, but he ain’t even a high roller! He’s beyond that!”

To sell it even more, you bite your lip, acting nervous but intrigued. “I can do it,” you reply. “Just hold my hand when you walk me in there.” Yuki obliges and squeezes your hand as you begin to walk toward the guards, heels clicking across the floor.

“Target is in sight,” you whisper into your earpiece, turning away from Yuki and putting your mouth in your arm to muffle your voice. “I’m walkin’ to the backrooms now where he’s located.”

“Excellent, V!” your boss says. “Just do it as we discussed. Don’t falter, don’t yield, and don’t lose focus.” The three rules of being a spy. You never forgot them. Finally, you come to the guards and Yuki smiles up at them. “I’m here with Peaches,” Yuki announces. “The girl Mr. Fushigiro asked for.”

You plaster a bright, charming smile on your face. It must work because the guards budge and step out of the way for you. One of them opens the door for you and Yuki, holding it. “Step in,” he orders. You thank him and scurry inside the dimly lit room with an included mini-bar, a single stripper pole, and leather lounging couches. Toji currently sits in one of them, legs spread and eyes hooded as he puffs on a blunt and sips on his drink.

His green eyes pierce into your very soul when he eyes you in the doorway. “Here she is, sir,” Yuki says. “Just as you requested. And she’s just as pretty as I told you she is.” She moves your hair out of your face, exposing your pretty false flashes, Fenty Beauty gloss, and accentuated features to the boss.

Toji hums, liking what he sees. “Yes, she is,” he agrees. “Tell your boss thanks. He can expect some good business out of me once the night is through.” Yuki nods and gives your arm a squeeze. “Good luck,” she whispers before heading off. The doors close and you are left alone with your hit.

Neither one of you moves toward the other, staying posted to your spots. Toji takes a puff on his blunt and lights taps it above the ashtray next to him. “Y’know, you’re mighty pretty up close,” he purrs. “I’ve been wonderin’ what you’d look like up close instead of across the room.”

You finally look at him, noticing how big he is even sitting down. “So you’ve been watchin’ me tonight?” you ask. He nods, his eyes trailing down your form. “I knew I hadn’t seen ya before,” he continues. “I come here often and I would’ve remembered seein’ a face and a rack like that.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Charmer, aren’t you?” you sarcastically question.

He smirks at your wittiness. He likes that bite in a woman. “When I wanna be, but you’ll have to forgive me; the liquor makes me bolder than I already am.” His tongue jets out to lick his lips. “But you’ve gotta give a guy credit for bein’ honest and that lil’ outfit don’t leave much to the imagination.”

You go to wrap your arms around yourself but then stop. You need to sell this and if you’re forced to stand here in a mini dress that barely covers your ass or titties with heels that could crush a bitch in front of your hit who also happens with me enticingly sexy, then so be it. Toji’s gaze softens somewhat, noticing your discomfort. “You are very beautiful, Peaches,” he genuinely says. “Is it okay if I use your name?”

“Thank you, Mr. Fushigiro,” you softly reply. “And no, it’s fine. It’s what I’m known as around here anyway. I started here five weeks ago.” He nods, sipping on his whiskey. “Call me Toji.”

“Toji,” you parrot, slowly striding towards the pole in the middle of the room, an overhead speaker playing soft R&B overhead. “You’re quite the man. The entire club seems to be in a frenzy over you.”

His smirk widens, proud and cocky. “They always are,” he chuckles. “Don’t know why. This place gets plenty of people bigger than me all the time, especially international celebs. I heard Drake was here not too long ago.” You give a dry “mm-hmm” as you grasp the pole. Toji takes that answer another way. “What, you don’t like Drake?” he snorts.

“He’s okay,” you reply, short and impatient. “So what are you here for? To talk or to watch me dance?” You wrap a hand around the pole and pop your hip out, waiting for him to give you an order.

“Depends.” He sits up, leaning forward to get a better look at you. “What are you willin’ to do tonight for me? ‘Cause we can just sit here and talk. I wouldn’t mind hearin’ that pretty voice all night.” His green eyes gleam with mirth and a small hint of lust.

“Definitely a charmer,” you chuckle. “That’s fine if you’re willin’ to pay, though we don’t have a rate for conversation.”

He laughs at this, the sound deep and raspy yet pleasant to the ear. He takes another puff on his blunt before he lowers it down onto the ashtray. “Then let’s cut to the chase,” he sniggers. “It’s $500 for a 10-minute dance, right? I want 20 minutes, so that would make…”

He begins to count on his fingers but then stops. “A lot,” he chuckles. “I’ll probably ask for you to strip though. Are you okay with that, Peaches?”

You feel something flip inside of you at the mention of all of that money and how passive he is about it. Any girl working here would do whatever he wanted for 20 minutes! “I’m a stripper,” you reply passively. “What else am I gonna do?”

Toji tsks, grimacing at you. “Damn, what kinda attitude is that?” he laughs. “A beauty like you should be more adamant about showin’ off her body. Can I offer you a drink to get you in the mood?” He nods at the mini bar overflowing with bottles of tequila, vodka, and liquor.

“I don’t drink on the job,” you reply. “Music helps.” You suddenly hear a buzz in your ear and then your boss’ gruff voice: “Give me the rundown, V,” he demands.

You want another drink?” you ask. You nod at Toji’s empty glass and he agrees, so you walk over to the bar. To him, you’re seemingly looking for a bottle of whiskey, bent down to look through the racks. “With the target now,” you whisper. “Just waiting for the right time to attack. Give me a second.”

Once the line goes dead, you walk back over to Toji and pour him a bottle. As you bend down, you give him an ample view of your titties much to his enjoyment. As you do, you slip the gun out of your dress and place it under the couch where only you can find it. Once done, you leave the bottle with him, and step back, hands on your hips. He sits back against the couch, preparing for the show. “Whenever you’re ready, darlin’,” he purrs, his eyes filled with obvious lust and attraction.

With a slow song playing above and the lights dipping into an almost ominous red shade, you begin to move to the beat. You roll your hips, swaying them side to side and front to back, almost as if you’re grinding on Toji despite him being several feet away from you. You let the music take control of you as you grasp the pole and begin to grind against it, dipping low to wind your ass in his face.

You do a few tricks on the pole for him–jumping and spinning around it, your thighs wrapped tight around the metal pole; squatting and lifting up your dress to bounce your ass, etc.–before you turn to look at him over your shoulder, flipping your hair. Toji’s eyes are hooded and lustful, all from the weed, the whiskey, and the effect you’re having on him. Despite the situation, it feels good to have an attractive man ogle at your plump frame.

“Take off the dress,” he demands, a slight growl in his voice. You don’t turn to face him, instead still facing the wall as you carefully unzip the back of your dress. The thin piece of clothing falls off of your body, revealing all of your rolls, curves, and the matching glittery bra and thong set.

“Shit!” Toji hisses, ogling at your asscheeks in your glittery thong. “Your back don’t hurt carryin’ that around?”

You finally turn around and find him leaning forward, his hands clenching his thighs. “You don’t look like you’re ready,” you giggle, winding your hips and toying with your titties in their cups. “Did you talk too much big game, Toji?”

The boss looks like he can’t even speak, his scarred lips parted as he stares you down. “Goddamn,” he hisses. “How some horny fuck didn’t propose to you and steal you out of here yet is beyond me.”

You give a light, tittering laugh, smiling down at him. “Well, if someone did that, I wouldn’t be here with you.” He looks happy with that response. You then twist around and bend over for him, giving him a full view of your full, round, perfect ass. “Can you handle it, baby?” you purr. “Can you handle me?”

You quickly pop up and turn around, finding him shifting in his seat and gritting his jaw. “I should be askin’ you that,” he growls. “Come the fuck here.” Deciding not to tease him any longer, you strut over to him, feeling sexy and irresistible. It’s strange that the same man you were sent to kill is doing this to you.

His eyes have grown several shades darker, reminding you of the deepest, darkest parts of a jungle. “Dance for me,” he demands. “Not on the pole; on me.” He opens his legs wider for you and pats his lap, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Though clients often get handsy when dancers give them lapdances here, you decide that it’s best to do as he says.

Plus, you’d be lying if you said that you aren’t curious to feel him for yourself. So you place your hands on his thick, muscular highs and begin to roll your body before squatting down, popping up between his legs. You reach up to drag your palms and long nails down his chest, feeling up his abs and toned stomach. He allows it, staring down at you with a look that would make a nun blush.

You then stand up between his legs before turning around and lowering yourself down into his lap. “Shit,” he whispers, watching the way you work your ass along his lap and the jean-clad bulge that has begun to make an appearance. You twerk and bounce on top of him before he takes a drag of his blunt, blowing the air away from you. “You ever shotgun before?” he asks, his lips close to your ear now.

Your body grows hot from him being so close, the attraction ironically magnetic. Slowly, you shake your head and Toji chuckles, adoring your mix of cute and sexy. “C’mere.” You lean back and tilt your head up while he takes another puff of his blunt. He holds the marijuana smoke before puckering his lips up and leaning down as if to kiss you. Slowly, the smoke travels from his lips to yours in an indirect kiss that leaves you breathless and your head dizzy.

You can’t deny it: you’re wet. Your pussy has never been this wet for any man before…and he’s the enemy! Toji seems to feel it too judging by the hard-on you can feel pressing into your thigh. You shift onto his knee and begin grinding your ass back, doing your best to not grind your pussy against his thigh.

“So you got a name other than that stripper shit?” he randomly asks you. You are immediately taken out of your lustful haze, remembering why you’re here. “I don’t remember us talkin’ about personal shit,” you dryly reply. “I don’t give my real name out to men I don’t know.”

Then, for the first time tonight, Toji touches you. His big hand lowers onto your thigh and squeezes. You don’t try to move it but you are alarmed. “Oh, but you do know me, darlin’,” he replies, digging his fingers into your flesh. “And I know you, V.”

At the mention of your real name, you freeze. The world freezes with you, everything seeming to cease their existence including the music that continues to play overhead. But you don’t hear it. All you can hear is your own blood pumping loudly in your eardrums. Toji releases you and you quickly jump off of him, turning toward him.

He just sits there staring at you, a humorous smirk playing on his lips. The smile is no longer attractive to you anymore. Suddenly, you feel disoriented. You feel like you may vomit or drop to the floor in your heels. Your earpiece buzzes to life again in your ear. “V!” your boss calls. “We just got the audio working again. What’s happening?” He sounds panicked, just as much as you are.

Toji bares his pearly whites at you as he calmly reaches for his whiskey. “Ah, now them wheels are turnin’ in that pretty little head,” he chuckles. “You know, you dance almost as good as you lie. I can see why you were put here to go undercover.” He takes a sip and licks the remnants away from his top lip, still staring you down.

“Ain’t that right?” he asks and it feels like a snake has just silvered up your back and sunk its teeth in you, paralyzing you.

“Y/N, he knows!” your boss hisses. “Stand down! Don’t do anything stupid!” He continues to yell and scream at you about aborting the mission and telling you that someone will be there soon, but you can’t quite hear him. It’s like you’re underwater and he’s standing above ground, his voice muffled and murky.

For a few seconds that seem like a lifetime, you and Toji stare each other down, waiting for the other to make the first move. Your body kicks into fight or flight, the freeze stage having already been awakened. Inisctively, you shift into fight mode. Quickly, you take the bottle of whiskey and bring it down towards Toji’s head, but he catches your wrist like it’s nothing.

You grunt, wincing at the pain of his grip. “Oh, you wanna play, huh?” he cackles. “Goin’ against your boss’ little rules just to take me out? How cute.”

With a wail of effort, you swing your other hand at his head but he catches that too. Counting on this, you bring your leg up and kick him hard in the groin. He immediately releases you and lurches forward, holding his junk, giving you a chance to grab your gun from under the couch.

“Don’t move,” you growl, cocking the gun at him. “You move and I’ll shoot.”

Toji, red in the face and panting, glares up at you. “Please,” he scoffs. “You act like you’re the first bitch that’s put a gun to my head.” Before you can blink, he is swinging the bottle at you. You duck which is a mistake because Toji uses that opening to tackle you to the ground. You struggle and growl, turning into an animal as he wrestles with you for your gun.

He ends up winning, flipping you over and pinning you down to the floor with his body. “Get off!” you scream, still wriggling around. “Get off me!” Click. The barrel of your gun presses to your temple. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you regret it,” he growls.

His fingers move your hair back away from your ear and pry the earpiece out of your ear. He snarls at it as if it’s nothing but a bug. “God, they made these things so much smaller now.” He stands up, keeping the gun on you, and stomps on the earpiece, breaking it. “Whoops!” he mockingly says. “They should still be able to find ya though. I don’t plan on movin’ ya to another location…if you don’t piss me off.”

The gun clicks again. “Turn around slowly,” he demands. Despite your reluctance to do so, you slowly turn around and face him, lying on your back with your own shit pointed at you as Toji stands above you. “How did you know?” you whisper.

He smirks, appearing like the Devil in your eyes. “It wasn’t hard, darlin’,” he chuckles. “Dancers don’t eye me up the way you were. You looked like you were out for blood, not dollars. Not to mention the gun I saw at your hip.” You flush, cursing yourself. You should’ve been smarter. Of course, he would know. He spends his days having people hunt him down.

His smirk fades, his expression darkening. “Who sent you?” he demands. “And don’t lie. You don’t wanna know what I do with liars.” The gun cocks, his finger trained on the trigger. You glare at him, hating his guts even more than you had before you met him. So you weakly confess. He guffaws, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, those guys? They’ve been after me for years!”

“You’re a criminal,” you hiss despite the gun in your face. “You only got this far because of you dippin’ your hands in crime and gettin’ blood on your fists. I’m here to stop you.”

Toji’s brows raise in shock though he’s intrigued by your stubbornness. He squats down in front of you, still pointing the gun at your head. “And how are you gonna do that, huh, little girl?” he asks.

Not even thinking, you hollow your lips and wallop a glob of spit in Toji’s handsome face before quickly turning over and scrambling to the door. However, Toji is just as fast and has his big, tatted arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight. You can’t elbow him anywhere because your arms are stuck in his, leaving you to kick and wriggle.

“Oooh, I love a feisty bitch,” he chuckles. “Makes it a lot more fun to break ‘em.”

He begins to walk with you over to a nearby wall and slams you against it, knocking the air out of your lungs. You find yourself pressed against the wall and him who is equally as hard and unmoving as the solid wall against your front.

He shoves the side of your face into the wall while he pins your arms behind your back, causing your muscles to explode with pain at being stretched back too far. “Get off!” you cry. “O-Ow, that hurts!”

Toji tugs on your arms again, emitting a weak whine of pain from you. “That’s what you get for fuckin’ with me,” he growls. “Now what should I do with you? Kill you? Leave your agency to find you here?” The gun once again presses against your temple, cold and unrelenting.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears pushing back the ducks. You can’t beat this. You can’t fight this. “Do it,” you sob. “Just do it!” You go limp against him, waiting to feel that bullet penetrating your skull and for the void to come to collect you…but instead, Toji takes the gun away from you, leaving an indent on your temple. “No,” he says. “I’ve got a better idea.”

You open your eyes, confused but also scared. What else is he planning to do with you? Before you can answer, you hear the undeniable sounds of his zipper coming down and the clinking of his metal belt buckle. Your body instant seizes, fear flooding your insides.

“I’m gonna make sure you remember tonight and what happens when you fuck with a guy like me. Tonight, babydoll, you’re mine. You don’t have a choice. You’re mine and I’m gonna show you what that means.”

With his belt finally in his hands, he trains the gun on you. “Put your hands against the wall and stick that ass out,” he demands, his voice void of all emotion. “Do it now.” Outnumbered and out of tricks, you do as he says, trembling as you do so.

“Bad girls like you need to be punished,” he says before the belt comes down hard onto your right asscheek. WHACK! The sharp sound of the leather hitting the soft, jiggly flesh of your ass penetrates the air. It feels like fire has licked your skin and your knees buckle at the pain. “Ow!” you cry out.

Toji cackles at your agony, finding enjoyment and cuteness in it. “What, that hurt?” he laughs. “You don’t like the pain? I’m sure a girl like you has taken plenty of worse things before.” He raises his arm and whips the same cheek twice.

WHACK! WHACK! You flinch at each sharp hit, each one becoming more painful than the last. “Hurts, don’t it?” he snickers. “Don’t you regret pullin’ that shit with me now, babydoll, hm?”

He then proceeds to whip your left cheek, not allowing you any time to recover or breathe.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! You bite your lip so hard that you nearly draw blood, the burning of your backside too much to bear. “S-Stop!” you whine. “Please stop!”

Toji’s big hands wrap around your mouth, covering it. “Don’t speak,” he whispers into your ear, his breath the scent of whiskey and mint. “You don’t get to speak. Just take it.” You have no choice but to do so as he wails on your ass again and again, the leather cracking like fire against your jiggly ass. “God, that recoil,” he groans. “I’m gonna enjoy my time with you, baby doll.”

You don’t answer, too busy holding back tears that have begun to push at your eye sockets. Toji finally stops and tosses his head back to laugh. “Are you cryin’?” he laughs in disbelief. “Damn, and all from some spankings? And here I thought you were this tough bitch.”

You burn with resentment and humiliation, but all of that is pushed aside when he forces you to stand up straight and tugs your arms behind your back. You begin to panic but don’t say anything as he tightens his belt around your wrists and locks the belt buckle around them. “Turn around,” he finally says.

Despite your tiny sobs, you do so and face him. His eyes are hooded and dark with obvious lust for you. He uses one big hand to force you onto your knees, right in front of his open fly and hard cock that you can see pressing against his designer briefs. “I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about,” he growls. He points the gun at your face, specifically at your lips. “Open your mouth and suck on it.”

His expression, dark and chilling you to the bone, makes you feel as if you don’t have a choice..and not the loaded gun pressing to your lips. Swallowing hard, you shakily open your mouth and he slides the pistol in. The metal feels cold and hard in your mouth, making you cringe. “That’s it,” Toji chuckles. “Take that shit, baby. C’mon, don’t you wanna please me?”

Slowly, you begin to suck, hollowing your lips out against the gun. Though you tremble and shake, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to imagine the gun as a hard, warm, throbbing cock instead. Toji moans as if you’re sucking on him, watching your tongue swirl along the barrel and your head bob.

“Fuck, baby doll,” he groans. “You’ve got such a mouth on ya.” He slides it in further, the metal scraping against your teeth, until he reaches your throat. You gag and try to pull away, but Toji grips the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, mama,” he snickers. “You don’t get to get outta this. C’mon, just open your throat and breathe through your nose. You can do it.” He continues to push and pull, the gun sliding in and out of your mouth, while you struggle to breathe. You can feel sweat pool under your pits and between your cleavage all from your fear. Toji’s finger isn’t on the trigger anymore, but it doesn’t matter. He could change that in a second.

So you suck and you slurp and you bob your head up and down like a good little slut, staring him into his eyes while spit drips from your lips. Finally satisfied, Toji pulls the gun out of your lips now coated in your saliva. “You fuckin’ slut,” he pants. “Now I need to try ya out for myself.”

He pockets the gun and, with one hand, pulls down his briefs. His big, long, throbbing, veiny, perfect-looking dick springs to life. It damn near hits you in the face, making you gasp. “Sorry, mama,” he chuckles. “He just likes you.”

He wraps a hand around his 12-inch dick, pumping it lewdly in your face. “So you finna stare at it or suck it?” he deadpans, but he doesn’t wait for you to answer or recover.

“W-Wait,” you stammer.

That’s all you get to say before his cock is pushing between your lips and into your mouth. He releases a moan when he first slides into your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your wet mouth, soft lips, and tongue wrapping around him. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to take him. His girthy dick stretches out your jaw and your throat as he pushes himself in deep.

“C’mon, babydoll,” he chuckles. “That can’t be all you can take of me.” He continues to push, filling your tongue and nostrils with the scent and taste of him. The walls of your throat have no choice but to accommodate his size though it burns and you gag as he begins to slowly yet roughly thrust into your mouth. “Maybe this will help ya out,” he says. Suddenly, he retrieves a pocket knife from his pocket and flicks it open.

Fear flares into your stomach, making you want to jump away, but his large hand keeps you locked down on his cock. He presses the knife to your throat, chuckling as he does. “Careful now,” he warns. “You lean too close and that pretty neck might get sliced. I just wanna encourage you to do a good job.” He grips your hair and wrenches it up to look at him. “And you will do a good job for me, won’t you?” he asks.

His tone makes it so you can’t refuse, so you say yes and allow him to force your head back down onto his cock before pulling it back. He does that for a while––pushing and pulling your head down onto his dick like you’re his toy while he uses your sloppy, wet mouth like it’s a fleshlight. “Fuck!” he shouts to the ceiling. “This fuckin’ mouth is heaven, baby. I hope your pussy is just as tight as your tight ass throat.”

You gargle and mumble on his cock, causing pleasurable vibrations to travel throughout his body and his heavy balls that drip with your saliva. He continues to fuck your face and ruin your makeup, marveling at how beautiful you look choking on his cock. “Look at you, you little slut,” he dreamily sighs. “Makeup all fucked up. Hair ruined. You’re just a little mess for me, aren’t ya?”

He slides his cock out of your throat and you take a grateful gulp of air, strands of your hair stuck to your wet lips and chin. He takes the knife and slides it along your chin, smirking down at you. “Now it’s my turn to taste you,” he murmurs. Before you can protest, he is picking you up, tossing you over his shoulder, and placing you on your stomach with your arms still tied behind you.

“Please!” you sob, beginning to cry again. Toji straddles your ass, one hand massaging the globes of fat in your thong while the other holds his knife. “Please what, baby?” he mockingly coos. “I ain’t even touch you yet.” You then feel the cool metal of the knife dragging up your spine, sending shivers down your spine. “Time to get your sexy ass out of these fuckin’ clothes,” he growls.

You flinch when you feel the knife drag up to your left shoulder where it cuts the bra strap. He does the same to your left one before positioning you onto your knees with your wrists slung over the couch arm. Your tits are now exposed, hanging like ripe, juicy fruit beneath you. Then off comes your thong with two swipes of the knife cutting through the thin straps. You sob helplessly as the cool air touches your sodden, wet pussy.

“Damn, baby!” Toji cackles. “Are you wet from all this? You naughty little girl.” His middle and forefingers gently probe your entrance and slide up and down your slit, dragging unwanted moans out of you. “I’m gonna have some fun with you,” he chuckles. “Make sure you never forget about me.”

He then bends you over the couch and proceeds to put his hot, wet, experienced mouth on your pussy while the knife stays pressed against your thigh. You whine at the feeling of his soft lips and tongue swirling along your clit and every sensitive part of you, opening your pussy up to more of him. He drowns in your pussy, pushing his face into it as far as he can and letting his tongue do all of the talking.

You can’t stop the moans and gasps that escape you. The pleasure is just too much and too good! What a shame that a man who is so good at eating kitty is the same man you were sent here to kill. “Toji,” you moan, using his name for the first time ever. “Please…please!”

Toji’s one hand massages and smacks your ass, becoming aoslutely obessed with it. “What do you need, babydoll?” he coos against your clit. “You need somethin’?” You nod helplessly though you have no clue what you need at this point. “Tell me you’re mine then,” he growls. “Say it and fuckin’ mean it. Say you’re my good little slut.”

You keep your lips clamped tight, not wanting to swallow your pride or give up that tiny part of you that hates him still. SPANK! Your ass stings from his assault on your ass, his hand no doubt leaving a handprint. “Say it!” he bellows.

At the blinding pain, pleasure, and delirium, you break. “I’m yours!” you sob. “I’m your good girl! Your good little slut! I’m everything you want me to be!”

Toji, pleased, presses soothing kisses to your burning asscheek. “Good girl,” he praises. “See how easy that was? Now you get your reward.” Suddenly, you feel his thick cock smack against your pussy once, twice, three times and then he is sliding home inside of you.

Your mouth goes slack and your eyes grow wide as he begins to rocks his hips into, allowing you to get used to him. He is big. You can feel him stretching out every part of your cunt as he sinks deeper into your velvety, wet walls. “Fuck,” he sighs, one hand clutching your hip. “Not bad, babydoll. Your pussy is definitely the best one I’ve fucked…so far.”

He begins to fuck you harder, faster, railing you as if this will be his last time doing so. Your moans and huffs of breath become louder and more intense the harder and deeper his cock plunges inside of you. “W-Wait!” you gasp. “Slow down! I can’t…can’t!”

Toji chuckles, watching your ass bounce against his pelvis as he fucks you. “Sorry, honey,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t help it. You just sound so cute.”

Your thighs clench and your body writhes as he rails you, unable to take this deep dicking into the couch. You try to move away but the knife suddenly sliding against your throat stops you. “Uh-uh, babydoll,” he growls. “Don’t run from me. I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” He then pops his knee up, his foot up on the couch, and reaches a part inside of you that makes you feel unimaginable pleasure.

“Just take me like a good girl, okay?” he whispers. “You can do that for me if you wanna live.” You don’t have a choice in the matter, mostly because of the hold he has on your arms, pulling you back as drives himself forward again and again. The sound of your moans, his grunts, and the lewd plap, plap, plap as his balls swing against your overly-sensitive clit and his hips slam into your ass fill the air, drowned out by the music playing outside.

“Who would’ve thought,” Toji pants into your ear. “C.O.D.E.’s good little spy gettin’ her brains fucked out on a mission, huh? I bet they’d love to see this.” His free hand releases your arms and yanks on a handful of your hair. “I bet they’d love to see you full of me,” he growls. “Full of this dick and my cum.”

He presses the knife deeper into your throat, just enough for you to feel the sharp, jagged edge of the blade. “You wanna cum for me, baby?” he asks. “You gonna be a good slut and take all my cum too?”

“Please!” you whimper, losing your mind and all of your pride. “Please just make me cum! I’ll do whatever you want, Toji!” He takes the knife from your throat and replaces it with his hand, choking you as he fucks you stupid. “Then do it,” he demands. “Fuckin’ cum on this cock while I fill you up. Cum with me now!”

“Ah, ah, fuck, I-I’m gonna cum!” you deliriously sob as he continues to pound into you. “I’m gonna…gonna–!”

You don’t get a chance to finish because your pussy has finally reached its limit and explodes all over him, your walls squeezing around him and your clit shuddering. You reaching your peak triggers Toji and he grips your throat and ass as he comes to a still, his entire body tensing. “Fuck!” he bellows, cumming deep, deep, deep inside of you.

You gasp as you feel a rush of warm liquid flood into your pussy while you gush all over his cock, dripping down his balls. He fills you to the brim, giving you so much that it has no choice but to trickle down your thighs. He doesn’t immediately pull out though––he continues to fuck you, albeit slowly and sloppily, before giving your tit one feeble squeeze and finally pulling out of you.

You weakly moan at the feeling of being empty yet used, your pussy twitching and aching. “Mmm, now look at that,” he sighs dreamily, staring at your cum-soaked cunt. “Now that’s a properly fucked pussy if I do say so myself.” He takes a handful of your chin, squeezing your cheeks together, and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Not bad, babydoll.”

You don’t respond, too weak and too tired to do so. You’re too tired to even feel any amount of disgust for him and shame in yourself for failing the mission and enjoying the sex. “Let’s get this off of you,” Toji says, his hands unbuckling the belt from your wrists. “I’m gon’ need it for myself, anyway.” He releases your wrists and lets you lay on the couch, panting and coated in sweat.

Your makeup and hair are ruined. Your underwear is in tatters. You feel used and fucked-out. You can only stare at Toji as he quickly gets dressed and straightens out his clothes, his cock still covered in you. “I’m sorry, baby, but I’ve gotta go before your people get here.” He gives you an apologetic smile. “But gimme a call since I’m sure you can find that out. Maybe we can do this again.”

He then moves to the extra bathroom behind the couch and retrieves a robe which he covers you with. “See?” he chuckles. “I ain’t that big of an asshole.” He presses a kiss to your lips before bending down to pick up your thong. “Thanks for this,” he says, dangling it in front of you. “And the dance. I’ll cherish both forever.”

You don’t say anything, even as you watch him leave, taking your thong and your dignity with you.

Then you are alone. At some point, you find the strength to stand up and wobble to the bathroom where you take a hot shower, washing the scent of sex and cum off of you. When you return, dressed in your robe, the door busts in, and your boss and fellow spies enter the room, guns drawn and masks on their faces.

“V!” your boss shouts, instantly dropping his weapon and running to you. His eyes widen at your state, looking for any bruises or scars. There are none…that are physical, anyway. “V, what happened?” he asks.

And as the events of tonight come flooding back to you at full speed, you muster up the most believable lie you can, clutching your robe closed:

“He overpowered me.”

#black fanfic writer #smutty smut #my works #black coded reader #black writers #my fic shit #jjk smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x black reader #toxic relationship #toji x self insert

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propertyofyoutube · 1 year ago

Note

I HAVE A REQUEST

So the fic could be a Sam X reader, and it starts with just pure smut and him being dominant, then after right, the reader Is laying in bed and Sam's editing. The reader takes out her phone and does the trend 'this man just took my ability to walk and now he's editing' and the reader, who is publicly dating, posts it and it gets millions of view and likes and Sam gets a notification too and he opens it to see that, and then he stops editing and starts cuddling the reader, ending the fic in fluff or smut, your choice. Sam could also ask at the end 'you happy now?'

Are you happy now? - EXPLICIT

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, dom!sam, controlling during sex, rough but passionate, angry!sam, creampie, oral, gagging, pure filth and love. Oh and bad language lol.

Not edited.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

You sat peacefully on the sofa in yours and Sam's shared bedroom, happily scrolling through your TikTok foryou page. You suddenly came across an edit of you and Sam. Your eye fell wide as you watched the skills of the talented fans, highlighted moments in your relationship in the most amazing way. You and Sam had been public for almost 2 years now, and it still was hard for you to see yourself in this way. Something you'd probably never get used to. As you watched the quickly changing clips your heart dropped as you saw a text message from Colby drop down the top of your screen.

Colbs: yooo, warning! Shitty day, Sam's pretty angry about this last meeting...

You: oh fuck... is he okay? Are you okay? When you say angry, like shouting angry or silent angry?

Your thumb twiddled across your keyboard as you watched Colby's typing bubble show up. You wasn't sure which you'd prefer right now. Shouting angry Sam meant he would probably have to offload his stress on you with a monologue of curse words and exaggerated arm movements. But silent angry Sam, could be two things; 1- headphones on/movie on and cuddling in silence, 2- breaking your back in an outburst of dominance and frustration, most perfect stress reliever. Lowkey, you were hoping for the latter.

Colbs: I'm okay, Sam will probably explain it to you... but let's just say he hasn't said a word since he started driving home...

You: right okay... thanks for the heads up x

You sighed after texting Colby back. You hated when Sam had a shit day, it killed you to see him upset, and we're always willing to do whatever it took to make him feel better.

>>>>>>>>>

It had only been 20 minute you were waiting, still sat on the sofa, before you heard the front door open. You waited nervously as you closed your phone placing it down beside you. You could hear Colby's voice muffling in the background and suddenly the sound of footsteps making their climb up the staircase. You knew those angry footsteps anywhere.

You took a deep breath as the bedroom door opened and Sam walked in, throwing his bag down quickly, his jaw clenched and his fists stiff.

"Hey baby, are you okay?" You asked, trying to make it seem like Colby hadn't already told you that he wasn't okay.

Sam instantly began to take off his jacket, your eyes fell wide as his gaze met yours as he walked further into the room. You knew that look anywhere. His hands quickly unbuckled his belt as you felt your stomach do a flip and your heat twitch. “Clothes off. Now.” He spoke firmly as your eyes fell wide with both concern and excitement. “I need you.” Sam said his voice shaking with so much emotion.

You instantly stood up and began to remove your clothes your heart beating fast. As you quickly managed to strip completely naked, you looked up to see Sam, his expression softening ever so slightly at the view of you. “Fuck me…” he said, his voice low. “Get over here now.” He said firmly.

You bit your lip in anticipation as you began to head over to him. Sam stepped forward meeting you halfway as he crashed his lips onto yours. The kiss was instantly hot and passionate. His hands wandering around your body.

“I’ve had… such a shitty day…” Sam mumbled against your lips as his grip on your skin deepened.

“I know baby…” you whispered back between kisses.

“All I thought about… was you..” he continued, as he suddenly tugged on your hair, pulling your head back earning a moan from you. “And taking all my frustrations out on that perfect little pussy of yours…” Sam suddenly bit on your lip as his voice sent shivers down your body. “Do you want me to feel better baby?” He asked, his voice low.

“Uh huh…” you managed to squeeze out through moans.

You felt as Sam smirked against your lips, he quickly moved to near your ear as he spoke firmly, “then be a good girl, and get on those knees.” As he suddenly nibbled on your ear your eyes rolled back as you nodded.

Without question, you instantly dropped to your knees, his throbbing cock now directing in your eye line. “Don’t make me ask again.” Sam said with a smirk across his face. You smiled back up at him as you licked your lips, his hand grazing across your chin.

You quickly grabbed his cock as Sam’s jaw slacked open. Your eyes gazing up at him as you suddenly took the head of his dick into your mouth. Sam moaned low as you swirled your tongue around. “Fuck baby… if you don’t stop teasing me… I’ll fuck the back of your throat until you gag.” You loved this side of Sam. When his dominant side really shines through, the control he has turned you on more than anything.

You obeyed and quickly began to bob your head back and forth, taking as much as you could whilst stroking the rest of him.

“Fuck… that’s it baby girl.” Sam spoke between groans.

You couldn’t help but smile, you always felt proud of yourself when Sam praised you like this. His hand stroking the back of your head and the feeling of your lips surrounding his cock making both of you melt.

Suddenly Sam started to buck his hips slightly, you could tell his desperate for more. You looked up at him as you suddenly opened up your mouth wider, giving him permission to take over. He quickly looked down at you with his eyes full of love as they suddenly turned much darker and he bit his lip, grabbing the back of your head with both hands suddenly began to face fuck you. “Atta girl!” Sam groaned deeply as his cock hit the back of your throat. Again and again. Sam held his cock there for a moment as your eyes began to water and you couldn’t help but gag.

“Fuck…” Sam groaned as he pulled out slowly. Allowing you to catch your breath. After a moment, the air back in your lungs, he pushed his dick straight back in, repeating the same steps. As you gagged once more, he pulled out once again as he breathed heavily. “Fuck baby, come here.” He demanded as you stood up wiping drool from your chin.

“Jump.” He said firmly as you quickly hopped up, his hands grabbing your legs as they wrapped around his waist.

You couldn’t help but let out a squeal of excitement as he threw you onto the bed. He immediately followed you as he hovered his body above yours. He reconnected your lips in another moment of passion as he took his hand, moving it down along your body until it reached your heat. As Sam’s fingers found your clit and began to rub in fast circles, you moaned against his lips as he kissed you. Your back arched off the bed as your soaking core finally had some relief. But you wanted more, you needed him, you needed to feel him inside of you.

“You… are the only thing… that gets me through the day.” Sam groaned as he kissed down to your neck, rubbing faster.

“D-don’t stop baby…” you cried out, your head throwing back in pleasure. That knot forming in your stomach as you bucked your hips against his hand.

“What happened to your manners?” Sam said firmly, as his hand slowly lowered its speed.

Your jaw fell wide open as that ache returned, “p-please Sam. Please, just fuck me.” You begged as a smirk formed on Sam’s face.

“Be careful what you wish for…” Sam said catching you off guard as he suddenly took his cock, pushing it deep inside of you with no warning. Both of you simultaneously moaning loudly.

As Sam began to thrust in and out of you, your hands gripped onto his back as you slowly dragged your nails down, earning an even deeper groan from Sam. The knot in your stomach quickly reformed as you were now desperate to feel that release of pleasure. “Fuck Sam.” You moaned out as Sam felt your walls clench around him. Suddenly he lifted himself off you slightly as he began to pound into you, deeper and faster as your legs began to shake.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.” Sam spoke with demand on his voice.

His speed consistent as you felt it build up quickly, until it suddenly exploded. Your whole body filled from top to bottom with a rush of passion and pleasure. “Sam!” You cried out as Sam felt you cum all over him. Sam’s thrusts slowed down slightly as he rode out your high before pulling out of you. He quickly raised onto his knees.

“Turn over.” He demanded, the way his voice changed with his dominance was breathtaking. You obliged immediately flipping over as you tried to catch your breath.

Sam bit his lip as he began to tease your entrance with his cock. “If only… my employees could be as obedient as you…” he spoke as his heart pounded, remembering why he was so angry.

“Please Sammy…” you begged, your body now becoming more exhausted but ready for more.

“As you wish, princess.” Sam said as he quickly pushed himself back inside of you, hitting your g-spot instantly in your still sensitive core.

“Oh shit..” you gasped as he pulled back out before pushing deep inside of you once again. Sam groaned lower than ever as he began to pick up his speed with each thrust. His hips smacking loudly against your ass, loud enough for the neighbours to hear as he pounded into you.

“Fuck y/n…” Sam groaning your name sent shivers throughout your entire body. Suddenly, Sam leaned forward grabbing both of your hands as he pulled them behind your back, allowing your chest to fall onto the bed. “I’m gonna split you in half.” Sam spoke through gritted teeth.

“Yes baby!” You cried out as Sam pinned your arms by the wrist to your lower back and he instantly sped up once again, his dick deeper inside of you with each powerful thrust. “Fuck fuck fuck!” You cried out as the side of your face rested on the mattress.

“Fuck, I’m close baby.” Sam groaned as he refused to lay off. “Cum with me, okay?” He said as you whined nodding your head, unable to form words.

“Good girl.” Sam praised once again allowing that knot to instantly form, quickly expanding in your stomach. You both became moaning messes as his pounded you to your limit.

“Fuck now, y/n!” He practically shouted as a string of curse words left both of your mouths. Your walls clenched around him, as you came all over his cock. Quickly followed by his hot cum filling you up entirely.

Sam’s thrusts slowed down, riding out both of your highs, until he slowly pulled out. His hot cum spilling out after him. “Are you okay?” Sam quickly asked, it was rare he was that hard on you, and he always needed to make sure you were okay.

“Uh huh…” you nodded with a smile as you breathed heavily, your heart pounding out of your chest.

Sam suddenly leaned down, kissing your cheek gently, as he moved your hair out of your face. “Why don’t you go take a shower baby?” Sam suggested before kissing you on the lips, much more sweet than before.

You nodded your head sloppily as your energy had gone from 100 to 0.

“I’ll be right here, waiting when you get back.” Sam said with a smile as you kissed him once more.

>>>>>>>>>

The shower was exactly what you needed after that. However, your legs were weak, and it was truly a challenge to stay stood up right whilst you washed. But, you managed to pull through.

As you walked back into the room, you looked at the bed to see Sam not there. You sighed slightly, as knowing this boy, he probably was working once again. Even after such a shitty day. Once you put on your pjs and brushed your hair, you left the bedroom and walked down the hallway, stopping at Sam and Colby’s shared office. As you peeped around the door, you saw Sam, headphones on, clicking away. You smiled as you watched the concentration on his face, however, this bitch promised to be waiting for you for a cuddle. You leaned on the door frame as you lifted your arm, knocking 3 times. Sam’s eyes quickly darted to the door as he lifted one side of his headphones away from his ear.

“Hey baby, I just thought I’d start editing next months video.” He said as he smiled at you. You smiled back with a sigh as you rested your head on the frame.

“Tonight?” You said with sadness in your voice.

Sam sighed as he glanced at his screen and then back at you, “just 15 minutes, I promise…” he said softly, which you knew full well would turn out to be a lie.

“Okay…” you said with a smile as he smiled back with so much love and appreciation on his face for you. After the pounding you had, you truly did just want him to hold you, you never really was one for much aftercare, but you felt so exhausted you just wanted to be with him.

You scrunched your face up, trying to think of a way to get him to bed, but unfortunately nothing came to you. You took a deep breath once again, as you looked over at him, his eyes glued to the screen as he clicked away. You took out your phone as snapped a video of him editing away. You chuckled to yourself as you walked back to the bedroom.

As you climbed into bed, you headed straight onto TikTok, immediately opening to another edit of yourself and sam. Which immediately gave you a bright idea. You bit your lip mischievously as you selected the video of Sam editing. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself as you joined the TikTok trend by typing, ‘man just blew my back out and now he’s editing🤔’ and added a sound. You paused for moment before hitting post, unsure of how Sam would take you posting this, but also knowing that the fans would absolutely love it. As you battled with yourself for a moment, the fans won. The fans will always win. You hit post and within 3 seconds, the comments, likes and shares started rolling in. Your phone going crazier than usual.

As Sam felt his eyes falling heavy, he already wanted to call it quits after 5 minutes. He just wanted to be with you, holding you after such a long day but such an amazing night. ‘Just one more clip’ he thought to himself but he suddenly noticed his phone flashing like crazy, as much as when they post a new Sam and Colby video. He frowned confused for a moment, as he removed his headphones picking up his phone. His mouth and eyes simultaneously fell wide as he watched your TikTok and the read the comments as they continued to roll on. The corners of his mouth slowly began to turn upwards as a smile spread across his face.

Almost 5 minutes had passed and you continued to scroll through your foryou page. You weren’t even sure if Sam had seen the video, so when he appeared in the bedroom, you kept your eyes on your phone as you spoke, trying your best to hold in a laugh, “finished so soon babe?” You asked with innocence in your voice.

Sam continued to walk across the room before climbing into bed beside you. He grabbed your phone out of your hands, locking it and putting it back down as he lifted his arm up over your head, signalling for you to cuddle him.

You looked up at him with a smile as you wiggled yourself into his arms. He squeezed tightly as he kissed your head and you exhaled deeply in a sigh of relaxation.

“Are you happy now?” Sam asked with a chuckle.

You gazed up at him with a mischievous smirk across your face, “I’ve never felt happier.”

Sam glared at you but he simply couldn’t resist that smile and those eyes, “it’s a good job I love you more than anything.” He said as he made himself more comfortable.

“It’s a good job I’m incredibly patient.” You said sarcastically knowing you are the completely opposite.

Sam looked at you his eyebrows raised, “hmm, so patient!” He laughed as you suddenly leaned up kissing him deeply.

As you pulled away he looked deep into your eyes as you spoke, “I love you more.” You said softly as Sam smiled, pulling you in and connecting your lips once again.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Authors note: hey guys, I hope you enjoyed this one! I know I enjoyed writing it! Make sure to leave your requests! 🖤

#sam and colby #smut #sam golbach #fanfiction #sam golbach smut #samgolbach #sam golbach dirty imagines #sam golbach imagines #sam x y/n #sam golbach fluff #sam golbach one shot #sam golbach x reader #samgolbach dirty #samgolbachdirty #sam goldbach smut

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vigiluv · 1 month ago

Text

“Poor Baby??”

Hey guys! So, English isn't my first language but I'm just gonna go for it and post this, haha. Sorry if anything sounds weird, it's my first time posting something I wrote.

Basically, I tried to fit the character Elizabeth Thorne/Black Thorn into the Peacemaker universe (idk if I should post a full bio for her later, but anyway).

Hope it's not too self-indulgent or anything, I'm a total beginner at this lol

pairing: adrian chase x elizabeth thorne

summary: elizabeth likes being in control. until adrian stops asking nicely.

WARNINGS: DNI UNDER 18. power dynamics, dom!adrian, sub!elizabeth, explicit, consensual roughness, light choking, hair pulling, spanking, a tear (of overwhelm, not regret), aftercare, feelings, idiots in denial about being madly in love.

word count: ~2.1k

Elizabeth has this little game she plays with him.

A dangerous one, but she loves it. She teases him, tests his limits, just to see that desperate look he gets. The one that says he'd do anything for her.

Adrian is hers. A lethal assassin, a monster to the rest of the world, but to her? He's a puppy.

And she loves yanking his leash.

Except tonight, she yanks too hard.

He gets back from a mission and Elizabeth is already waiting, lounging on their bed, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts. Legs crossed, a smug little smirk on her face.

“Missed me?” his voice is tired, and she almost feels bad for him. Almost.

She waits a beat before answering, just to torture him. “I don’t know. The apartment was so quiet. I slept like an angel.”

He stops. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Fuck.

The entire mood in the room shifts.

“I see,” he says, his voice dangerously calm. He kicks off his boots. “Well, I didn’t sleep at all. Spent four days hard as fuck thinking about you.”

She stretches, showing off a little more thigh, just to provoke him. “Poor baby.”

His gaze darkens. “You think I’m the baby here?”

“Uh, obviously,” she laughs, but the sound is a little shaky. “You follow me around like a duckling with a murder kink.”

Silence.

He pulls off his gloves, slowly. Then his belt, the sound of the metal echoing in the room. Then his shirt. Each movement is controlled, precise.

Threatening.

Her smirk vanishes.

“Stand up,” he says. His voice is different. Deeper. Firm.

She hesitates. He’s not playing.

“I asked if you missed me,” he repeats, taking a step forward. “Answer me, sweetheart.”

Her body obeys before her mind can. She stands, the cold hardwood floor shocking her bare feet.

“The shirt,” he commands. “Off.”

And the way he says it—God, the way he says it—sends a shiver down her spine. She pulls the fabric over her head, and the second she’s naked in front of him, he grabs her.

He spins her around and throws her onto the bed with a force that knocks the wind out of her.

“Wait, what the hell—?”

His hand clamps down on the back of her neck, holding her against the mattress.

“I’ve been patient,” he growls in her ear. “I let you play boss. I let you think you were in charge of anything.”

His hand slides down her back and squeezes her ass, hard.

“You forgot what I really am.”

She opens her mouth to spit back a witty retort, but the sharp crack of his hand across her skin silences her.

The sting. The pain. The wave of heat that follows.

Her legs give out.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers into the pillow.

The sound of his chuckle is the most terrifying and exciting thing she’s ever heard. Smack. Another slap. And another. Until her skin is burning and she’s a panting, incoherent mess.

“Still think I’m the soft one?” he whispers, then kneels behind her.

He parts her legs and devours her.

His mouth is hot, desperate. She clutches the sheets, her hips bucking with every swipe of his tongue. When she tries to pull away, he grabs her thighs and yanks her back.

“Don’t run,” he murmurs against her sensitive skin. “You asked for this.”

Holy shit, he’s feral.

He eats her out with a skill that makes her world spin, bringing her right to the edge, only to pull back.

“So?” he asks, his breath tickling her. “Who’s the puppy now?”

“Y-you are,” she gasps, just to see what he’ll do.

He laughs. A low, guttural sound.

He stands and pulls her up by her hair, forcing her to face him.

“Wrong answer.”

He fucks her hard. No preamble, no mercy. He just invades her, hot and wet, and pounds into her like his life depends on it.

Her nails dig into his back, her moans turning into sobs. It’s too much. It’s perfect.

He leans down and bites her shoulder. “Crying, princess?”

“G-go to hell—”

He fucks her even deeper, and her entire body shatters.

Her orgasm hits her like lightning, loud and messy, and she screams his name like a prayer.

He stops, trembling inside her, and for a second, there’s only the sound of two people gasping for air.

Then, his arms wrap around her.

The grip is instant. Protective.

His head falls to her shoulder. “…Shit,” he whispers, and his voice is her Adrian’s again. Soft. Worried. “Was that… was that too much?”

She lifts her head. Her hair is a mess, her makeup is ruined, her lips are swollen. She smiles.

“No,” she pants. “It was perfect.”

He blinks, confused. “Oh. Cool. Thought I broke you for a second.”

She nestles against him. “You did,” she whispers. “Do it again.”

aftercare

Later, he cleans her up with a warm cloth, his touches now impossibly gentle. He doesn’t say anything, but she feels him kiss every red mark he left on her skin. He dresses her in another one of his shirts, wraps her in the blankets, and pulls her against his chest. She falls asleep to him resting his chin on the top of her head, and the low whisper of, “sorry… sorry if I hurt you.”

She just smiles in her sleep. Idiot.

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muntitled · 1 year ago

Note

Yes I would still love the Lee tang smut!!

Convenience Store Guy

Summary: Confronting your coworker about the weird messages you've received doesn't go as planned.

Warnings: Language, Dark Themes, Stalking, Threats, Slight!DeadDove, Gaslighting, Convenience store era cus that was the best, Unstable Tang, Smut 18+ (Minors DNI) Rough Sex, Choking, Degradation Kink, Kinda Virgin!Tang, Dom!Tang

Stalking is bad. If someone is Stalking you, 100% don't do what y/n does, please.

The more he spoke to you, the more he found it increasingly difficult to act like a good person.

“And guess what else?” The chill in your voice has nothing to do with the oppressive winter weather.

“You're pregnant.” your co-worker says.

You laugh and he laughs because you laugh.

It took a certain level of skill, Lee Tang likes to admit - being able to time exactly when you’d crane your neck back, letting your complaints reach the artificial fluorescents while he lowered his incriminating eyes to your cleavage.

“Remember that unknown number I told you about? The one that kept sending all the weird messages?” Tang hums, bopping his head as he slyly adjusts the front of his jeans, obscured by the counter.

“Shit, don't tell me you got another one,'' As the words leave his mouth, you're already handing your phone to him.

“This was sent to me last night,” You say, swinging your head away from the cash register and towards the wide windows displaying the night beyond. Anyone out there could be the person terrorising you. Anyone could be out to get you.

The text simply and succinctly read:

Wear the same colour tomorrow.

And while Lee Tang attempted to feign uncomfortable ignorance (as one might when your coworker tells you she might be getting stalked), he couldn't help but notice that you were, in fact wearing the same colour. Bright yellow.

For some inexplicable reason… you listened.

“What were you wearing?”

He already knew.

“Is that important?” You step aside, making way for the final customer to be rung up. All the while, Tang nurses an even bigger boner than before.

He did not… exactly intend for his moves to get so bold but texting you and having you listen to hus demands… the demands of a stranger… the whole thing is something akin to shooting pure heroin straight into a fresh vein.

Perhaps you weren't so innocent in the exchange.

“That's not important,” You say quietly before swinging your head towards him again, “I thought we should focus on the very real fact that I might have a stalker?”

“Maybe you should respond to the poor guy and see what he has to say- that'll be ₩5000,” While Tang entertains his customer, you immediately grab your phone before stuffing it into your back pocket. The convenience store buzzes with the exit of the final customer.

“Because entertaining a stalker is exactly what they tell us to do,” you accompany your sentence with a small eye roll.

“We don't know if it's a stalker.” Tang didn't like that term. He'd much rather prefer ‘walking you home from a distance,’

“All this guy has done so far is send a couple weird messages.”

Not a stalker. Not a stalker. Not a stalker.

“Why don't you just block him?”

You'd think by the self gratification in this voice that Tang solved world hunger. You let him dwell in his ignorance, partly because you were afraid to dissect how deep this iceberg went.

You were afraid to admit that you had already blocked the Private number… twice.

Initially you had hoped the messages were the effects of some virus, but they kept getting worse by the second.

[17:59] Just wanted to know if you've had a nice day? :)

[20:22] My cat’s sick. Idk what's wrong with her.

[20:23] I don't have a cat lol

[22:23] Where'd you get your cat?

[01:00] I love talking to you

[01:05] You're so fucking hot

[02:03] I love you

You were afraid to admit that you waited for his message at the end of every long monotonous day.

While you wrestle will all sorts of the moral implications that came with enabling you stalker, Tang couldn't take his eyes off your dress.

Had you really worn the dress for him?

Tang couldn't suspend disbelief even for a millisecond to imagine a world in which that was possible. When he sent that message, he obviously didn't expect a response.

He always believed he was nothing but a fragment of furniture in the workings of your life.

The convenience store guy you occasional spoke to.

Everything began to feel more and more brighter in your presence. The clinical musk that hung in the convenient store began to smell more and more like jasmine and time seemed to grow wings and take off whenever you swung by, chatting his ear off about your latest inconvenience.

One moment you were an irritation, the next Tang found himself seated at his desk, surrounded by a halo of used tissues while habitually scouting out porn where the campy lead actress resembled you more and more. He found it concerningly easy to get off when your eyes, your smile and those beautiful fucking tits were clouding his mind eye.

It was around this time when he started walking you home.

For a while, a vaguely heavy silence sits in between you two. Tang, with his head bowed, chooses to ruminate in an emotion very new and complex to him…guilt.

He is completely unaware that you're watching him, until you sigh loudly. “You know… you could at least try to sound convincing,” your words cause his neck to snap up and he watches with wide eyes as you round the counter, dragging your finger against the cold surface.

“I think I'd find it way more endearing if you don't try to lie to me, Tang.” You're walking closer and closer and he feels like his entire mental state has imploded on itself.

“Fuck, I'm going mental,” he screws his eyes shut and pats his cheeks rather hard. When he opens them, youre still there. His breathing picks up as your warmth penetrates the radius surrounding his flustered, agitated body and Tang immediately sends a worried gaze up to the CCTV nestled in the corner above.

“Some girls respond better to just being asked out.”

A billion lies try to flash across his mind's eye. Anything that might get him out of this situation unscathed. He comes up empty. Eventually, all Lee Tang is capable of, is a droop in his shoulders as he asks, “Are you going to call the cops?”

You don't respond immediately. Choosing, instead, slide your finger over his on the counter. Your warm hands encircling his had the power to knock the very life out of him.

“I should call the cops,” you state very gravely,” you look up at him with a grim sort of fascination.

Lee Tang has mentally checked out. His droopy, ringed eyes are stationed on your lips alone.

“You really should.” He says, before bending down ever so slowly as if to bridge the gap between both of your lips.

“You're sick, you know that? You had me fearing for my fucking life,” You're whispering. Why are you whispering?

“Don't say shit like that,” he whispers back.

“Why?”

Almost before he can talk himself out of it, Lee Tang grabs ahold of your hand, the one stationed on his own and he presses your palm directly onto his bulge. His eyes nearly roll back at the warmth of your small little hand alone and you watch, absolutely mesmerised as he begins to rub your palm up and down and up and down.

“Wait-”

“No.” He states, before motioning to bend down and kiss you, but before he can, you stop him with a hand against his chest.

There it was. That all too familiar pang of rejection. That nauseating, acidic feeling that ate away at his insides.

It made him want to hurt you.

How dare you try to stop him?

How dare you bring him this far, only to take it all away?

How dare you?

“Wait.”

“What?” Your eyes widen at the slightly louder quality in his tone. Sensing that you might have disrupted something that was well on its way to blossoming, you're quick to try and appease his nerves. You watch the conflict in his eyes dissipate and when you step closer towards him, your front pressed against his as you whisper in his ear, “Not here,” before spinning around, in the direction of the break room. It takes a moment for his brain to process your words, but when they do, he's ambling his way onwards, away from CCTV.

The very second he shuts the door to the break room, he's charging at you in a quick, frantic gait.

You're only allowed to feel nervous for a total of 5 seconds before he's pushing you against the wall, forcing his tongue down your throat as if it were his first kiss. His movements are jilted and frantic and so incredibly messy. If it were anyone else you might have been disgusted by his haste only proves to be contagious. You can feel it rubbing off on you with the way you mewl against his mouth, shoving your fingers into his mop of dark, unkempt hair.

“You're so perfect to me, F-Fuck,” he whispers in between kisses. He never strayed too far. Your lips stayed connected by a line of saliva. You were both absolutely wrecked.

“So, long…” he whispers, before shoving his hand over your boobs and squeezing, “I've thought about this for so fucking long. I've jerked off to you for so fucking long- I just-” He breathes out, before flattening his thumb against your pebbled, clothed nipples, “I've always fucking wanted you,”

“How long?”

“Since I saw you,” he whispers before dipping his head in between the crook of your neck. Instead of splaying lazy kisses there, you gasp at the sound of him completely inhaling you. “F-Fuck…” he whispers before pulling back, enough to fiddle with his belt, “I need to fuck you,” he simply and succinctly says before bringing his other hand up to your collar. “You're not gonna go anywhere, yeah?” As he asks this, he curls his fingers around your throat, alluding to the real and very daunting fact that he wouldn't allow you to go, even if you wanted to…

“I'm not going anywhere,” you attempt to coax him yet again but he still keeps a firm grip around your throat as he slides, quite sloppily into your slippery cunt. Now his eyes roll back and he exhales the biggest groan he's ever let out. “I already know I'm not gonna fucking last,” with his free hand he swipes his fingers across your clit, stimulating you to the highest level as you whine and mewl into the air.

“So long,” he continues muttering as he ruts into you, “ s-so fucking long… s-so tight. You're too tight-”

You're caught in the throes of the pleasure of being fucked so throughly and so roughly that you completely miss his question.

“Hey?” He says all too quietly while slapping continuously at the side of your cheek as if trying to bring you back down to earth, “You're such a slut you didn't even hear what I asked you?”

You manage to shake your head.

“I asked if you were a virgin.”

You stilled at the question, sensing that you were walking on dangerous ground. Which, you were realising is a norm around this guy. While you were thinking you had to choose your words correctly, Tang dips his head in between your neck and shoulder once more.

“Doesn't matter,” He ruts against you, feeling himself get closer and closer as his grip on your neck becomes tight.

“I'll kill him-” and for some inexplicable reason you cum at that very moment. Your moans reach the dusty ceiling and you fall apart against him so absolutely.

“You're gonna make m-me-” He's already cumming inside you, all while completely cutting off the air to your lungs. He watches you through his spell of pleasure as you claw at his hand and it only makes him cum harder.

“F-Fuck,” he whispers when he empties the last of his seed inside your weeping cunt. You gasp for all the air you were deprived of and he watches with morbid curiosity as life flows back into your eyes.

“That was way better than porn.” Now that he had you, he didn't plan on ever letting you go.

#killer paradox #killer paradox fanfic #killer paradox smut #lee tang #lee tang x reader #lee tang smut #choi wooshik #choi wooshik x reader #lee tang x you

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velvetdolor · 3 months ago

Text

for the thrill of the hunt.

(chapter i. the original sin.)

♱✮♱⋆ masterlist: summary, chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii.

♱✮♱⋆ word count: 16.3k

♱✮♱⋆ pairings: ancient vampire!seonghwa x ancient vampire!reader x prey!wooyoung/poker player!wooyoung (eternal!throuple) LOL (san! x reader but that’ll get its own story.) (aged up!san)

(for this chapter ONLY/for the sake of their backstory, holy knight!seonghwa, holy knight!reader, san x reader, and a very light mention of hongjoong x reader) (i am so sorry for the pain that san’s story will cause eventually—i am fully invested in writing a separate one shot about his and the readers story.)

♱✮♱⋆ tropes: murderers to lovers (LOL) y/n and seonghwa have been married for centuries and seonghwa is a very dramatic and whiny husband despite trying his best to be a mysterious vampire + wooyoung’s a methodical airhead!! there will be a smidge of a reincarnation trope… _(:3 」∠)_ sad backstories for y/n and seonghwa btw + there will be elements of fantasy, mythology/mythological creatures, & knighthood centered around the medieval ages when we delve into their vampiric lore/backstory. (chapter one only) after the backstory, we will return to the present time—where we are currently facing your dilemma with seonghwa AKA the main plot of us hunting down the golden gambler (LOL, stay with me now) please note that this chapters’ relative/fantasy genre will not extend as importantly in the present world and serves more as an explanation into the vampiric lore of my story! there’s gonna be a lot going on

♱✮♱⋆ genres: smut, comedy, major angst and tragedy warning for chapter i, fluff, fantasy/supernatural, porn with lots of plot.

♱✮♱⋆ series warnings: 18+ MDNI—detailed depictions of blood, gore, murder, war, strong explicit language, and references to substance abuse. there will be some mentions of a suicide, LOTS of character death, depression, and s/h, age gap (san is eleven years older than reader and seonghwa) switch!seonghwa, ROUGH!sex, sado-masochism, reader likes being treated like shit in bed, seonghwa’s quite literally insane, switch!reader, momentarily sub!wooyoung, brat!wooyoung, honestly rude dom!wooyoung, some religious metaphors utilized in non-sexual and sexual situations, threesomes, solo play, regular play(?) some mxm action but everyone’s f**king each other to be completely honest, a F*CK ton of spit, knife play, biting, blood play, a seriously prolonged roulette game, asphyxiation, mentions of an orgy, probably will add additional chapter warnings when the actual chapter is posted, a murder plot gone wrong, and very ancient vampires who still collect coupons and hate rich people despite being rich themselves #neverforgetwhereyoucamefrom #hypocites

♱✮♱⋆ summary: being an ancient vampire sucks sometimes—both literally and figuratively. when seonghwa refuses to feed and forces himself into a deep slumber after declaring that he’s unwilling to face the painful boredom of everyday life, you’re forced to devise a delicious plan that’s heinous enough to awaken your very mopey husband. this is why jung wooyoung— a world star poker player with not only a great mug to pair with his skills, but the world’s rarest blood type, golden blood— gets a big red x on his photo that you shoddily pin onto the wall of your dining room when your frustrated efforts at getting your husband to stop moping grow frantic. your villainous husband— not one to opt out of a well-crafted game, rises to join you on this particular excursion. the mission? play an all-stakes game of cat and mouse with jung wooyoung’s life—

for the thrill of the hunt.

authors note: (this chapter will be taking on darker notes as we're starting the story off with an in-depth backstory. seonghwa and y/n were born more than 900 years ago—and in this fictional, unnamed country, it was basically the equivalent of medieval times. huge warning, this is the chapter that has the most gore and character deaths. this could definitely be a large prologue, since this is just setting the basis of what will be the main plot—which truly starts in the next chapter. there’s a good amount of time skips too. not much wooyoung yet, but you'll see LOTS of him in the next chapter. )

♱✮♱⋆ update: might be a short series (five chapters or less) —the world may never know because i certainly don’t. updated the fic to angst, since shit got a bit dark when i actually started writing it. first chapter will be probably be heavy backstory!! we won’t be getting deep into the comedy/smut aspect until chapter two.

prepare yoself this is a long one, but it was so fun to write.

chapter i—the original sin.

“You conniving, conniving woman,” Seonghwa grits at you in annoyance, stretching each vowel and pushing them past his teeth—not pleased with the fact that you’re staking out (haha!) next to his coffin to ensure he doesn’t go and force himself into a century-long slumber. You married the man for a reason.

A life of eternity was already marred with the promise of a dull and irreversible sense of boredom, and it was brutal enough now—it was almost inconceivable to you to imagine passing the ages without your partner in crime.

Sure, a century passes in the blink of an eye for someone of your kind. You could fill your days with an absurd number of orgies, attempting to sate your gluttonous appetite, or even better—kissing beautiful women, rolling in your silk, dipping a toe or two in senseless murder plots and playing cupid on your nicer days—but these were things you and Seonghwa could do together. At the end of the day, it was Seonghwa with whom you’d watched the rise and fall of old kingdoms.

It was also Seonghwa who knew how to consume you best, who understood and carried the same weight of your sorrows, and was your one true counterpart—Seonghwa fed into your brutality and licked into its beauty devotedly.

The centuries were doused with your relentless bloodthirst, and Seonghwa—well, he was an extension of yourself, your beloved Siamese twin.

Honestly, it’d just suck if you couldn’t suddenly bite into his neck without warning on any particularly annoying day—and oh god, who would clean up after your messes? If you killed another (you can’t help yourself, sometimes) politician, Seonghwa wouldn’t be around to fill out the paperwork you’d need to send to the Council of Elders. Who would make your tea the exact way you liked it? Bless the poor soul who’d be forced to try—and should they fail, who would clean up the body when you’d be too angry to eat? Who would hang the laundry or take your stockings off when you were too blood-drunk to move? Or worse, if Seonghwa wasn’t around—who would help you tighten your corsets? Should he decide to lay himself to rest—your waist might be a few inches less snatched for an entire century.

The flurry of thoughts nearly made your eyes start to spin, and you began chewing lightly at the tip of your index fingernail.

“Can’t you, I don’t know—just let me die?” he moans and throws his body against the array of ornate, camellia-colored velvet throw pillows, face flushed against the dense fabric in a futile attempt at suffocating himself.

You turn the pages of an outdated newspaper flippantly, not sparing him a glance as you hum out a quipped reply.

“Darling, haven’t we gone over this? If you could die, I would’ve gotten rid of you myself. Now stop whining and find something to eat.” You lick at a finger to separate the pages that weren’t budging to turn.

Seonghwa lowers the pillow down enough to squint his eyes at you in frustration and huffs pointedly at your figure, casually draped on the loveseat to his left—his beautifully prominent eyebrows and their furrows deepen as you continue to ignore him and his antics.

Finally giving up with a sigh, you turn your neck to apologize when you’re met with the sight of Seonghwa’s midnight hair turning into a pale color of snow and steel—the plush petal of his lips mimicking a bitten berry, and his eyes darkening into a shade of obsidian with the murkiness of charcoal and water.

In a flash, Seonghwa tugs your body off the suede loveseat you sat cross-legged on with a single hand wrapped around your ankle and forces your thighs apart when you slide onto the floor. Hoisting your satin dress up with a thin hand—he bites into the meaty junction of your thigh, nose digging into the tendons of your bikini line as you lay on the expanse of a large Turkish rug.

Sighing, you lazily lift your right leg (the one not being gnawed on) and drape it over his left shoulder, threading your fingers through his silken hair to push his mouth deeper into you. Perching yourself up on your elbows, you gaze at him with a soft worry that began to carve a dent between your brows.

Candles decorate every corner of your elaborate living room, filled with various textiles, books, maps, and colors that accentuate the beloved antiquity of a time you’d spent together in London. You recall the more recent centuries and how they were filled with copious lovemaking and short-lived adrenaline—gifted by the mysteries and arrival of the New World.

As you gaze at the all-too-familiar and striking features of your promised person under the yellow-bellied light, your previous expression of annoyance melts into an unsure admittance of defeat.

“Would you like to eat another president? God knows America’s not having a great time right now and—”

“Good lord, Y/N—” Seonghwa widens his jaw to slide out the four especially elongated incisors from your leg, your hand still clutched onto his hair from the root. He gazes at you with almost comical exasperation.

“—We could be the good guys for once, I don’t know,” you continue to ramble and widen your eyes in an attempt to convince your desperate mate, as if to say, Come on, wouldn’t that be so fun? and mumbling a small, “We’ve done it before, right?..remember?” followed by an unsure chuckle.

Seonghwa’s face falls completely and he rolls his eyes tiredly. Tilting his head up toward the ceiling and sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose—as if praying for patience. The tuft of hair you’re grabbing shakes lightly as you guide his head into a nodding motion. Reclining to lay on your back completely, you press his lips together from their sides with your index finger and thumb—puppeteering him to follow your next words.

You’re a beautiful sight with your hair fanning around you, draping around your silhouette like a halo. Your chest caves and rises in small, fast movements as you try to restrain laughter.

“Down! Down with that evil Cheeto puff president, I say—” you exclaim indignantly in a high-pitched and boyish voice, mimicking the paperboys and rioters of the previous century. Seonghwa’s arms bend at your sides in order to hover your body—his facial expression communicating his being utterly unimpressed by your impressions. Though not disagreeing with your message, he mentally added offhandedly, and sighed.

Like dominoes falling, Seonghwa’s features shift from their abrupt wintry palette into their original form: olive-toned skin that’s slightly flushed from inhaling you earlier, a cherubic softness gleaming from supple and doughy skin, and dark satin-like hair that brushed and fell like ribbons over prominent cheekbones. His features emit a natural glaze over his gaze, as if imbued with a perpetual fever.

Raising himself up from his position above you, he sits back and tucks his knees under his chin—a sudden morose and soft gleam emitting from his eyes. All dramatic pretense and frustration wash away, unmasking a more ambiguous version of Seonghwa that transcended the current persona he’d curated in order to adapt with the times, speaking with a tone and experience that revealed his true age.

“My sweet girl,” he softly began.

You immediately recognize the rawness of his somber tone and sit up to mirror his position. There was something in his gaze that evoked a terribly far memory—one traveling from a time long past.

Of simpler times, really.

You can’t recall the horrors of your humanity as vividly anymore—your time spent fighting against an unfair world, after being born into misfortune, and finding camaraderie and comfort only in Seonghwa. The memory bloomed an emotion you hadn’t felt since being reborn into primordial darkness. You momentarily lose yourself in the recollection of the innocence of that love, of that Seonghwa.

“We’ve done so much, haven’t we?” He smiles softly at you, right cheekbone leaning to rest on his knee, reflecting the surrounding embers off the domes of his eyes—its demure light bouncing toward you like a little comet.

“We have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms of great majesty. Some, in which we partook—and others, we tried our darndest to defend. I no longer recall in profound detail the softness of my own mother’s breast, my once-human boyhood, nor the clasp of my once-brother’s hands in mine. I don’t even remember the names of the first men I killed and have barely a recollection of my brief human sorrows,

—but I have loved you in every single life we've lived together. I remember your girlhood and every tear you’ve ever shed. I remember every version of you—your once warmth, and the red-hotness of your bloodthirst upon your awakening into the dark gift. I, myself, followed to relinquish my humanity after yours was taken—I knew, even then, that I would only accept damnation as you gave it to me. And who would make your tea if I disappeared? I couldn’t leave you on your own—no heaven is worth our separation and I knew there was no hell that promised our seats next to each other.” He huffs jokingly and begins to smile widely at hearing your soft giggle.

“My heart, now solidified into volcanic rock, had only mimicked the beat in the order of the syllables that fell from your name when it was still alive and warm—and my monstrous soul that took its place, in its most ardent adoration for you after its timely departure—can only find joy in the infinite hours of our damnation I share only with you.” He sighs wistfully and a couple of strands of hair flutter at the touch of his breath. He shifts a little to gaze at you more closely and continues:

“I say this to preface that, even now, I do not regret pleading for you to pull me in to share your darkness. This primordial evil that has long gutted any visage of our genesis, our origins, and once holy union—and I don’t yearn for a single glimmer of the human lives we were momentarily damned with, especially as holy knights.” His stare hardens with a hint of incredulity—and you knew that he, too, felt an old seed bloom within him.

It reminded you that, due to your... state of being—time didn’t occur to you in numerical terms all too often. You knew you’d have, well, forever for the most part, and were hilariously unsure if the sun exploding would kill you either.

Which is precisely why recalling your original life felt surprisingly off-putting. You knew where he was going with this—that although he would never truly leave you alone—he ached at how mundane every valuable thing on earth had become to him.

Your endless lifetime granted you a painfully melancholic predisposition, and although you couldn’t die—at least not Seonghwa and you—you were creatures immensely susceptible to various eternal tortures that were honestly light-years worse than death.

Other vampires would occasionally choose to slumber for a century or more to try and reinvigorate themselves from time to time, but they also weren’t the physical inhabitants of an ancient and old god. This was the very reason why your and Seonghwa’s cases were so particularly dreadful.

The nature of your creation myth as vampires coexisted as a singular anomaly—the circumstances made it so that while yes, other vampire forms were built to achieve immortal life, they could still die due to the various specified weaknesses that accompanied their conditions: like a stake to the heart, lack of or overconsumption of blood, or not being able to regenerate to an extensive degree (e.g., if they were misfortunate enough to get caught in an explosion, their bits definitely weren’t finding their way back to one another).

You two, however, had the freakish delight of being able to survive an absurd amount of… circumstances—incinerations, overconsumption, explosions, falls from horrible heights, the tearing of multiple limbs—you’d even survive being puréed. It doesn’t take too long to get back into one piece either.

However, this had everything to do with the fact that you both weren’t born as vampires, and only became such after eating the flesh and drinking the blood of a primordial god-creature that was the physical incarnation of the original sin. It was a creature that acted as a necessary guardian and host to, arguably, the greatest and most sorrowful evil—because there was no unwriting it. It served as the irreversible sin that spurred the dawn of physical creation and appetite.

The creature, who went by the name Amera, could never die. In some ways, it served as one of the few pre-generators of vampire-kind. You hadn’t killed the god—that in itself would be an impossible feat. Amera’s form was designed to be in a constant state of regeneration. Her blood came from some divine source and therefore would be replenished in full. Her flesh, which had the ability to take on the form and shape of any living thing, would mend no matter the destruction it faced.

You’d first met Amera when Seonghwa and you had ventured to the Land of the Unforgiven—a place that was then a barren, dead, and ancient country with a forgotten name. No human dwelled within those lands, for each time a brave soul attempted to cross into its border, they would immediately be turned back by some unknown force—their bodies moving against their own will. It was said to hold the remains of an unknown god's temple.

You were in search of a way to delay the imminent massacre of your people during the holy war, and by a strange turn of fate, were able to cross into the land—and to this day, you’re unsure how or why. When the god-creature emerged from the shadows of a half-fallen pillar, you immediately recognized that Amera was a very tired god.

It was sentient in ways that were an anomaly to other godkind. The creature was nearly human-like in its curiosity and more willing to interact with humans than the other pre-generators, albeit with initial hesitation—but the cruelty of mankind had pushed it to the outskirts of a forgotten land.

Amera offered its aid to both you and Seonghwa during your time as holy knights, when malignant forces of both humans and vampires joined together with the goal of destroying your homeland. It was a last-ditch effort of absolute desperation due to the ongoing "cleansing." The brutality of the war never waned and only increased as it neared its peak.

At this point, you and Seonghwa had grown so terribly tired. The days were filled with seemingly endless slaughter, and the corruption that had infiltrated the barracks made the fight on your side a double-edged sword. The existence of other creatures had been discovered during an infamously grueling era of the war, when humans stumbled upon a small group of young lupine in the densest part of a nearby forest. Despite Children of the Moon being quite avoidant of human interaction, mankind’s paranoia had propelled itself into an era of mass killings as more species were discovered due to heightened awareness of what was beyond human nature.

Seonghwa had been stationed nearby when the young lupine were found and, under strict orders, had to slaughter the youngest of the wolves. You recall seeing his frighteningly serene face as he stepped into your tent, while you were fulfilling the orders of marking the densest areas of each nearby forest—knowing that you were losing yourselves by the hour.

By this point, Seonghwa had grown into a fine man. The inheritance of his mother’s beauty was obvious, and even in the midst of slaughter, Seonghwa fought with a cold and calculated elegance. His cool temperament and tactical brilliance made him a household name known across the sea.

Despite being a woman, you were accepted into knighthood two years after Seonghwa. Your intellect was held in high regard, and you had an exceptional talent for utilizing the available terrain to devise optimal battle formation precautions. Yet, as time passed, each celebratory gathering after a successful hunt weighed on you. You knew Seonghwa felt similarly, even if neither of you said it out loud.

You had once dreamt of being knighted because it felt like the only way you could actively partake in ending the unreasonable war—but the horrid reality of war is that there is no room for innocence on either side. There was nothing holy in your methods of survival.

A steady losing streak eventually took the life of one of Seonghwa’s older brothers—San—when his unit fell into a trap that led them straight into a nest of young vampires. There was no salvageable part of his body that could’ve been brought home.

Seonghwa went mad with grief.

You don’t want to think too deeply about the rawness of that time—of San’s death. Even now, amongst all losses, his was and will always be the most painful.

You knew alternative methods were necessary and hit a breaking point—humans couldn’t win this war alone. You needed to investigate the origins of these otherworldly creatures to gain an understanding of their biologies and creation before Seonghwa’s goals would morph into the complete genocide of other creatures.

It was when you released a teenage wolf, Mingi, in secret that you were pointed in the direction of the Land of the Unforgiven and its legends. Mingi was a reserved wolf—one that had become subjected to a life of servitude, as his notoriously enhanced physique proved him useful around the camp. Many of the lupine were enslaved after the sudden discovery that if you deprived them of the light of the moon, they wouldn’t be able to shift into their other forms.

Other than having enhanced senses and strength, they weren’t much different from a human during the new moon. Your developing resentment and disgust toward your holy order motivated you to release him from his chains one night, when most of the men were drunk on dark liquor. He had stared at you with an unreadable look in his eyes before softly mentioning the information as a token of gratitude—before taking off without looking back.

Which is how you’d arrived at Amera’s temple. The creature recognized that your landing there was predestined, which permitted your entry.

Amera was weary-eyed as it slowly limped toward you both—its form appearing as an amalgamation of unnamed animals—similar to what you’d heard described of chimeras, except with the tail of a snake. It radiated a golden light that seemed to flicker like the belly of a firefly.

Amera’s fate was cruel—though it couldn’t die, it had to endure the starvation of faith, which was what the gods called the misfortune of being forgotten and not being invoked by devoted prayer. Its century-long hunger churned its stomach like clockwork and rested on the rubble of what was once its beloved and revered temple.

Its watchful eyes drifted between you and Seonghwa carefully, as if reading your destinies, before explaining that there may be only one way it could assist you—and in a moment of striking vulnerability, it shared the woes of its undying nature. It craved an end and said that, after eons of hypothesizing, it suspected that consuming the god-creature in its entirety might act as a transference. It would continue to live on within the new host, because of its state of constant regeneration—but would, in some ways, be able to ascend to a non-physical, omnipresent plane of existence by becoming one with another entirely. Amera’s ability to shift itself would aid it in morphing into another, becoming only flesh and blood—the fuel to host a new machine.

However, that would mean that the carrier’s complete existence would endure the thrumming of a pure evil for the rest of eternity. Amera was unsure if this transference could occur more than once, in the case that the new host might grow as weary as itself, since its ascendance might take away its worldly consciousness.

Despite Amera’s point of existence being that it was the physical incarnation of the original sin, it carried itself with such striking goodness that you’d almost forgotten the nature it embodied. Amera warned you of the bloodthirst with solemn eyes that would pull at any innate evil within you—as every person contained evils of different sizes—and use it to form your creation. To add to the cards you were dealt: since you weren’t a born vampire and a human at that—not even another sort of entity or creature—the nature of your evil had time to evolve into something other vampire-kin did not have, because their own natures were already implanted at birth: known and destined, with time to acquaint themselves with discipline.

Amera knew that it’d be catastrophic were you to receive the gift. By twenty-three, the amount of sins humans have committed were on the higher end. Accompanied by the fact that you’d slaughtered a probable thousand or more, the likelihood of your bloodthirst was astronomical.

Amera prefaced that only someone of immense good could endure it in the same manner—but Amera was made with the amount of goodness necessary to act as its host.

Amera met your eyes and knew that you were the one destined to draw first blood—and left the destruction to come to fate as it closed its eyes. Before Seonghwa could march forward, you threw your arms around Amera and bit into her skin, tearing at flesh and swallowing. You immediately felt a hot throbbing in your body but continued to push past the bile that began to build in your throat—unaccustomed to the taste of raw flesh and guilt at Amera’s flinching. Through your tears, you repetitively thanked and apologized to Amera—but her last words were gentle and carried the cadence of a song.

“It is I who is sorry– poor child.”

Seonghwa, all the while, had been frozen in shock. It was when you began to eat at Amera’s stomach that the evil coursing through you began its thrumming. You fell on your back, convulsing as the sickening sounds of your bones breaking hollowed through the air. Flinching out of his daze, Seonghwa ran to you—panicking at the sound of your pained wailing.

Seonghwa laid you onto his lap, cupping your left cheek in his hand with wide eyes. Tears fell in thick dollops down his face—a palpable fear shocking through him for the first time since childhood.

A foreign look bled through your eyes. An ancient rage caved into your chest and settled a heavy weight onto your body—and your heart stuttered for two final beats before stilling completely. You felt your organs harden inside of you, and the love you felt for Seonghwa made you want to swallow him whole.

You loved him so much you wanted to kill him, wanted to consume him completely, wanted to drink him in forever. Something in Seonghwa recognized this, and as he witnessed the color of your eyes he’d adored since he was a boy change into the shade of molten gold, he knew what he had to do.

Gently pushing you off from his lap, he fell onto his knees before Amera’s body and invoked her through a prayer. You were unsure of what exactly he asked of it—it was likely that he asked for permission to share the burden of this primordial evil with you—for permission to join with Amera.

Its form was already regenerating, though its pained and labored breaths signaled that it felt everything. Amera lay on its side, but moved its eyes to gaze at Seonghwa with a profound look, and he moved to bite into its stomach once more.

Even in the haze of excruciating pain, the parts of Amera that regenerated within you felt pulled to continue to consume it, in order to reunite with itself completely. The sounds of Seonghwa’s screaming were muffled by a shrill ringing in your head, and you crawled toward Amera. The bloodthirst made your consumption monstrous, and you tore through the creature with sudden disregard—Seonghwa following after you. From your peripheral, you caught glimpses of Seonghwa’s shock-white hair, and a strange zap strung in the air in the space between you.

The parts of Amera that existed within Seonghwa beckoned you, amplified by a profound and pre-existing desire for one another.

You remember this portion in particular with amusement—you’d all but drained Seonghwa, not restraining yourself in the slightest when the heightened call to him dizzied you and had you sinking into his neck and biting into the skin above his heart. Thankfully, there had been just enough blood left in him to replenish in full due to Amera’s gifts, and he left the temple relatively unscathed. Seonghwa was always characteristically more patient and disciplined than you, and you saw this in his vampiric nature. Though, he had caved and done the same to you a few days later.

Seonghwa, in the present day, however—is absolutely batshit. Understandably so, given that nine centuries is more than enough time to lose patience and approach life with disregard when literally the origin of all evil courses through you.

When you’d awoken, you immediately knew that you didn’t have the immense good necessary to not cave into murderous instinct—which is exactly why, upon arriving back to the base camp, you’d ripped the throats of every knight in the holy order. It was an exceptional bloodbath, especially since you didn’t have a drop of control over the carnal rage that accompanies the original sin. With Seonghwa at your side, it took less than a year to annihilate your foes and finish the war before vanishing—wanting to leave behind the haunting traces of the human life you no longer felt a connection to.

Sighing, you break out of your reverie and gaze at his figure as he slowly sits up to stand before the fireplace with a terribly pensive expression—slowly caving into the acceptance of his resolve to rest, and steeling yourself for the impending madness of having to resist the pull of your literal other half while he’s gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

It is important to say that humans couldn’t be made into a vampire by other vampire-kind like many novels depicted, as it was something more akin to a genetic mutation that seemed to bestow eternal life to those at birth by the luck of the draw. Once introduced into a family bloodline, the curse would be passed onto all descendants of the original carrier of the sudden mutation. This essentially ripped away a lineage’s codex of, quite literally, being human and then altered it to become a general line of what you refer to as vampires.

A case of vampirism overwhelmed the body with a terrible ache that could only be relieved by the consumption of blood and human flesh—and bouts of rage that were meant to feed into their inherently murderous nature. They had to kill not only for the sake of preservation, but because their instinct instructed them to do it for sport—and ignoring its calling would only send those in denial into a madness referred to as the glass delusion. The condition trapped its victims in an inescapable mirage of illusions in which their bodies broke apart into shards of glass repetitively—it’s a process that consumed all five senses and has been said to be one of the few excruciating pains a vampire could experience.

The two of you had settled into this rhythmic life of murderous song quite easily, and there were many adventures to be had when eternity was on your side.

You became scholars, historians, scientists, archaeologists, classical musicians—Seonghwa even became quite a prolific model at one point, but had to leave the limelight before his unchanging appearance would raise questions. You’ve made love in every city, learned dozens of new languages and their dialects, made friends and attended every funeral—though every bout of grief carried notes of envy. It was all so fun, really. Being one of the undying was only bearable because Seonghwa was always by your side—and you were afraid of crashing into its lonely weight once Seonghwa decided to sleep for however long it was.

The extent of his sadness made you anxious. What are the odds that his unconscious self wouldn’t choose to prolong his sleep—and then five hundred years may pass without your husband? You would feel the time and feared it would pass slowly for you in his absence.

You knew that Seonghwa telling you this now could only mean that, despite losing his luster for life, he adored you to such a limitless amount and didn’t regret choosing this fate alongside you. It acted as both an offer of reassurance and as a plea to allow him to be selfish, just this once—to cave into the looming gloom of your sacred sleep. The sleep you had both avoided, because there was no way of knowing what time a person would rise if their subconscious was largely responsible for that decision.

You slowly slip into the recollection of an old life, more than nine hundred years ago, when you were born as the daughter of a sea merchant who died shortly after your birth, due to a sudden storm that unforgivingly rolled in and claimed his fate. Your mother already had three children to feed and did as many others would've in her position during those trying ages—kept the eldest son, gave her eldest daughter’s hand in marriage to a semi-decent household, while the other had been sold to serve a teenage girl of higher standing. In one perceived last act of mercy and love towards you—left you for the company of rats in a cold and damp alleyway one rainy night.

This is where the youngest and most spirited son of a talented blacksmith found you on his trek back home, after a day of playing ragtag with the neighborhood fruit sellers (they knew he was the one responsible for stealing a week’s worth of red apples and they were only half right. The baker's son, Yunho, was responsible for the other half.)

A shrill wail had him ducking into the alleyway and squinting hard to adjust his sight to the darkness. Your small arms flailed around—trying to grasp at something, anything. The obsidian-haired boy first leaned to peer at you incredulously, then gasped loudly in astonishment when he realized someone left their small babe for nature to deal with. Although he had just freshly turned four, the boy had a relatively well-developed sense of moral judgment, outside of stealing fruit, of course—and rushed over to cradle you in his arms. Sliding his thin tunic off to wrap around your body, hushing you nervously as he ran home to alert his parents. This blip in time marked the beginning of your eternity with what was once Park Seonghwa.

Seonghwa's family was a rambunctious one. His father was a talented blacksmith with a hearty laugh, and his mother, whom he'd taken the most after, was a beautiful woman with hair the color of ink. She was the daughter of a noble knight whose achievements were long forgotten once the war continued to stretch on nearly a decade after his death. His oldest brother, Hongjoong, took after his father the most—quickly taking to his craft and brilliantly carried himself with a charming roughness, despite his smaller stature. The middle brother, San, adorned sharp features and was physically an equal mix of the two—but was beautifully somber and sensitive, like water.

Seonghwa, of course and unsurprisingly, was always strikingly beautiful—even before the old magic that thrums through the both of you now had beckoned its way in. Though occasionally a troublemaker, your arrival into the household bestowed Seonghwa with a sense of responsibility he'd never experienced as the youngest. He was expected to grow handsomely into an orderly man, who had the occasional boyish charm as time passed. His voice carried gentle cadence and universal kindness, and he was devout to the god that the people of the old country used to herald.

Though living in the same household, you were not raised as the blacksmith’s daughter. It was clear to anyone that had seen you, even as a mere babe, that you would quickly grow into an exceptionally beautiful girl, and that granted you the opportunity of serving other great and noble households once you became of age. Until then, you assisted the family with chores and meals in exchange for a small room at the edge of their old farm. Your childhood with the three boys was filled with the laughter of mischievous children—playing with river stones, stealing bread from Yunho, and climbing onto Seonghwa’s back so he could carry you on the way home. Townspeople would watch you both with warm eyes, already knowing the look of young love before it was realized.

Your eyes darken when your recollection begins to run clearer. The innocence of your singular childhood, the memoirs of old temperaments, all doused in a holy light—until the war arrived at your doorstep.

Ah, that's right—that's what happened. Now you remember.

Rumors that seemingly undying beasts—no, demons—had joined forces with the country across the water you'd been at war with for two decades had emerged. The quaint village you'd been born in had been spared because of its inconspicuous placement on the map and its utter insignificance to the external economy, and so the unsure and panicked whispers spread like a live plague. The war had never reached that small place, and everyone prayed that the gods would spare them once more—but the day had unfortunately come.

An ominous cacophony of crows flew and sang overhead, almost heralding the incoming slew of precise steps that marched to the exact beat of the other. The beasts pounded their shields in unison and resounded a final cry of war before stilling into complete silence.

Mothers attempted to hush their children, and the villagers cowered into one another at the sight of the incoming death march. A terrifyingly burly soldier who stood at a minimum of roughly 6'6" approached the village head, taking off his metal helmet. Faces paled at the sudden energetic heaviness that hung in the air like a noose—and the soldier’s bottomless eyes were dark, holding no presence of an iris. His skin, despite being a warrior at the front lines, held not a single blemish or scar, and his physicality indicated no recent bouts of hunger.

Seonghwa's father's grip tightened around the wrists of his oldest sons, as they pushed their mother further behind them to form a makeshift barrier.

As the maker of weapons, he knew well what that meant—that there had yet to be a soldier who could get close enough to even scratch at his surface. If he’d never had to go hungry during the war, it was the result of pillaging and destroying village after village.

You and Seonghwa were instructed to stay hidden within a large crate in his father's forge. Your cheeks pressed against each other while trying to peek through the elongated chip that stretched down a piece of splintering wood. Despite Seonghwa's strong initial protests, his older brothers quickly overpowered him and instructed him to stay quiet and focus on protecting you, while they watched over their mother. You both knew it was because Seonghwa, barely nine years old, was still under his older brothers' adamant protection. Seonghwa was a mere boy—just starting to grow—and Hongjoong was already eighteen, San just shy of being seventeen.

The soldier announced his name to be Pengma and simply instructed the men to introduce themselves. One by one, he dragged his eyes along the crowd, as if wanting to find something worthwhile, and stopped at Father’s figure.

"You there, what is your craft?" Pengma stated flippantly, almost melodically in its lightness.

A brief silence ensued as Seonghwa's father hesitated to answer before understanding that nothing could be done. Shutting his eyes in defeat, he pushed his two sons further behind his body as softly and discreetly as possible.

Stepping forward—he made a point not to raise his head and meet Pengma’s eyes—and stated,

"I am a humble blacksmith, sir." He at last lifted his head to meet Pengma's ominously delighted dark eyes, unsure of the source of his sudden glee.

"Well, let's see those weapons then, blacksmith!" Pengma hollered and joyously clapped Seonghwa's father's back in excitement, leading him toward the forge. Your breath hitched immediately, and you faintly recall the sensation of that palpable fear—for not only yourself, but for the man who had taken you under his rather large and clumsy wing. Pengma's eyes brightened with a sinister gleam as he gazed at the masterfully made steel and iron creations.

"My, what a lovely job." He sighed out regretfully before striking out to pierce the blacksmith through his heart.

You immediately wrapped your arms around Seonghwa's head to shield him from the sight—somehow finding the strength to hold him still despite his panic. An uncomfortable twinge evaded your stomach in the present world when unveiling this particularly dusty memory of Seonghwa's boyhood. You shake your head lightly, as if it’d fling the emotion away.

His father’s death was the catalyst to an unfortunate series of events. Pengma continued to kill any man he felt could contribute to our side of the war—our village’s spiritual healer, medicine men, blacksmiths, veterans of old wars, archers, and fishermen followed after Seonghwa’s father. All were gone in less than fifteen minutes.

Pengma had paused momentarily in front of Hongjoong, who had practically bitten through his own lip—caging within himself a painful and raw fury—but decisively did not move so as to not attract the needless death of his mother and brother. Thick tears welled in his eyes but never fell, and Pengma’s face opened to form a small, intrigued smile. His keen eyes dragged down to gaze into Hongjoong’s own, then back up to scan his angular facial features, and immediately recognized the first and exceptionally talented blacksmith he’d just killed in the young man.

He recognized Hongjoong’s aptitude by his unfaltering gaze alone, and although he’d arrived at our village full of insignificant nobodies to make sure our country was scrubbed immaculately clean of hope—he opted to let Hongjoong live another day by some strange pull to make a wager with the universe.

Truth be told, Pengma didn’t give a damn about winning the war, because it kept all of his kind fed—and therefore, he’d honestly be more hellbent on prolonging it.

The dark gift, however, demanded its carriers to fulfill a necessary amount of bloodshed, so he might as well complete the task he’d been sent for. Sighing, Pengma made a small movement toward his men, and those in the front lines marched forward toward the array of slain men. The surviving villagers watched in horror as the soldiers began to feast on their bodies, tearing at their limbs after draining them dry of blood. Seonghwa pushed at your chest to peer back into the small slip of light.

A sudden understanding that the fateful and unfortunate timing of your shared destiny had arrived abruptly—and despite your small age of six—you were aware that the bright days of your childhood ended here. The wheels spurned and cragged their grotesque rolling, and it was this particular event that marked what you recall as the genesis of the undoing of your humanity.

Fate was exceptionally cruel to the love of your life, for as he looked onward at the abyss of death, he was fated to witness his father’s body being torn apart—heart clawed out of his chest, the skin of his stomach torn open, and maggot-like intestines dropping onto the mud—vacant eyes, jaw wide open and limp—and you shakily ripped him away to cover his eyes with your small hands. You’d willingly carry the burden of witnessing his life-altering sorrow—so that he would not be left alone to the nature of the nightmares you knew were to come. Seonghwa shook with the force of an incoming and ominous storm, wheezing and weeping into your chest.

When the soldiers finally left, a grim silence pervaded the air and fell heavy onto the people who remained in the village.

Women took on what were once the trades of men, something pivotal to those early times, and the softness of your home had hardened. For the remainder of Seonghwa’s human life, all light had left his mother’s eyes. Both Hongjoong and San took on the financial burden of the home, with San leaving behind his dreams of becoming a scholar in a nearby city, devoting his time to helping plan the building of a fortress and stations of defense—should the war arrive at your door again.

Hongjoong’s character had… changed immensely. Something dark brewed within him.

He continued his father’s work and spent a concerning amount of hours in the forge, perfecting his craft to an unknown degree—and had also taken a strange interest in alchemical books. It had been twelve years since the incident, and these fixations never ceased.

You walked into the kitchen during the late hours of the night and were greeted with the sight of he and San whispering fervently to one another. Papers with strange symbols were strewn around the wooden table, several candles and their wax dripping and hardening on its surface.

Catching sight of you, San immediately shuffled the papers closer to himself and turned them around.

“Y/N!” His eyes formed immediately into crescent moons as he softly beamed at you. Hongjoong remained silent but stared at you with his dark eyes.

“Young lady, what are you still doing awake?” San leaned his hip against the table, one hand placed onto its surface and the other one, adorned with a leather glove, onto his waist.

“I just got back from the fields with Seonghwa—you didn’t notice we were gone?” you chided, and right on cue, the young man walked in with the door swinging behind him, heaving a small but heavy basket.

Hongjoong quirked a brow at his youngest brother but opted to say nothing, a small smile spreading on his face.

“What were you doing out in the fields? You know it’s dangerous—” San's eyes drifted between you knowingly, squinting. Not wanting to press, but unable to resist the urge to remind you both of the war occurring only a two-day ride away.

“We didn’t go too far, I promise,” Seonghwa exasperatedly interjected, placing the basket on the table.

You strained a smile, and your hands that were clasped behind your back reached to fumble with the string of your waist cinch.

San only sighed and shook his head with a smile.

“You leave for the Order in six days, right? Make sure to spend time with Mom before you go,” Hongjoong reminded softly.

San’s eyes began to water, and he hastily moved his head up to quickly wipe a tear away with the side of his finger. Seonghwa approached his brothers with an unreadable look—it was firm and held a great amount of resolution, but you could tell that the string inside him that kept his emotions at bay grew tense at the incoming separation. He gently wrapped his long arms around his brothers’ necks and pulled them in. San clutched at Seonghwa’s thin shirt and began to quietly weep into his neck, while Hongjoong simply tightened his grip around his brothers with a faraway look in his eyes, clapping their backs in an awkward attempt at comforting them.

You silently walked away from the scene as an offer of privacy and shut your bedroom door behind you. Lighting your oil lamp, you began to untie your hair from its braid and tried to loosen your leather cinch when Seonghwa carefully stepped into your room, softly shutting it so that no one was alerted to his entering.

“Seonghwa—” your eyes widened and you hissed at him.

His lithe figure took one large step toward you and pulled you into his arms before engulfing you with his kiss. You melted into him as he clutched the roots of your hair—harshly breathing into one another’s mouths as he playfully licked at your tongue. You banged at his chest reprimandingly, but Seonghwa continued to ignore you and pressed you into the wall.

“Your brothers will kill us, you fool,” you giggled and tilted your head to the side so that he could kiss at your clavicle. His hands fumbled with your cinch, taking it off rather quickly, and then moved to push you onto the bed.

“How are you so much better at taking that off than I am?” You question before your gaze turned suspicious.

Seonghwa stilled for a moment and anxiously chuckled.

“W-what do you mean? Just a few little strings to fiddle with—” he said, trying to find his way out of the conversation by rubbing lovingly at your sides in desperation and sliding himself out of his linen tunic.

When you continued to silently glare at him, he sighed out,

“I was much younger, and it was long before you and I realized we were in love—you know this already, why are you making me say it?” he whined at you and dabbed at the sweat on his brow line.

“Suppose I didn’t realize just how many corsets you had to untie—” you snipped at him and turned your body away to face the window to your right so that he could only see your back.

“Weren’t you fornicating with the stable boy across the river?” he blurted out, baffled and growing increasingly annoyed at your hypocrisy.

Your eyes widened as you spun around to face him.

“How did you know that?—” you squeaked.

“Oh, what don’t I know, you little harlot—” he guffawed victoriously, eyes sparkling—and continued.

“Yunho? The merchant that comes every fortnight to sell fabric? Let’s not forget soldier number one, two, and three—OH, what about the village’s accountant? And your old little crush on San.” He wheezed out, widening his eyes at you defiantly as you covered your face in disbelief.

“Oh, I’M the harlot? Tell me, my love, is there any woman, both wedded AND unmarried, that serves at the old tavern you haven’t yet laid with?—or better yet, don’t you remember sleeping with all THREE of old man Alaric’s daughters?” you said in astonishment and pushed at his chest so that he lay back completely.

Seonghwa locked his hands behind his head to laugh as you swatted at him, and you crawled to sit on his hips. The light emitting from the oil lamp flatteringly draped onto your features—the shadow of your figure showing under the pointed light and the sheer fabric of your tunic. Seonghwa stared at you for a moment and softened with an indecipherable smile.

“—and as for san, well, I was fifteen, and look at him.” You tease and widely grin at him.

“Look at him, you say?” He gasps at your taunt before sliding his right hand up your torso to palm at your breast, pulling the fabric of your now extremely loose tunic down with dainty fingers to pinch at the bundle of nerves. He groans when you rock your hips into the semi-hard bulge in his pants, and you sigh out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah–look at him. He’s literally a pot of gold—an obvious winner of a genetic lottery.” You stifle a moan when he frustratingly shoves a hand down to pull at your bunched skirt, coming into contact with your slick. Victoriously smiling to yourself, and at the fact that you’d won this game– having successfully thrown him into a cesspool of jealousy. He sits up with you still planted on his hips, pressing your chests together.

“Is that so?” He all but growled into your mouth as he held your hips down and guided you to rub against him. moving a hand to shove two fingers into your mouth. Your saliva pools around the digits before dripping out to trail down your throat and Seonghwa’s wrist. Without warning, he slides the hand down to your cunt, and curves them inside of you.

You lurch forward and hold onto his shoulders for support. Loud squelching resounded from between your legs, and you can feel the excess liquid being splashed onto your thighs and stomach as his palm pistons against you ferociously,fingers slinking around your pulsing walls. Slowing the pace, Seonghwa kisses the sides of your face and licks at your jawline, pulling his palm slightly away before rubbing at your clit with the pad of his thumb— resuming a slow pump into you. You try to muffle your whining by biting the firm meat of his shoulder, senses heightened and focused on feeling each ridge and knuckle. Once you began to feel the tension in your stomach about to snap—he immediately pulls his hand away.

“A gift for you, since san’s so pretty.” He tilts his head back a bit to gaze directly at you with half lidded eyes, whispering softly in quiet seduction, a mere centimeter away from your lips. There was something in his egotistical gaze that filled you with a fire so hot it burned you. Watching, reverently transfixed– he parts his lips to lap patiently at the two fingers, placing them so deep into his mouth that the tips hit the back of his throat— slowly slithering downward to station themselves back inside of you, only after leaving a small trail of residual spit on your stomach.

You gawk at him and in your frustrated astonishment —decided to push him even further. Chest heaving and wetness beginning to flow down his hand—desperation hit you full force. The thought of holding him down to ride his fingers with your hand shoved against his mouth to keep him quiet bordered your mind, but you opted to chastise your cunt for getting in the way of your annoyance at him. You knew that beyond the veil of his calculated and unbothered gaze was a thin patience at the halfway point of snapping like a rubber band.

“Wanna know something even more interesting?” you challenge, with a red-hot fire in your eyes. Seonghwa only quirks a brow at you, defiantly.

“Humor me, darling,” he deadpans.

“Hongjoong and I kissed during the last autumn equinox,” you confess.

Seonghwa’s face contorts into an array of emotions—offense, disbelief, hurt (more so his pride), curiosity, and wonder. After a few seconds of shocked silence, Seonghwa finally snapped out of it.

“Why would Hongjoong kiss you?” he bubbles out but flinches immediately when you smack him stupid because of his comment.

“Why wouldn’t Hongjoong kiss me?” you ask, raising your brow like it was obvious. Seonghwa hated that you were right—despite your annoying amount of arrogance, it wasn’t unfounded at all. You were easily the most notable girl in your village, and should you ever travel into the further, more populated regions—you would still put other visages to shame.

“How and why did it happen? Spill.” Seonghwa leaned back a little to place his hands on the bed to hold his weight. From your place on his lap, you hold your palms on the soft skin near his navel. He gazed at you with keen interest—while he did feel a moderate amount of possessiveness as a lover, growing up together made it easy to talk about anything. You were still his best friend, and since you and his brothers were also close, it wasn’t abnormal for these things to happen in passing. His older brothers were undeniably handsome men, and he’d known about your little fixation on San before he’d come to terms with his own feelings for you. He thanked the gods that San was about eleven years older and wouldn’t dream of being with someone with that sort of age gap in the picture—if you’d been around the same age, he’s sure that San would’ve swiped you away by now, leaving him to sob in his lonesome about unrequited love.

Hongjoong, however, clearly didn’t mind, he thought to himself, but looked at your visage once more in the light and couldn’t blame the guy.

“Well, remember the mead I’d stolen from old man Alaric—the one he left out in his old shed that I found while helping him clean it, after he’d injured his back? When the fire was being lit at the heart of the meadow during the autumn equinox’s celebration, Hongjoong and I had drunk all but the last drop of what we found out to be a much stronger mead than expected. We chatted until the fire went down, and I took as much of this chance as possible to spend time with him, since we both know that Hongjoong doesn’t usually speak so much—but the alcohol opened him up,” you start, gazing at Seonghwa’s expectant eyes earnestly while he nodded in agreement, his interested silence encouraging you to continue.

“I think you were out with one of Alaric’s daughters—I forget her name, but it was the one who ties her hair with a green ribbon—”

“Delilah,” he piped and snapped his fingers (the ones that weren’t inside of you) when he remembered who you were describing for the sake of the story.

“Yeah, Delilah—and San was preoccupied with dancing with your mother, and a few other older ladies, like the sweet, sweet man he is. No one was home and Hongjoong opened up about… a lot of personal stuff I have no business mentioning, but during a moment of vulnerability, it just sort of happened. It got a little heated, but we didn’t go any further than that—we never brought it up again, and I know it wasn’t something that happened because he was in love with me. I think it was because he trusted me, and partially leaned on me to ease a momentary loneliness. I kind of forgot about it, because I was involved with six other men at the time, and lost track of the happenings, you know?” you shrug, and Seonghwa sits for a moment to digest your words, raising his brow when he felt you tighten around his fingers at the memory, squinting his eyes at you once it dawned on him.

“Hm–makes sense, I guess. Can’t be mad about it. I was screwing delilah dumb into her bed, almost cumming in her in the heat of the moment. I could’ve been a father of twins by now.” He flatly recalls, before finally processing the last portion of your confession. “—SIX? Do we even have that many boys our age around?” He pulled his fingers out of you and tried to ignore the lewd string of thick wetness that remained attached to the tips of his fingers—flipping your bodies over so that your cheek was pressed against the bed, pushing his weight against your back.

“Who said they were all our age?” You grin playfully in excitement. Bingo.

“You’re such a whore.” He hisses into your neck, quickly pulling down your skirt and hiking your tunic up to the back of your neck, gazing at your bare back.

You could fully feel the baffling stiffness rutting slightly against your core when you raised your hips to try and adjust your position on the bed.

“Yeah, and you seem to thoroughly enjoy that. Look at us—two whores in a pod.” You brush his frustration off with a laugh, rolling against him. He shakily exhales a small whine and lurches forward in surprise at the sudden intense pressure, gripping hard onto your hips.

Quickly shrugging off both of your clothes, Seonghwa roughly pushes your face into the mattress, leaning his own towards the skin of your inner thigh to a spot dangerously close to your core. licking upwards to engulf your cunt with a wide mouth, flicking your clit with randomized pulses. Unable to resist the urge to crane your neck to see whatever you could of him– you nearly cum at the mere sight of his eyes already looking straight into yours while licking a strip up to kiss your bottom right cheek.

His broad, tan shoulders glimmered with a thin layer of sweat, panting lightly as he stared at your bottom half—dazed and entranced, before reaching to thumb at you slowly as your arched your back to widen yourself for him. His left hand ran flat against his tummy, before grabbing at himself–jerking lightly. You felt traces of your wetness string and fall onto the sheets below you, finally throwing your hands up in emotional surrender to plead

“Seonghwa, please. I want to be in your body—you’re making me feel lonely” You pant out sweetly, overwhelmed by the carnal desire–wishing you could be something so deeply embedded inside of him: an organ, his blood, the bones that held him upright and close to you.

You want to be tucked somewhere in the confines of his rib cage, fantasizing sleeping inside a knob of his spine. However– both tragically and delightfully–the closest you could get to that were the moments he’d lock himself inside of you and rocked you so full of him, that it was enough to appease you for the night.

He smiled softly and turned you to lay flat on your back, leaning close enough for you to feel his breath, nose brushing yours. Raising his hand to feather lightly grip your neck, Seonghwa stuffs you full without offering a moment for adjustment—a large contrast to his hold on you. You knew Seonghwa was toying with you, fully intent on making it a little painful for you–despite his initial masquerade of softness.

He doesn’t care to check if you’re handling him well–knowing full well this was what you wanted to happen, and you grin wistfully, eyes rolling back as he pistons into you without any regard for your safety. You didn’t want him to be sweet today.

You choke out a sigh that was a mixture of both relief and exhilaration, as he gradually began to tighten his hold on your neck and left leg– lifting slightly to widen you more. Strands of damp hair hold tiny beads at their ends, and drag themselves across your temple, bodies jolting and trembling against each other.

There was little space between your bodies as Seonghwa deliberately pressed his chest into yours—wanting to fulfill your desire of becoming a part of him as much as he physically could. Squelches from between your legs and the slick sweat from your skins echoed throughout the room— all caution flying out of the window, damning yourselves to the repercussions of having to endure a stern talking to from San and Hongjoong about how now’s not the time to be careless by having children.

The fat of your breasts as water would when a small pebble is thrown into a still lake at his force and momentum. Nipples rubbed raw from their rough and constant rubbing against his skin. You grow progressively overstimulated by the sheer ecstasy pervading your body.

He’s defiling you–this god-like man and your sole sanctuary ruins you beyond repair.

Your cunt stretched to its edges as his thickness drove itself brutally into you–tapping your cervix. Open mouths clashed against each other and you pull back to tilt your head away in bliss. Pulling harshly at the nape of your hair, Seonghwa combs his nimble fingers through to tug at your roots, kissing you until you all the breath leaves your body. It was so warm—his body against your own, sweat bleeding into your open mouth in the glow of your yellow-bellied light.

Seonghwa was so frighteningly beautiful and you wanted to breathe him in for the entirety of your life.

Moaning loudly against his tongue, your eyes roll to the back of your head when his grip around your neck tightened finally. The whites of your eyes going blood-shot, as the veins on your face protrude at the sudden tense pressure. You felt like you were genuinely at the edge of life—and you liked it– you liked the idea of giving your life to him completely–loving that Seonghwa knew when not to be gentle with you.

Saliva pooled around the corner of your lips as he maintained his hold on you— licking and sucking at the trail– somehow summoningthe strength to pound into you even harder. Your body ricochets against the bed and back into his body, as he smacked into you—and it was only when your eyes began to grow dark that he released his hold on your neck. Immediately finding your release and pushing out a stream as the intensity of your orgasm causes your body to nearly convulse.

His hips stutter–desperation filling his face as he splashed through your orgasm– gazing at your cunt continuing to squirt in delicate streams. Seonghwa dazedly considered making you a mother—the intensity of the moment amplifying his dream of breeding you and having children with your eyes and mannerisms, raising them by the sea—if it weren’t for the war on the other side of it.

He pushes the thought away almost immediately–not wanting his melancholy to ruin the incoming orgasm, but thanking it for granting him the will to pull out of you just in time– releasing on the fullness of your stomach. Seonghwa restshis head on your bare breasts for a moment, catching his breath before looking up to see you basking in your afterglow–breathing heavily through a smile

My god, he loves you.

“My god, I love you— you cruel and beautiful woman,” he exhaled before laughing lightly in complete and utter adoration, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“By the gods—do I love you just as much, Seonghwa.” You kissed the words onto him before falling into a deep slumber—not wanting to spare a moment to think about his departure and the unknown future of you two.

Once dawn broke the next morning, Seonghwa had loosely tugged his trousers on with a drawn-out yawn and began to try and slink away from your room. Closing the door softly and crouching at the door handle, he still winced at the sound of its small thud.

“Good morning, little brother.” Seonghwa jumped in fright like a cat, hairs standing on end, and whipped his body around to greet the sight of his eldest brother brewing tea.

“Ah—” was all Seonghwa could muster out of himself in the shock—wide-eyed and stiff. Hongjoong simply quirked a brow, shook his head while turning back to fix his tea, and said,

“—I don’t even want to know.”

To which Seonghwa just sheepishly smiled and replied with a hasty, awkward,

“Got it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

Seonghwa carried a medium-sized sack packed with minimal clothing and small trinkets he was permitted to bring along with him to his quarters. His wrist was slightly bent from holding it casually behind his shoulder as Hongjoong, San, and you walked him out to the front of your shared home—choking up but trying your best not to sob in front of him, so that you could give him an encouraging goodbye.

You had been trained in the ways of the sword alongside Seonghwa since young—when a nomadic man had stationed himself in your quaint village for some time. The man, Helios, was once a knight of the Holy Order who had long since retired from his days of war—but had taken a liking to you two ruffians, eyes holding a certain knowing that the war had done a number on you both, as it had on everyone. When he left, you and Seonghwa had learned enough to continue your practices together and wished your teacher a warm goodbye. Because of this, you weren’t too far behind Seonghwa in joining the Holy Order, but the process was even more tricky for a woman.

The casualties of war were immense, however. Men were beginning to be drafted as a desperate call for support—but the population of men had severely dwindled in the last decade, and so slowly the ways of the old were shifting into an acceptance of women within matters of war and other traditional non-commonalities.

He said his goodbyes with a certain calmness that spread a sudden knowing in you that when you met Seonghwa again—he’d be a different man. The war would change him, and you didn’t know in what ways yet.

He kept his goodbyes minimal—probably so that it didn’t feel like an end, to offer some sort of reassurance that he’d return home and it wouldn’t be in the form of a body bag.

His mother watched him with vacant eyes—she’d become frighteningly thin, but slowly stepped towards him to cup his face in her palms. “Oh, my baby. My youngest son—has the time really flown by so quickly already? Is my boy leaving his nest?” she whispered.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar sound of his mother… and at her gaze on him that was so similar to the mother he’d once known before the loss of his father. The light had vanished as quickly as it came, and she began to walk away again, in a daze, toward the corner of the yard, staring at the trees overlooking the trail he’d take on his journey.

You could see his resolve beginning to shatter, and he swallowed a sob, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the ammonia-induced burn in his nose.

You were the last one he said goodbye to.

Neither of you had discussions about what you both were to do, and even then, at the very last moment before his departure—you never addressed the elephant in the room.

You knew you loved him, and he knew that too, but there was no time for domestic dreams during war. Your goals for the Holy Knighthood were first and foremost—and so when he left, you weren’t sure if it was as your lover or your childhood best friend.

It was quick, but profound in its own way—it consisted of him wrapping a singular arm around your neck to push you against his chest, kissing your head shakily, and whispering, “I’ll send you letters, sweet girl. I’ll wait for you at the Order.”

Before pulling himself away with a strong resolve not to look back.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦　

So much had changed within a year.

Seonghwa’s letters—the ones that had come every week or so—slowly became more infrequent, until they’d practically stopped coming in at all.

Every time you prayed that he was alive, you’d miraculously receive a brief letter, but in his words, his tone—your Seonghwa wasn’t there anymore. In the beginning, he’d share the perils of his training, rant for three pages about how much he struggled with missing home, and how it was hard to get close to anyone out there. It was after his first mission that everything changed.

Maybe it was hard for him to recount all the war and murder he’d partaken in and witnessed on the battlefield—writing it down would be the equivalent of twisting the knife in a real, fucked-up wound. Seonghwa gradually had less and less he wanted to share, and eventually only sent letters with a brief paragraph reassuring he was alive—cool, collected, reserved. A true soldier.

He stopped saying that he couldn’t wait to see you all, and you knew him enough to know it was because of the overwhelming guilt he’d experience once he returned to your small home—a guilt for taking part in the brutal carnage, and that he actually would never return as himself ever again, his promise already broken even if not carried back in a body bag.

You would often sit and read in the forge as Hongjoong worked in silence, and you could tell that you’d both felt comforted by being in someone else’s presence—someone familiar who knew that there existed a time before the war took all the joy of this place, of this home. Had your village been left alone, San would’ve been a revered scholar known across the kingdom—no doubt taking his seat amongst nobles and participating in larger politics by now. Hongjoong may’ve allowed himself a domestic life—dedicated to his craft, but with the capability to be present and invite joy into his life without the haunting of his past.

And Seonghwa, your beloved Seonghwa, would still be right here—warm and belly full of laughter. You feared the light had been taken from him—that he’d been taken from you. At the time, you wanted nothing more than for your previous wish to be a bone in his body to come true.

As for San, you’d gotten closer.

Concerningly so.

What was once a brotherly comfort slowly smoothed into an unaddressed tension. It was San whose arms you cried into in Seonghwa’s absence, it was San who became your closest confidant, and who protected you from anything that tried to harm you. Hongjoong would often watch you two with understanding but chose to never say anything.

San was like water.

He washed and waved at wounds and loved you in a silent way—not as loudly as his brother, because of the unaddressed boundary, you’re sure—but he loved you in a way that told you that he would stay. That he would want nothing more than for you to choose not to march into the next town over to complete the trials necessary to become a Holy Knight in a year's time.

He was beautiful, but unlike his playboy brother—San was everything gentle and soft in the world, and everything but a ladies' man.

You recall the flush that would bloom in his skin at every advance made by coquettish girls—many were shocked at how a man of his stature and age was still unmarried without a declared prospect. He was all dreams for world peace without the use of violence—without the nonsense of bloodshed—and would often take you to the fields he’d warned Seonghwa and you to stay away from when he knew you’d missed him the most.

You tried not to love him.

You tried not to love either of the brothers, really—it was truly painful business.

But if there is anything you could tell the world in defense, it’d be that there was no way you would have been able to not love them in the ways you did.

He knew that you loved Seonghwa with your entire being—and loved your love with Seonghwa, alongside loving you. San would smile softly whenever you both spoke of his younger brother, and his eyes would glimmer with unadulterated joy when listening to the unknown tales of your childhood with Seonghwa for hours without interrupting.

San loved without possession, without fight, and unconditionally—he loved with an ease one would have when breathing.

It was by a cruel twist of fate that once you’d finally succumbed to your love for him, and shared an unquestionably happy life for six months at San’s side—that while on the precipice of relinquishing your dreams of knighthood to focus on protecting your home with him—he’d received a letter drafting him to an infantry unit after his name was pulled from a randomized lottery. You recall falling onto your knees to sob at his feet, begging him to run away with you—damning the war for taking everything you’d ever treasured, as Hongjoong covered his mouth and hurriedly ran to vomit into a corner.

But you knew the softness of San’s heart and how he knew some other unfortunate man would have to take his place, and how he, at his core—was not a cowardly man who could reject a responsibility that called out to him.

And so San knelt to hold your face in his hands and cried with you. For the last two nights before he had to go on his journey, you spent them side by side—not risking even a single minute apart. He would sit to hold your hand in silence as you bathed and would scrub gently at every area of your body as he cradled you on his lap.

At night, he once more whispered the dreams of his life to you, just as he did when he taught you what he knew of the stars, and his made-up myths for each one, and shared with you the once-aspirations of his youth—except this time, it was his dream of a life lived long beside you and your children—how he’d wanted to see this home filled with the joy of a child’s laughter again, and your shared child perched on their uncle Hongjoong’s shoulders.

He whispered his love to you, again and again, without fear nor restraint—but somehow, you both knew that San was never coming home again. He didn’t ask for your hand in marriage, and you knew it was because he refused to make you a widow, even if he never admitted it out loud.

He didn’t need to.

Destiny was relentless.Yours and Seonghwa’s names were written in red ink, right next to each other—and it twisted your path to ensure there was no escaping your eventual sharing of the dark gift, that all paths would lead back to each other, and back to the original sin.

The rest of this story is scattered and full of all sorts of myths, loss, and magic—some of which I, the omnipresent narrator, have shared with you.

San never came home again.

He’d only sent two letters to you—one in which he confessed in more detail his love for you and gratitude for the time you’d shared, and the second—as if he knew what was to eventually come—was a letter detailing that he wished love for you wherever you went, and stating that he was still rooting for your love with Seonghwa. You faintly recall him saying that he knew Seonghwa would love you just as much as he would if he were still around.

The time had flown, and as originally planned, you attended the trials of the Holy Order six months after San’s departure. You worried for Hongjoong—who, in his brooding silence and intense fervor with his craft, fell into a dark hole of helplessness. For years, up until your turning to the dark gift, you’d exchanged letters with Hongjoong at a consistent frequency.

You were correct in Seonghwa’s changing, but that’s an entirely separate tale of trials to recount some other time. Your relationship ran hot and cold—and was an incredibly turbulent and confusing mess to have dealt with amongst all things.

San was killed in action two and a half years into your service with the Holy Order.

You’d never told Seonghwa about your time with him, but when the both of you received the news of his death—he just knew. He saw it in your eyes and in the grief of the girl he’d known since boyhood. He knew what your eyes looked like when they were in love.

Shortly after San’s death, their mother hung herself. Hongjoong sent a simple letter because there was no point in talking about his grief—nothing would make it disappear. It was a quiet day when he found her there in her bedroom.

A couple of weeks following that, Hongjoong had sent you a final letter—a heartfelt and vulnerable one filled with gratitude for being his rock and one true friend.

He disappeared one day, and you’d never heard from him again.

It’s been several centuries since you’ve dared to recount the immense sorrows of your time as humans. For a moment, you’d even assumed you’d forgotten it all—but the still raw ache resonated in you, dusting all of the cobwebs away, and threatened to make you human in your emotions for one moment.

San was undoubtedly the love of your human life.

He was the one thing that stopped you from hating humanity—from hating your once and real time as a human girl, even now. You knew it was in his lessons of goodness that saved you from going mad when accepting Amera.

Seonghwa was eternal. He was undoubtedly your soul and one true counterpart—your fellow forest fire and forever flame. You would never be able to resist his siren song; fate made it so that it couldn’t happen.

And San—you smile softly at the clearest recollection you’ve had in centuries of the softness of his hands, gaze, raven-haired broadness, and the beautiful dimples that adorned his cheeks.

San was the river that would continue to flow within you, no matter where or how long the time—and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The memory was sobering, and you’ve mentally returned to the present—the heavy recollection more than enough for the night, or for the next couple of centuries, honestly.

A sudden bout of resolution overcame you, and you rose to march on over to Seonghwa—immediately slapping him so hard his head jerked a concerning amount to his left. He could walk it off.

“That’s for leaving me,” you hiss at him bitterly before grabbing his hand and shoving him into his casket. You cross your arms, huff in defeat, and avoid his eyes like a brat.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened in understanding and then proceeded to smile with such sheer joy, you almost felt bad that the guy couldn’t actually die. Shit, you think to yourself, and put it on your mental checklist to start researching intensely for ways to die.

If that’s honestly what makes him happy—then what hubby wants, hubby gets.

You hypothesize that maybe eating him, as you'd done with Amera, could work, but if you were to eat his portion of the original sin after about nine centuries of committing atrocity after atrocity—you might just incur the dawn of Armageddon. Which sort of defeats the purpose of why you guys even took on the original task.

Nah, you don’t want him to be happy if it meant he’d die on you.

He could live with being depressed, not like he had much of a choice anyways. You shrug happily, but squint in annoyance when Seonghwa rises momentarily to try and kiss you.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” you say as you push him away with a single finger, your sharp nail pointed against his chest—with such intense confusion adorning your face, it looked like disgust.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m going to fuck the ever-living shit out of you before I sleep for an entire century, probably????” he explains, gazing at you as if you were the stupidest fucking thing on the planet.

“HAH!” you all but guffaw before fighting to shove him back down into his coffin, with him actively throwing hands back at you—your absolutely unhinged ferociousness crowns you as victor. You claw at him and even tug a large chunk of hair straight out of his scalp, and frown when it immediately grows back. You genuinely wish this bitch could go bald, because you would’ve been bald by now with the amount of emotional stress this is putting you through—and just before you victoriously shut the coffin, you look into his eyes and say:

“You honestly thought you’d get pussy and sleep? Go to bed before I change my mind, whore.”

Seonghwa immediately crosses his arms into a cliché “X” position over his chest, the tips of his sharp nails draped elegantly over the edges of his shoulders, and forces his eyes shut as a bead of anxious sweat forms on his forehead. He knew you weren’t kidding—you were supposed to go to a hookah bar tonight, and you’d drag him by the balls once you realized that he not only planned on sleeping for a century or more, but that he’s basically flaking out on date night.

Realizing something, he opens one eye to look at you and asks, “How do I even do this?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you try to find an actual answer to the question or the most annoyingly unhelpful thing to shoot back at him. “I don’t know, maybe try meditating? Focus on how bad you want to die and see if that helps.”

“Oh, that’ll do wonders for my mental health, thanks.” He rolls his eyes before actually giving it a shot.

A few minutes of silence ensue, and in your boredom, you decide to hang from a chandelier. “Is it working now?” you whine as you swing yourself off to land back on your feet.

“Seonghwa?” you sing-song and peer over his body, looking at his completely unmoving figure innocently.

“Holy shit, it actually worked,” you scoffed.

Pretty fast, actually.

“Damn, he was being fr when he said he wanted to die.” You all but :/ before abruptly slamming his coffin shut and tip-tap over to your room so you could get ready and find a booty call somewhere over yonder.

Wait. You freeze, halfway down the red and well-decorated hallway.

“That bitch—we had date night!”

And you could’ve sworn that even in his unconscious state—Seonghwa’s body twitched in fear.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Vampires, too—use toilet paper.

Not many people think about toiletries or household appliances when they think about the creatures of the night, understandably. The inherent glamour and sex appeal instilled into our biology at birth in order to attract prey does not, in fact, wipe for us—just as dirt and other things don’t immediately vaporize and grant us an immaculate appearance once more. But by the gods, when did inflation get this bad?

These were necessities for everyone, even the undying.

You’re pretty sure Seonghwa tucked a couple of coupons you’d found in the paper into your wallet a few weeks ago, and brightened at the sight of a "two for one" deal on aisle three for your favorite Herbal Essences smoothing shampoo and conditioner—you've been feeling frizzy.

Rolling your mini cart to join the line at checkout, you anxiously tap your boots on the floor when it hasn’t moved in ten minutes—why was it so fucking busy on a Wednesday?

You hope that Seonghwa’s vacuuming at home—since you had the bright idea of chain-smoking inside the house and are pretty sure that your cigarette ashes fell onto that insanely expensive rug—but then remember that your husband threw himself into pseudo-death mode.

Sure, at this point, because of all the loot collected from adventures that had you feeling like the incarnation of Indiana Jones, plus all of the jobs you and Seonghwa had worked over the last several centuries, you were both stupidly wealthy—but that didn’t mean you had to throw your financial literacy out the window.

You were centimeters away from killing everybody who had a fuck-ton of items in line for the express lane that so kindly expressed to clientele in bold font—twenty items or less.

Twenty items or fucking less—and you're pretty sure that there are thirty items in the bitch's basket two people ahead of you.

That was actually evil.

Is this your fault? Since you're technically the root of all evil—at least most of them?

Cashiers weren’t around for the creation of mankind (you think), so this is someone else’s fault, probably.

And when you find the person who's responsible for the evils of grocery shopping, inflation, and cash registers—it's fucking over. You hope that they're an evil that can actually die. Though, if they couldn’t, you might find some reprieve in pureeing them until you were content.

You glance at the person currently checking out to try and figure out what the holdup is but see the cashier anxiously thumbing through a book of coupons that could’ve been aired on Extreme Couponing, scanning them as fast as possible—trying his best not to have a panic attack under all the impatient eyes on him.

Ah. You knew a girl on a budget when you saw one.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you admit in finality and offer a nod at the college girl as a sign of camaraderie, and she smiles shyly in reply. You sigh and adjust your posture as you prepare yourself for the long wait.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The house is looking like the aftermath of a frat party because Seonghwa's not around to split chores. Butlers and house servants were too expensive, and you refuse to spend the money despite having it—so you're going to have to vacuum when you get home.

The dread ticks inside of you like a time bomb.

There’s no way.

There’s no way you're going to vacuum for the first time in your life—absolutely not. You’re momentarily astounded by the fact that there’s actually something you haven’t done in your nine-hundred-plus years of life.

You throw your keys onto the insanely large dining table before plopping down onto the sofa, anxiously biting your nails as you stare at Seonghwa’s coffin with an intense shaking in your leg.

It’s only been four months since Seonghwa had logged off on you. As expected, the time hasn’t gone as fast as you’d wanted—and waiting on Seonghwa to awaken felt like you’d be waiting for human years.

There had to be a way to get your husband up and happy—to get his appetite going, so he doesn’t whine and go absolutely apeshit when he finally crashes out in real time about the fact that he couldn’t die. You knew you’d get the brunt of it—the last time he did, he lost his shit and literally bit chunks off of you. Yeah, sure, it immediately grew back—especially since you ate enough for the timespan of regeneration to be almost instantaneous. This factor was the one thing that helped Amera not regenerate as quickly—the starvation of faith and flesh allotted you some time to finish the entirety of her body without her speedy regeneration, you remember pitifully.

You couldn’t shake him awake either—you’d have to find something convincing enough to tempt his psyche and unconscious self.

You begin to brainstorm about what Seonghwa likes nowadays, holding your pretty fingers up to count:

1.) You, sometimes. 2.) Pretty boys, handsome women, and non-binaries that are hot and make great non-fat lattes. 3.) Orgies that can sate the natural sensory gluttony your kind has a predisposition for and appease his possession over you by ramming into you in a room full of people. He also makes sure to eat the ones that touch you in any way before the night ends, which leads us to the fourth on our list— 4.) The occasional, tasteful murder. 5.) (Born) rich people dying. 6.) Uno, poker, and other lame card games. 7.) Games, lots of games—actually. (You hum in interest at the observation.) 8.) A meal that makes him earn his bite.

“…Games, huh.” You mumble to yourself before turning on the outdated TV you’d stolen from a Best Western motel for fun. You’re immediately greeted by the sight of a slick-looking pretty boy sitting on an expensive leather couch with a drink in hand—it seemed like a live airing of an interview.

“He’s got the eyes of a conman, but like—in a hot way,” you say out loud, something you’ve been doing quite often with Seonghwa being gone and all.

You take a large swig from the sweet red blend you bought labeled Ménage à Trois, and digest his features with each gulp—and your mouth begins to fill with a thick coating of saliva.

You sit up to peer more closely at him, cross your legs into a pretzel shape, and grab the TV remote to raise the volume. The sound is slightly distorted and antiquated, as if it’s being aired through an old telephone speaker, and the screen flickers from time to time.

Your eyes can’t stray away from his pointed and cocky gaze aimed at the man interviewing him. There’s a charming mole situated under his left eye that looks like a small constellation to you, and an intensely sharp jawline. The sensual dip of his collarbone exposes itself as he leans forward to place the glass on the table—his oversized V-neck cashmere sweater tipping out teasingly to expose the protruding ridges on his chest. His semi-long hair flicks against the nape of his neck as he moves back, and he adorably fumbles to adjust the bangs that hang directly above his asymmetrical eyelids—going cross-eyed momentarily when struggling to fix a particular strand.

The host of the unknown show—or rather, the man interviewing the guy who was sex on legs—laughed the sort-of-laugh that told you he was rich, at something hot guy said.

“So, Wooyoung—other than being one of the best poker players in the game right now, do you have any fun facts you’d like to share with the crowd?” The host adjusted in his seat, leaning forward humorously toward the hot guy, Wooyoung, and raised his eyebrows with catty interest. “In the mood for spilling some secrets, or would you still want to stay the ever-so-elusive man—shrouded in mystery?” he playfully instigated, as the crowd began to hoot in good fun in return.

Wooyoung put his head down for a moment and leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees. “Well damn, you’ve put me in a tough spot—don’t think I could find it in me to ruin it for the crowd,” he jokingly sighed, wiping away a nonexistent tear. “Though it’d help a lot if you asked questions, because I wouldn’t know where to start, honestly.” He smiled sheepishly and scratched his head.

The host immediately grabbed a pile of notes from under his desk, and the crowd laughed as he put on a show for them by fumbling excitedly before turning toward Wooyoung. “Hmm, okay— we’ve heard some talk about you being close friends with award-winning opera singer Choi Jongho and the nation’s favorite chaebol, Kang Yeosang. How in the hell did that happen? It felt like a crossover episode when I heard about it.”

Wooyoung nonchalantly answered immediately, “Rich people love gambling.”

The crowd hummed in agreement with small comments like “Honestly, yeah, that tracks,” and “Obviously.”

The host smiled wide before hitting big by asking the question that had been stamped on the headlines of major magazines for the last few months. “We hear that you’re especially close to our dearest Yeosang,” he practically sing-songs, and Wooyoung smirked a little.

“Well, I fuck guys too,” he all but said, and the crowd went wild before he added, “—but he’s my closest friend. So I don’t deny being queer, but sadly, our dearest Yeosang is not in my cards.”

The crowd booed in disappointment, while some repressed homophobes shouted that God loves him.

“Yeah, clearly! That’s why I’m here, baby.” He only laughed happily in their direction—no malice or offense visible in his demeanor. “—Yeosang, Jongho, and I all grew up with each other since our parents are close friends. Our careers and interests are in completely separate worlds, so I’m not surprised that people thought we were a randomized blunt rotation.”

He shrugged and cocked his left brow before sipping at his glass, laughing lightly when the interviewer gasped and said to the crowd, “Oh, so our Wooyoung’s a RICH-rich boy?”

“Darling, how did you think I made such big bets to start with? No poor man with a life he values would step into trying to have a career in gambling.” He guffawed and continued with sparkling eyes, as if daring to say a forbidden secret. “—Dearest Mummy and Daddy just want their youngest son to be happy and will cover my losses so long as I don’t fight for succession with my lovely, lovely older brothers.”

His flippant ease and unflinching honesty had you clapping at his responses in appreciation, despite him being a trust fund baby. You were a bit amused that he clearly didn’t give a damn about this being broadcast on live TV. The interviewer all but smiled at the handsome man’s mischief and raised his own glass to clink against Wooyoung’s.

It was when the host eased into the next topic after the crowd settled down that you straightened your spine and bolted to stand up. Your features contorted into one of maniacal glee—and if someone were to look a little more closely, they would be able to see the palpable sinister undertone lathered thick onto your face.

“Ah! That’s right—I heard another interesting thing about our star of the show today. What’s this about blood?” the host widened his eyes in curiosity.

“Oh—that? On top of being rich, my blood’s apparently golden. Not literally, but it’s the rarest blood type in the world or something. That’s why people call me the Golden Gambler, even though I’m not a fan of it. Pretty cheesy, no? But it could be cute—depending on the context.”

Wooyoung licked his lips, and a flush started decorating his cheeks as the alcohol began to hit.

The interview droned on for another ten minutes before Wooyoung said his goodbyes, toppling over the talk show host’s desk to smooch him straight on the lips.

It was a comical sight to see: the host stiffening and tipping in his loafers, cheeks pushed together by Wooyoung’s palms, and eyes bulging while laughing at the bit.

The kiss had been spurred on by the two having to dance around each other when they kept leaning in to hug from the same side, until Wooyoung smiled mischievously and whispered into the host’s ear. With a small nod from him, he proceeded to lay a wet kiss on the married man’s lips in good fun.

Smiling and waving at the crowd in true Princess Diana fashion while they hooted and hollered—never quite recovering from the final bit of the interview.

You were still smiling when you reached to shut the TV off and slowly turned your head toward Seonghwa’s coffin.

“You’re going to have to forgive me for this one, Park Seonghwa,” you excitedly muttered before running around your mansion to begin preparing for things—

—more specifically, your husband’s first meal in order to celebrate his return.

He’d have to follow your lead, of course, but you fully intended on taking the responsibility of making up for cutting his rest so prematurely.

You tugged on a sheer robe that was lined with feathers on its loose sleeves and long train that trailed after you as you fluttered around the living room, lighting all of the candles.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed Seonghwa’s casket open and leaned in close enough to whisper against his lips.

“My love, I know you’re tired—but I’ve come up with a game you might like. It involves a very pretty trust fund baby, but get this—he has golden blood and is everything you hate in a man, other than his looks. Won’t you join me? It’s been so long since we’ve played.”

You blinked at his still figure but somehow knew that your husband would rise at this particular beckon. You traced his nose bridge with your nail and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

“You’d never say no to a good game, Seonghwa—so wake up, if only for the thrill of the hunt.”

You knew that you’d have to deal with his whining the moment he woke up in confusion—he may even ask if it had already been a century or more since he’d fallen into sleep.

While you’d most likely succeeded in appealing to his innate evil (and probably to Amera’s nature, rather than his) with the best bait you’d come across in eons—you’d still have to deal with the very conscious Seonghwa, whose current struggle was due to that very same undying evil inside of him.

Yeah, he’s probably not going to be the most happy that his instinct made the decision instead of him—but there was no other way to get him to hear you, if not for your shared and beloved primordial, despite everything.

You slipped off your robe and tossed the rest of your clothing aside before climbing into his coffin and laying yourself on his body. You moved his arms to cradle you and melted into the familiar texture and scent of his skin.

Looking up at him from your place tucked into his neck, you left a chaste kiss somewhere on his jawline.

“I promise I’ll explain everything to you the moment you wake up. Trust me on this one, please? It’ll make you happy if you let it. If you hate it so much, I’ll let you sleep for two centuries and won’t fight you for it,” you solemnly promised, shutting your eyes along with the coffin.

authors note: i honestly don’t know where the word count is at the moment, but it was genuinely so fun to write this. please note that i haven’t fully edited it and i apologize for any awkward mistakes. i hope you enjoyed this chapter! i already have the drafts set up for the next one and the special chapters i’m planning… :3 i ended up adding a lot more lore than planned and cried when writing about san and hongjoong—and will be writing a special chapter/one shot for the both of them. their characters are still important to little subplots I’ve planted in the series!

please reblog if you liked it! though i write because i enjoy writing, it’s cool to have some engagement going on since i don’t socialize directly on tumblr a lot. p.s…. look out for san’s oneshot/ special chapter i’ll be posting soon titled, énouement. :3

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